To you, preserved by nature and gifted with her blessings, you will shine in the storm with a brilliant light, until the abyss claims your soul.

Whoosh

A clenched fist brushed past the cheek of the young man with light brown hair that swayed in the wind as he tried to dodge the oncoming strike.

Thump

Another fist connected with the young man’s abdomen, his emerald green eyes losing their vitality as he crumpled to the ground. His head tilted closer to the earth as if succumbing to the pain, when suddenly, a violent sound followed by two cries broke the moment.

Crack!

In his fall, the young man lunged forward, causing his neck to collide with his opponent's chin. The latter grabbed his jaw, tears streaming down his face as he stumbled backward. The young man, who had delivered the decisive blow to his front attacker, rubbed his neck with a wince.

Tap, tap, tap

Realizing the one behind him was rapidly closing in, the brave youth crouched slowly, his gaze fixed on the rear. Two breaths later, he propelled his right foot backward with speed and force, his heel slamming into the groin of the unfortunate assailant, who couldn’t stop his momentum.

A muffled cry escaped the boy's lips as he stumbled forward a few steps, his face turning bright red as he groaned and writhed in visible pain.

Standing above his two fallen attackers, the young man dusted off his hands. After the brief scuffle, he was covered in dirt and scratches. As he assessed his injuries and the tears in his clothing made of woven vines, he noticed someone approaching in the distance. In that moment, his emerald eyes betrayed a mix of panic and shame.

"Adonis, you’ve been fighting again. You promised me it wouldn’t happen after last time. And today of all days... today!"

Adonis, chastised for his actions by the person before him, suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment. He began to stammer, quickly stepping away from the two groaning figures on the ground, as if to deny involvement, and joined the girl standing several paces away.

"Listen, Hera… look, actually… you see, I didn’t… they provoked me, so… no, that’s not it… they attacked me, and there were two of them… so… you get it, right?"

As he fumbled for words, Adonis moved closer to Hera, gesturing wildly as though attempting to explain the situation, but failing to find the right phrasing.

"So, you’re trying to tell me that those two idiots forced you to fight them with just words? You know perfectly well they wouldn’t have had the guts to attack you directly."

Adonis gazed into the void, seemingly searching for a justification to offer.

"They were mocking me. They kept saying that since you’re leaving for the outer lands, I’d end up alone and that I don’t belong here."

She listened to his explanation with half an ear before replying, "You can’t always resort to violence whenever something upsets you. I just hope it won’t come back to haunt you someday."

For some reason, Adonis seemed amused by the thought, letting a faint, mischievous smile cross his lips. "I wonder what could possibly happen."

Seeing his stubbornness, Hera decided to change the subject.

"You missed the lesson. Madame Iris ended early today; it seems she wanted to get home before the veils of the sky grew dark."

Madame Iris was one of the instructors for the novice warriors, tasked with teaching the youth the legends of the past. It was widely believed that history and ancient myths were crucial for the mental development of new initiates. Thus, the Course of Origins held equal importance to lessons on hunting, fishing, and crafting though it was considered less vital than Wild Intuition training.

"That old woman just keeps telling us the same stories every session. I bet she repeated the one about how we all descend from the Strangers and that the veils of the sky are a gift from God to shield us from the flames above."

Most of Madame Iris’s lessons revolved around the origin of the tribe. According to her teachings, the first human in their land was a Stranger who, guided by God, crossed the waters with his companion to escape the golden light that, in those times, scorched their skin. As the story went, upon their arrival, God caused the mountain of fire to erupt, scaring off the Golden Light that pursued humanity. This event birthed the veils of the sky, tasked with protecting humans from the Golden Light. Afterward, humanity began its life on this new land, expanding its tribe over centuries.

Adonis and Hera walked along the path back home. The trail was wide, its ground littered with stones of various types. Some were greenish gray and reflective, while others were black and emitted a strong odor. Trees of varying heights some twice and others five times Adonis’s size lined the path. As they walked, Adonis kicked at the stones with his feet.

"She just repeats the same stories over and over," he grumbled. "She keeps talking about the Strangers and those who chose to venture out after the initiation ritual. And when I say it’s more important to stay and take care of the tribe, she and the others laugh at me. They keep saying that since I look like some of the Strangers described in the books, I should just leave after my ritual."

In Adonis’s tribe, everyone had pale, almost translucent skin, a result of the cloud cover called the veils of the sky that shrouded the region and allowed only the rays of the moon to reach them.

Adonis, for his part, had always stood out since birth due to his darker skin tone a shade so much deeper than anyone else's that it set him apart clearly. This difference had earned him endless mockery from his peers.

