Rogg stood at the edge of a steep cliff, eyes fixed on the vast valley stretching below. His gaze shifted suddenly to a thin wisp of smoke curling in the distance.
"Is that… fire?" he muttered.
Without hesitation, he took a deep breath and shouted, "Heeey! Is anyone there?! Hey! Whoever you are!"
His voice echoed, then vanished into the mountain wind. No answer. Only the cry of a raptor circling high above his head. Rogg called again, louder this time, with rising desperation.
"HEY! HEEEEY!!! If you can hear me… please, answer!"
Still, only silence replied.
He clenched his fists and calmed his breath. "Two days, at best," he murmured, eyeing the steep path winding through dry trees and slick, rain-soaked stones.
He let go of the trail he had been following and set his focus on the direction of the smoke.
A long spear was strapped to his back. A tiger-hide belt wrapped around his waist, securing the Heraxes knife on his right side. With steady steps, he descended the hillside, circling slippery rock paths still wet from last night's rain.
Years had passed since the mountain eruption. Since he lost Robb. But there was no body, no grave. And that… was enough to keep hope alive.
"I know you're still out there… somewhere," he whispered.
He moved swiftly, cutting through underbrush and stepping over massive tree roots. Rain began to fall again, slowly turning heavy—but Rogg was used to it. For him, rain was no enemy. It masked the scent of his body from predators.
For years, he had become part of this wilderness. He fought, endured, and learned. Every scar was a teacher. Every night spent in darkness was training. He had fought swamp lions, taken down a boa the length of a tree—and even...
"That tiger…" he whispered, recalling the most brutal fight he had ever faced.
A giant, ancient tiger—six times his size—had leapt from the bushes, roaring and slashing his shoulder. Its claws struck his chest and sent him flying across the ground.
"ARGHH!!"
He collapsed, nearly unconscious. But his mind stayed sharp. He gripped the Heraxes knife with a trembling hand, waiting. And when the beast growled and pounced—
"Now!"
With his last strength, he plunged the blade into the beast's belly. It pierced the thick hide and struck the heart. The tiger thrashed, snarling—then fell limp. In its final breath, it locked eyes with Rogg.
"It's over… you can rest now," Rogg whispered, placing his bloodied hand gently over its eyes.
Back in the present, the rain pounded harder. Rogg pressed on, crossing a stream that had turned into a raging torrent. He followed a faint trail winding between tangled roots.
"Why is the smoke fading?" he muttered, glancing up. Dark clouds swallowed the last light of day. Thunder cracked in the distance.
He lifted his face to the sky, rain washing over him. "Wait for me, Robb... If that was really you... I'm coming!"
Water flooded the path. Rogg was exhausted. His breath came in gasps. Mud clung to his legs up to the knees.
"No... I can't stop now…" he muttered, half-speaking to himself.
He looked back, then forward again. Thick fog swallowed everything. The smoke he had seen... was gone.
"No way... not after coming this far..." he said through gritted teeth.
Rogg dropped to the ground, sitting between the roots of a tree. He slammed the earth with his fist.
"Was it all for nothing?!"
But after a moment of silence, he looked up. His face was soaked with rain and tears.
"No. It's not over. I'm not done yet."
He stood. Though his body trembled with fatigue, his spirit remained unshaken. He climbed higher, toward the northern ridge, hoping that from above, he might catch sight of the smoke again.
Night fell. The fog thickened. Cold wind howled from the west. But Rogg stood on a large boulder, scanning the distance. No smoke. No light. Only dark forest and the sound of rain.
He hugged himself against the cold. But there was no thought of turning back. Not tonight. He built a small shelter from branches and wide leaves, lit a tiny fire, and lay down.
Before closing his eyes, he stared at the sky.
"If you're out there, Robb… say something. Give me a sign… just once."
No answer came.
But Rogg knew. At dawn, he'd head back down again. He hadn't given up. As long as he could walk, as long as his eyes could see... the search wasn't over.
The forest was silent—but silence didn't mean safety.
