The ancient soul and the young child

Then it happened.

A burst of flame ripped through the trees—loud, violent, blinding. For a second, Solen thought the sun had lost its damn mind and decided to crash straight into the forest.

His first instinct? Monster.

His second? Run.

His third, unfortunately, was squinting through the light like an idiot.

The ground cracked under the heat. The air shimmered. Every instinct in Solen screamed danger—but when he managed to see past the glare, what he found wasn't claws or fangs or shadow.

It was her.

Amana.

She stood at the center of it all, completely still—glowing like the end of the world.

Her golden eyes burned—brighter than before. So bright, in fact, Solen couldn't tell if it was the sun lighting up the forest…

…or just her.

For a split second, he forgot to breathe.

He wanted to kill her.

That wasn't a joke. It wasn't spite. It was just a fact—a quiet, smoldering truth he kept buried behind his sarcasm and fear.

But watching that golden light flare around her, seeing the raw power twist the air itself—he realized something else.

That dream?

Pathetic.

He wasn't a threat. Not now. Not for a long, long time.

And somehow, that didn't scare him.

It fascinated him.

He wasn't weak. He knew that much. Even the toughest back home—the men who trained in snow and blood—had never looked like this.

She wasn't just strong.

She was something else.

But there was no time to think.

Because this was it.

The first real fight.

And Solen?

He was about to see it—raw, unscripted, and terrifying—from just a few feet away.

She drew her sword—so fast, he didn't see it.

One heartbeat, her hand was at her side.

The next, the blade was out.

Blazing.

It didn't just reflect the sunlight.

It devoured it.

Bent it.

Turned it molten.

The steel burned like the core of a dying star.

And then it clicked.

She could imbue heat.

Even the monster hesitated.

The light from her blade split the clearing in two—revealing the thing hiding inside.

Solen froze.

It was huge.

No—monstrous. The size of a house, at least. Maybe bigger.

Its fur was pitch black, so dark it seemed to drink the light pouring off her sword. The two forces clashed in the air, light and void folding over each other like oil and water.

Thick strands of drool hung from its jaw, sizzling when they hit the earth.

Solen gagged.

Even Amana grimaced.

How the hell had he not seen this thing earlier?

Moments ago, it was part of the shadows. Now, even the shadows seemed to shrink away from it.

And still—

She stood there.

Unshaken.

Her sword burned like the sun.

Solen narrowed his eyes, squinting through the light.

At first, it looked like a wolf.

But the longer he stared, the more it unraveled.

Its face twisted between a lion's snarl and a tiger's glare—like something had stitched every apex predator into one skin and then broke the mold.

It wasn't natural.

It wasn't right.

It didn't belong in this world.

And still, it stood there—dripping, breathing, waiting.

Solen felt his lungs tighten.

Not from fear.

From something else.

Resolve.

One day, he'd walk through this forest without flinching.

They would fear him.

He'd flood these cursed woods. Drown every shadow.

He wasn't going to run anymore.

He didn't know what changed—didn't care.

But watching Amana glow like the sun…

While that thing loomed like a sick, bloated moon…

Something cracked open inside him.

And for the first time in a long time—

he burned.

The beast lunged.

Its claws—each as long as Solen's arm—sliced through the air like guillotines.

Amana moved.

A blur.

Too fast.

Still, the strike grazed her shoulder plate with a metallic screech, peeling silver from steel.

She didn't even flinch.

No stumble. No cry.

She just rose—slowly, deliberately—her sword lifted like a banner of judgment.

And this time, it didn't just glow.

It burned.

She swung once.

Just once.

And the world broke.

A flash—white and searing—swallowed the clearing.

The trees didn't catch fire.

They didn't shatter.

They withered.

Like old paper left in the sun too long.

Like corpses forgotten by time.

Then came the smell.

Solen gagged again—harder this time.

Because the trees weren't just trees.

As their husks crumbled, something slick oozed out of the bark.

Thick. Viscous. Darker than pitch.

It pulsed. Twitched. Like it was breathing.

Like it was watching.

Solen stumbled back. His stomach turned to ice.