"You’re the only one who treats me normally, without caring about my skin color," Adonis thought as he held Hera’s hand to help her cross a stream blocking their path.

"Don’t think that justifies you fighting today," Hera retorted. "You made me a promise, especially for today: no fighting on my birthday. Do you remember?"

Hera was celebrating her 20th birthday that day according to the calendar of the Strangers, which in the tribe was considered the age of maturity. The day after their 20th birthday, each novice was given the choice: to evolve into a warrior for the men and a craftswoman for the women, or to leave the tribe to explore the world beyond the deep waters also known as the Land of Strangers, as described in the tribe’s history books. This ceremony was called the Ritual of Initiation.

"Besides," Hera continued, puffing out her cheeks with air in a mock pout, "you’re wrong. She didn’t just tell us the same story again. Today, she shared a tale she claimed came from a secret collection of a Stranger. That’s why the session ended earlier than usual. Do you want to know what it was about? Hmm, do you?"

"Of course, I want to know," Adonis thought, "even though I’m almost sure it’s just another story about a place full of glowing horses that produce mist and where more than two people can sit together. Or maybe about birds bigger than men that don’t need to flap their wings to stay aloft."

They were nearing the end of the path they were walking. In front of them was a fork where the trail no longer continued straight but split into two routes one to the left and one to the right.

To the left, the path delved deeper into the vegetation. The trees grew taller and denser, and the ground became rougher. This was the direction of Adonis’s home. The right path, by contrast, led to a more populated area. The route there was better maintained, with shorter or neatly trimmed trees lining the way.

Adonis glanced left and right before stopping in front of Hera. He pulled her close, tilted her chin up with his hand, and as she looked directly into his eyes, he leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"You’ll tell me the stories from Madame Iris tonight at the Fire Mountain. I’ll come get you after the hunt with Grandpa. I’ll even bring back a piece for your mother."

Hera listened to him as she ran her hands over his face, occasionally brushing against his scratches, causing him to grimace. "Take care of yourself, Adonis," she said before pressing her lips to his. Then, with the eyes of villagers on her, she took the path to the right and left.

The village where they lived was akin to a hamlet, modest in size with a community of just under a thousand people. Men and women had distinct roles. The men became warriors tasked with hunting and providing food for their families and the clan. Clan organized hunts for communal needs rewarded participants with contribution points. These points could later be exchanged for various items, such as tools, labor, goods, and even, occasionally, the right to marry a specific partner.

The women, meanwhile, maintained the clan’s balance. They managed all aspects of crafting, from clothing for the tribe to furnishing the homes. They also took charge of educating young children and were responsible for raising future warriors until they reached the age of ten, according to the Strangers’ calendar.

Adonis, taking the left path, walked in silence, lost in thought: Why do some have to leave the clan to seek adventure after the Initiation Ritual? Wouldn’t it make more sense to stay and help the clan grow? Some don’t even have the choice to stay if they want to or leave if they wish; the clan forces their decision on them. I don’t want Hera to leave. Soon it’ll be my turn for the ritual, and I’m sure the clan will want me to leave for the lands beyond the deep waters, even though it’s not what I want at all. His face grew more troubled as he walked.

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"Good evening, Mother," Adonis said to the woman seated in a rocking chair, weaving cotton wool with her hands.

"Adonis, my dear, you’re home much earlier than usual. Have you skipped class again?!" she asked, looking him straight in the eyes. It was as though she was trying to discern whether her eldest son was lying.

Adonis smiled at his mother. She wasn’t very tall, with a sturdy build. Though she was seated and knitting, she was now gazing intently at her son, and Adonis felt as though his soul was under scrutiny. There was no one more important or formidable than the women of the clan. They had nurtured and trained the young warriors until they became accomplished men and even after that. While the school took over when boys turned ten according to the Strangers’ calendar, these women continued to discipline them at home while the fathers were away hunting or fishing. How could anyone simplify or diminish their role? They were the very essence of the clan, and Adonis held his mother in the highest regard, even in his rebellious phase.

He kept smiling as he replied: "No, no, no… Madame Iris ended class early today, so I came home to visit Grandpa."

Only after hearing her eldest’s response and observing him a little longer did she lower her head to focus on the wool in her hands. Her name was Solatricia, and she was known as one of the most respected women in the clan, even though she wasn’t part of the council.

Adonis exhaled deeply as he entered the house. It was built of straw and clay, measuring about 1,300 square feet. The dining area was as large as the two bedrooms combined. The dining room had clay walls adorned with mounted animal heads. This practice, common across most homes, was a display of the man of the house’s skill and strength.