To Rogg, silence meant danger.
He moved slowly between the massive roots snaking across the ground. His body was lean and hardened by sun and scars. His face was carved with resolve. A long, sharp spear hung across his back, and at his side, the Heraxes knife passed down from his father.
Rogg had long since become part of the forest—like the tiger, the crocodile, the snakes slithering beneath the leaves.
He was no longer the boy who ran from death.
He was the hunter. The predator.
And perhaps... the last human alive—or so he believed.
But that day felt different.
He saw a new trail of smoke, thin and steady, rising in the distance.
"There's someone… again?" he whispered, eyes lighting up.
Quickly, he built a fire and sent up a signal column of smoke. "If anyone sees this… I hope they're brave enough to approach—or kind enough not to attack, if it's not Robb," he muttered.
Every five kilometers, he repeated the ritual: a stack of wood, dry leaves, fire… and hope.
Suddenly, a strange sound echoed from the distance.
"Viu… viu… fulu… fulu…"
Rogg froze. That wasn't any bird he knew.
"That's not a natural sound… It's a signal," he thought.
Without warning—Brukk!—a wooden spear flew toward him at high speed. He ducked on instinct.
"What the—?!"
Footsteps. Closing in.
Rogg reached for his spear.
He was ready.
Then, from the bushes, they emerged—one by one.
Ten men. Armed. Spears, knives, clubs. Their bodies were muscular, but rough. Wavy red hair. Sun-darkened skin. Bluish eyes. Unfamiliar faces—and none of them friendly.
Rogg eyed them, ready for a fight.
"Hhhh—" His breath was heavy.
"Who are you...?" he muttered, knowing they wouldn't answer.
One of them raised his spear. The others spread out, flanking him on both sides.
"Don't do this…" Rogg hissed. "I don't want to fight…"
But they kept closing in.
The first strike came fast. Rogg leapt back, dodging it. He drew his bone bow from his back and fired an arrow—intentionally missing.
"Idiots," he muttered with a grin.
He knew that in close quarters, sharp weapons mattered more. He dashed into the thickets, luring them into tighter ground.
One man managed to catch up.
"ARGHH!"
Rogg ambushed him, locking his arms around the man's throat until he passed out. "One down…"
He ran again. Two of them stopped to help their fallen friend, but the others kept chasing.
After several grueling minutes of cat-and-mouse through dense brush, Rogg found himself cornered—at the edge of a cliff.
He glanced down—a steep drop.
"No… too deep," he whispered. "Not an option."
Five men now stood before him, spears aimed at his chest. Rogg looked at each of them, straight in the eye.
"If I surrender… will you stop?"
He threw his spear to the ground. Then slowly removed the knife from his belt and laid it down as well.
"Take it," he said softly. "I don't want to fight."
But they kept advancing.
One of them swung a club toward his head. THUD!
Rogg staggered. Blood dripped down his temple. He winced—but stayed on his feet.
"I told you… I don't want to fight…"
They circled him again. One raised his spear. Rogg braced to dodge—even as the world around him began to spin.
Then—suddenly—a voice rang out.
"HOOOOOOOIIIIIIIIIIII!!!"
Everyone froze. The yell echoed loud from beyond the trees. Heads turned.
A foreign language followed. It wasn't a dialect Rogg recognized—but the tone was commanding.
Rogg took advantage of the moment to step back, catching his breath. His body trembled.
The hunters lowered their heads. The voice came from a large man stepping out from the trees, flanked by eight others. He wore a thick cloak made of animal hide, with a strange pendant hanging across his chest.
He stared at Rogg. Said nothing. Just gestured with his hand.
The men who had attacked now lowered their weapons. They moved toward Rogg—not to strike—but to tie his hands and feet.
Rogg didn't resist. Not this time.
In silence, he looked at their leader.
"Who are you...? And... why didn't you kill me...?" he whispered.
No reply came. But one thing was clear—Rogg's life had been spared.
Not out of mercy—
But because he was meant for something far greater than just a simple fight.