Sunlight pierced the canopy in thin golden beams, dancing through the leaves like gentle fingers reaching for him. A cool breeze rustled the grass, carrying the scent of wildflowers and damp earth.

  Ryo stirred beneath the old moonlit tree, blinking slowly.

  No tears.

  No screams.

  Just stillness.

  His fur was stiff from dried sweat and dirt. His clothes — or what little was left of the orphanage rags — were tattered and clinging to him like a second skin. His small claws flexed in the soil, feeling the pulse of the world beneath him.

  The world hadn’t changed.

  But something inside him had.

  His mind wasn’t tangled anymore. His chest didn’t ache like it was caving in. The grief was still there, a deep wound beneath the surface, but no longer raw.

  It had become fuel.

  He sat up slowly, gazing at the sunrise. The light bathed the horizon in hues of fire and honey. It was beautiful. Cruel, almost, that the world could still be this beautiful after so much had died the night before.

  But he understood now.

  He wasn’t meant to live for them.

  He was meant to survive for himself.

  No crowns. No kings. No pity. No kingdom-made cages.

  He would live free. Wild. Honestly.

  The First Day Begins.

  His stomach growled like a wild beast. Right. Survival.

  He began exploring the nearby cliffs. It was slow work, one paw in front of the other, sniffing, watching, listening. His senses were sharper than any human’s. Every shift in the wind told him a story. Every broken branch or animal track left clues.

  He found a patch of sourberries hidden in thorny bushes. Tart, but edible. A few mushrooms growing in the shade, he remembered Granny’s voice warning about the speckled ones. He left those alone.

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  Later, he spotted a trio of critters, rabbit-like things with antlers, darting between trees. They were too fast for him now. But he’d remember.

  The forest wasn’t just a place to hide.

  It was a place to become.

  By noon, Ryo had scouted a small creek where the water sang over smooth stones. He drank deeply, washed his face, and splashed the grime from his fur. The cold bite of the stream reminded him: he was alive. Not just surviving. Breathing.

  Near the edge of the cliff, a massive tree had upturned over time, its roots twisting like a skeletal hand. It created a hollow underneath, dark, dry, shielded. He crawled inside and found it spacious enough for shelter. The perfect den.

  He gathered dry leaves. Branches. Rocks for marking territory.

  He even figured out how to crack nuts between two stones, though his paws ached afterward.

  He munched on a root that tasted like chalk and bad decisions and leaned back against the bark. The air was fresh. The breeze tasted like pine and moss.

  It wasn’t much.

  But it was his.

  The Question Returns.

  As he chewed, Ryo's mind wandered back to that moment.

  The portal.

  The ripple that cracked space itself.

  The way it opened like glass being shattered mid-air. Like the world had bent around him in the moment of purest fear.

  It wasn’t luck.

  It was him.

  His quirk.

  But what was it?

  Was it teleportation? Dimensional slipping? Or just one freak event triggered by trauma?

  He had to know.

  The Experiment.

  He stood in the clearing, grass brushing his ankles.

  He raised his paw, claws trembling slightly.

  And he focused.

  On the chase. The fear. The moment Granny screamed. The heat of the fire.

  He remembered running. The cracking noise. The flash of light.

  His breath hitched.

  He shouted into the sky—

  “Come on! I know you're there!”

  Nothing.

  No crackle. No light. No pulse.

  Just the wind.

  He tried again. And again. Focusing, straining, stomping the earth, throwing his weight into it like a broken engine trying to turn over. He mimicked the feeling of falling. Of breaking. Of being cornered.

  For a while, nothing happened.

  Then—

  Flick.

  A shimmer.

  Just a ripple. Like heat off a summer road. The space in front of him twitched.

  His heart skipped. “There!”

  He stepped forward, eyes wide. Focused again.

  This time, a thread of silver flickered like a hairline crack in the fabric of air.

  It vanished.

  But it was something.

  Discovery.

  He tried for hours.

  Flickers. Bends. Warps. A sliver of light bending like a ribbon in water.

  It was unstable. Raw. Like trying to light fire with wet sticks.

  But it was real.

  And most importantly, it was his.

  The Vow.

  Nightfall approached. The shadows grew longer. The forest, louder.

  But Ryo didn’t fear it.

  He returned to his shelter, curling up beneath the twisted roots with dried grass bundled beneath his head. His paws ached. His stomach growled. But his eyes were steady now.

  He stared out at the darkening sky.

  Somewhere out there, the kingdom still stood. Somewhere, the people who killed his family were still breathing. Somewhere, the laws that said he didn’t deserve to exist were still etched in books and blood.

  But he was still here, too.

  And tomorrow, he'd train harder.

  He would master the power within him even if it broke him a thousand times.

  Because Ryo van Hout wasn’t just a cursed child anymore.

  He was the beginning of something the world had no name for yet.

  To be continued...