The first light of dawn filtered weakly through the canopy, casting a pale glow over the forest floor. Tikshn lay slumped against the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, every breath a struggle. His wounds throbbed, hunger clawed at his insides, yet his grip never loosened on the sword resting across his lap. This blade was more than a weapon—it was his anchor to the path he had sworn to walk alone.
Unseen, the master observed from the shadows, his eyes tracing the lines of Tikshn's exhaustion and determination. The boy's defiance had stirred something within him—a spark he hadn't felt in many years.
After a long moment, the master stepped forward, his voice soft but steady. "You fight well, but strength alone will not see you through the murim."
Tikshn's eyes snapped open, muscles tensing as he reached instinctively for his sword's hilt. The master raised a hand, a sign of peace.
Without a word, the master reached into his satchel and tossed a small bundle of dried meat and fruits toward Tikshn. The food landed near his hands, a simple yet vital offering.
Tikshn hesitated, then broke the seal, gnawing at the food hungrily. His eyes never left the master, wary but unable to ignore the gesture.
"I will not offer you my teachings," the master said quietly, "but I will walk alongside you—for now. To see how far your will can carry you."
Tikshn studied the master's face, searching for deceit, for weakness, but found none. Slowly, he allowed his grip to relax, though his eyes remained wary.
"Why follow me?" Tikshn asked, voice hoarse.
"Because," the master replied, "it has been centuries since someone dared to refuse my guidance. You have chosen your path. I wish to see if you have the strength to walk it."
The forest around them stirred with life as the morning deepened. Together, master and disciple—though not by choice—rose to face the unknown.
Tikshn knew one thing for certain: his journey was only just beginning.