Adonis passed through the main room, walking by a dozen mounted heads of varying sizes, heading toward the bedroom he shared with his brother. Inside, there were two straw beds covered with thick woolen fabrics stuffed with fragrant green leaves. The room’s walls displayed four mounted animal heads three were small, but one was of medium size.

He removed his tattered clothes and, after examining his body, donned an outfit resembling armor. It was made of padded fabric around the hips and reinforced with tree bark. The sleeves were crafted from highly durable yet flexible vines. His pants combined bark along the thighs and legs, interspersed with vines around the knees.

Adonis stepped out of the house after changing, passing by his mother, who still had cotton wool in her hands. No one knew what she was knitting. Adonis walked a few steps, then turned to look at his mother before asking:

"Mother, what do we call the sleeping room?"

She smiled at him and replied: "A bedroom. The large room is the living room, and the sleeping room is the bedroom."

"A bedroom…" Adonis repeated the word in his mind before turning to leave. As he did, he heard behind him: "Take care of yourself."

Without turning back, he replied curtly: "As always." Then he disappeared into the forest ahead.

In the clan, it was customary to display hunting trophies in personal spaces, as it contributed to one’s prestige and, by extension, to the family’s. Fathers would hang mounted animals in the living room, while young warriors displayed their trophies in their bedrooms. At Adonis’s age, young men often participated in hunts but were primarily assistants rather than main actors, typically having one or two trophies in their rooms. Adonis, however, was an exception.

He continued walking through the forest, his thoughts scattered and fleeting, until he came across a hut covered in vines that blended almost seamlessly with the surroundings.

Ssshhhh.

Adonis, who had been walking steadily, suddenly stopped and dove into a pile of leaves to his right. A swift object had just passed through the space where his head had been moments before.

Swoosh.

Another arrow embedded itself in the ground as Adonis rolled to his feet and dashed toward the hut. The sound of arrows cutting through the air ceased. The only sounds left were the chirping of birds and the hum of nearby insects.

"Good evening, Grandmother," he said to the elderly woman seated in front of the hut, her face alight with amusement.

"Either you’ve gotten much faster, or Grandpa is truly losing his precision," she replied with a grin.

Her eyes took in the young man before her—a boy with very dark skin that was still distinguishable in dim lighting. His emerald green eyes, semi long hair tied back, and smooth, rounded face gave him an air of quiet confidence. His medium build and pronounced musculature complemented his long hands, which were wrapped in vines. On his back hung a bow.

Adonis approached the elderly woman and asked: "Is there a name for the pile of grass I hid behind earlier?"

"Yes, Adonis," she replied. "It’s called a bush."

Once again, he repeated the new word in his head before crouching in front of the woman and kissing her hand. She patted his face and hair, removing bits of leaves stuck in it, when a man emerged silently from the shadows behind her.

Chh chh.

His steps were light, almost imperceptible. As the elderly woman continued to clean the leaves off the boy’s jet black hair, the older man drew closer, stopping less than ten paces away.

"Grandpa, you almost got me again today," Adonis said, his guard never once dropping. He had detected and deciphered the faint sound of approaching footsteps.

Thanks to his grandfather, regarded in the clan as one of the best hunters, Adonis had experienced the nuances of hunting from a very young age. Over the years, he had honed his senses and survival instincts, evident in the four trophies displayed in his bedroom. In reality, he had slightly more trophies than that, but some things were better left unseen by others.

Adonis had been born with a distinctive trait his dark skin. Because of this uniqueness, he had been ostracized by his peers, a reflection of human nature. Yet his innate characteristics extended far beyond his skin tone, amplifying his singularity even further.

"Adonis, grab the quiver behind you and follow me. I’ve already located today’s prey," said Grandpa, and Adonis complied without hesitation.

"Nanfaros, don’t forget to return before the fourth call of the cuckoo," the elderly woman, Rutheléa, called after them.

Nanfaros nodded as he disappeared into the vegetation, with Adonis following closely behind.

Adonis, who had a naturally brisk pace, paused after a few steps and shouted back to Rutheléa: "What do you call a bag full of arrows?"

"That’s called a quiver," Rutheléa replied with a smile, unsurprised in the slightest.

As he repeated the word in his mind, Adonis ran to catch up with Nanfaros.

The two walked for hundreds of steps, occasionally turning left or right at a steady yet brisk pace. They crossed a line of tree trunks arranged like spikes, their ends indistinguishable. Adonis had long known that this marked the boundary of the village. Up to this point, the territory was regularly patrolled and cleared, which was why they hadn’t encountered any dangerous animals. But beyond this line of trees, they would need to tread carefully. The deeper they ventured, the greater the risk of encountering misfortune.