He didn't know what it was—but every cell in his body screamed the same thing:

Don't touch it. Don't breathe near it. Don't even look.

It didn't feel cursed.

It felt worse.

Like it could rot your soul just by existing.

Amana's blade cleaved through the beast's leg like it was wet paper.

No resistance. No sound but flesh tearing.

Solen froze.

That wasn't just power.

It was absolute.

Final. Inevitable.

She could kill him.

Not with effort.

Not with rage.

Just… because she could.

And yet—her strength didn't feel cold.

Didn't feel cruel.

It felt warm.

Radiant.

Beautiful, in the way a sunrise can be beautiful even when it blinds you.

And for a brief, terrifying moment, Solen understood something he couldn't explain.

If death ever came for him—

if fate ever demanded it—

he wouldn't run.

Not from her.

He'd meet her blade with open eyes.

And he wouldn't mind.

The beast staggered—

but didn't fall.

It caught itself and lunged back, eyes ablaze.

Not with instinct. Not with survival.

With fury.

Unfiltered. Writhing. Maddened.

It was chaos made flesh.

And she—

she was the opposite.

Amana stood still, unmoved.

Composed.

Silent.

Calm as water.

Solen swallowed hard.

But I'm the one who's supposed to control water, he thought bitterly.

So why… why does it feel like it answers to her instead?

That thought twisted something deep inside him.

Something ugly.

He didn't just envy her.

He resented her.

More than the beast.

This time, she moved.

Amana lunged first—her blade crashing against the beast's claws with a deafening crack that shook the trees.

Solen flinched. His ears rang.

The monster didn't budge.

It leaned in, snarling—its twisted face inches from hers, eyes burning with madness.

But Amana didn't blink.

Her face was stone. Cold.

Unbothered.

Like even this—this nightmare—was beneath her notice.

Then it happened.

The beast's claws began to shimmer—distorting, darkening—like reality itself was bending around them.

Solen's breath hitched.

The claws slipped through her blade.

Not around. Not past. Through.

Straight for her chest.

She jumped back—fast.

But not fast enough.

There was a soft, awful gasp.

Hers.

And the light in her sword flickered.

Solen knew what had just happened.

And it was ugly.

The claws hadn't just torn through her armor.

They'd pierced deeper.

They'd touched her soul.

His stomach turned.

He'd read about things like this—whispers buried in old records, tales told in hushed voices.

Soul damage. Real soul damage.

Not even the worst beasts from the old legends were said to wield that kind of power.

It wasn't just rare.

It was forbidden.

Wrong.

And this thing had done it like it was nothing.

Like it wasn't even trying.

Her olive skin began to glow—brighter, almost blinding.

Blood spilled from her lips.

Wounds tore open across her body, one after another, as if invisible blades were carving her apart.

Then—something shifted.

The flames that had danced along her sword reversed course, snapping back toward her like they'd been summoned.

The sword dimmed.

She began to burn.

Not with fire.

Not with light.

But with something else.

She wasn't just radiating heat anymore.

She was the heat.

A star wrapped in silver.

And as Solen stared, wide-eyed, the wounds began to close—

slowly at first, then faster, like time itself was bending around her.

His jaw hit the floor.

Literally.

She dropped her sword.

No hesitation. No pause.

She lunged—bare-handed.

The beast didn't even have time to react.

Her fist slammed into its face.

The impact didn't just hit.

It ripped.

Tore through bone.

Took half its skull with it.

The monster collapsed—hard—like a puppet with its strings severed.

Dead.

Solen didn't move. Couldn't.

His thoughts stuttered, caught between awe and dread.

She was beyond him.

Not in strength. Not in speed.

In everything.

They weren't just different.

They were opposites.

He was water—hesitant, shifting, always adapting.

She was fire—pure force, uncompromising.

Even the way they fought made it obvious.

His fear was a ripple.

Her fury was a detonation.

Then it hit him.

That feeling.

That same feeling.

He'd only felt it twice before.

Once, after drinking that pitch-black liquid from his grandmother's hands.

And now—watching Amana.

Someone was going to kill the other.

Not if.

When.

And somehow… the thought didn't feel wrong.

It felt inevitable.

Almost holy.