Nanfaros, leading the way, glanced back occasionally to check on Adonis’s condition. They had already walked several thousand steps, with hundreds beyond the tree line.

Chip chip chip.

Hearing a peculiar noise ahead in the forest, Nanfaros instinctively crouched. Looking back, he saw that Adonis had already notched an arrow and was poised to shoot.

Amid the deep shadows of the forest, a ‘red fox’ moved gracefully, its sleek coat glistening faintly in the scattered light filtering through the leaves. The coppery reflections in the darkness suggested a creature perfectly adapted to the art of nocturnal camouflage.

The fox's eyes, sharp and keen, caught even the faintest glimmers of light. They shone like emeralds in the darkness, adding an enigmatic allure to its presence. Its triangular ears stood alert, tuned to the slightest sounds of the forest.

At the edge of the shadows, the fox weaved its way forward, its bushy tail swaying with subtle grace. Its movements, though swift and agile, carried the silent elegance that marked it as a true nocturnal predator. One could almost imagine it dancing to the secret rhythm of the night a master of ceremonies in the dark theater of the forest.

From behind the tip of an arrowhead almost indistinguishable from its natural surroundings, Adonis watched this spectacle in silence. He faced his prey, and if he didn’t want to become prey himself, he had to be meticulous. The hunt of the day was a fox hunt. He concealed himself in a bush, making as little movement as possible. With his arrow notched, he looked at Nanfaros. At a subtle signal from the latter, Adonis let his arrow fly.

Swoosh.

The fox, which had momentarily turned its head toward its hidden hunters, seemed to sense an anomaly. For a fleeting instant, the glint of the arrow was reflected in its eyes as it raced toward its neck. With a sudden leap, the animal dodged. The arrow, initially aimed at its neck, embedded itself deeply into its left hind leg. Blood spurted from the wound, staining the ground as the arrow lodged itself firmly.

Ziip... ziip.

Two more arrows followed in quick succession but missed their mark. The fox, now prepared and despite its injury, wasn’t about to give up its life so easily.

Even though he had missed his primary target, Adonis wasn’t discouraged. He had managed to hinder his prey. The fox was known for its great agility and speed, so injuring its leg was still an accomplishment he could take pride in. The real hunt was just beginning.

Raaaarrrrr.

The fox, roaring in pain, began to run. Arrows whizzed through the air, narrowly missing the final blow. At one point, it stopped, turned its head toward its pierced leg, and bared its teeth. With sharp fangs, it bit and twisted the visible part of the arrow lodged in its flesh. At that moment, another arrow struck the tree trunk behind which the fox had taken refuge.

Swoosh.

The fox darted off again, weaving through the forest edge, but this time its speed seemed greater. Nanfaros and Adonis, who had been running since the beginning, were starting to breathe heavily, while the animal’s pace grew even faster.

Adonis handed his quiver to Nanfaros and drew a dagger from beneath his vine armor. He clenched it between his teeth and sprinted after the animal.

Crunch-crunch-crunch...

Each stride struck the ground with power. Adonis had always been known for his exceptional physical capabilities, which, combined with his striking appearance, often drew scorn from his peers. He was chasing an animal no human could rival in speed, but the fox bled with every step. Whether it wanted to or not, the arrowhead embedded in its leg greatly reduced its mobility.

Adonis caught up with the animal with great difficulty in the forest, where darkness prevailed and light barely illuminated the path. The two emerald-eyed beings became locked in a test of speed. Adonis was only ten steps behind the fox when it abruptly veered left. It continued its frantic run, occasionally changing direction. The gap between them widened and narrowed as time passed.

Eventually, as the animal’s injury began to take a greater toll, Adonis grabbed the dagger he had kept in his mouth, saliva dripping. With a swift, decisive motion, he hurled the dagger just as the fox prepared to change direction again. The blade struck its abdomen, tearing a large, jagged wound.

A roar echoed through the forest. Realizing its state, the fox turned around and charged at its assailant. Its muzzle was open, its emerald eyes now bloodshot and filled with rage. The contrast against the dark environment was both stunning and macabre a haunting display.

It closed the distance to Adonis rapidly. Adonis, now holding his bow, prepared to face the assault.

Swoosh.

Like a distant echo reverberating through the forest, an arrow appeared in the blink of an eye, piercing the fox’s head just three steps from Adonis. The animal died instantly, its crimson blood spraying and staining Adonis.

The hunt was over.