That day, a volcano erupted and a tsunami struck the island with tremendous force, shaking the continent of Blasic to its core. Amid the chaos of nature's fury, a small family was caught in a moment of extreme tension. The mother, exhausted and worn out, struggled to give birth. The father, filled with dread, felt the trembling earth and heard the growing roar of the approaching eruption.
Animals and plants stirred in panic, sensing an overwhelming threat of annihilation. It was as if every living thing could feel that the world itself was on the brink of ending. Yet amid the oppressive silence, the child was born—his cries echoing through the air, rising above the chaos like a declaration of his arrival, in perfect harmony with the earth's furious tremors.
The mother quickly slipped a glowing pendant around her baby's neck and gently wrapped him in thick swaddling cloth. She kissed his forehead and whispered, "Live by your own path," before handing him to the father. Eyes brimming with tears, the father held the child close and murmured, "Fortune lies at your feet. Your hands are your strength. Your head shall never bow," before placing the infant on a large rock nearby.
Moments later, the roar of the volcano intensified. Molten lava surged down the mountainside, destroying everything in its path with searing heat and falling debris. The parents, smiling through their tears, knew what was to come. They watched peacefully as the baby—whom they named Hope—was carried by the lava flow toward the distant, calm sea.
They surrendered their lives to nature, believing their child was something extraordinary—a symbol of life's eternal cycle, even amidst destruction.
Ten Years Later
A decade passed. The helpless infant had become something remarkable: a child so deeply attuned to the forest that he seemed to be part of it. He lived among towering trees, thundering rivers, and prowling beasts, yet he was no victim. He had become an untouchable force.
Predators that approached him rarely got the chance to strike. Whether by fortune or by something far greater, they perished before they could ever pose a threat. It was as if unseen hands shielded the boy—as if destiny itself had carved his path. The forest, in all its complexity, bowed before him. Trees whispered secrets, the wind carried messages from afar, and even stones seemed to speak. He understood the language of animals, plants, and even inanimate things. Nature taught him one lesson above all: balance. Every time he hunted or felled a tree, he would say, "Your death is my blessing."
One day, the normally tranquil forest turned into a battleground. Two jungle kings—a massive lion and a saber-toothed tiger—were locked in savage combat. Trees crashed down, undergrowth was torn apart, and the ground shook beneath their rage. Other animals fled in terror, but watched from afar, both awed and horrified by the clash of titans.
The lion and tiger fought for a single reason: dominance. Neither would yield, neither would share. Blood poured from their wounds, but neither backed down. It was a battle of pride, of supremacy.
Then the boy stepped out from the shadows.
He moved calmly, without fear, toward the raging beasts. His steps were slow, deliberate, and filled with authority. As he stood between them, the lion and the tiger—moments ago locked in a death match—froze. Their eyes met his, and in an instant, they bowed their heads.
In a voice both quiet and commanding, he said, "No matter how much blood you spill, neither of you will reign while I stand here. This forest belongs to no one."
As if understanding his words, the beasts slowly turned away. They vanished into the forest's depths, leaving behind silence and awe.
The creatures that had witnessed the scene were stunned. None dared move. His presence was a force in itself—a pressure that radiated through every corner of the jungle. Even the trees seemed to bow in reverence.
And yet, though feared and respected, the boy never asked for worship. He sought no followers, no servants. He lived solely for himself. But wielding such power came at a price. Every creature he encountered—be it animal, plant, or stone—spoke to him. They begged, complained, or chattered endlessly. It often drove him mad.
"Why must I hear all of this?" he once muttered, kicking a small rock that, of course, tried to speak back.
At times, a darker side of him would emerge. A young deer crossing his path with its mother could spark his predatory instincts. He would topple a massive tree just to make a more comfortable bed. Though he understood their voices, he didn't always care. The forest was his home, and he would take what he needed.
His name became legend—not just in the forest, but across the seas of the Blasic continent. Animals spoke of him in tones of fear and awe. Trees swayed in his presence as if bowing. He was part of nature, yet something far beyond. He was the reminder that in the heart of chaos, there could be balance—though it may come in an unpredictable, untamed form.
Yet behind it all, the boy was just a human being—trying to survive in a world that was harsh and unforgiving. And though he appeared strong, there was one thing he could never ignore: the silence that relentlessly followed his every step.
Inside him, perhaps, lingered a deep yearning for something the forest could never provide—a bond, a family, maybe even a purpose. But for now, he was a crownless ruler, one who lived and died by his own path.
He never stayed in one place for long. From forest to forest, island to island, he wandered across the remote archipelagos surrounding the main continent of Blasic. To him, distance was never a barrier; solitude was all he sought. Yet in his solitude, there were creatures that became his closest companions—not merely for company, but as his means of travel and trusted guardians. The greatest of them was Bora, a colossal turtle who had been part of his life since birth.
Their story began with a miracle: the cradle of rock that held him as a newborn drifted with molten lava into the sea and, by fate or magic, landed gently on Bora's shell. From that moment on, the child lived atop Bora, sharing everything with her. She fed him from the abundance of nature and kept him safe through the wild's cruelest seasons. For the first three years of his life, Bora raised him as a mother would her own.
But Bora was more than a protector—she was a teacher. She tried to instill in him the values of good and evil, the meaning of actions and their consequences. Yet the child—whom she later named Zen—seemed to be blessed with unimaginable fortune. Zen carried a natural aura of dominance, allowing him to do anything he desired without concern for right or wrong.
Zen was exceptional: physically flawless, mentally sharp, and extraordinarily powerful. Nature and destiny seemed to converge in his small body. Even as a child, Bora understood—Zen was no ordinary human. The heavens and the earth conspired to protect him, and as long as he was nearby, no harm could come to Bora either. That's why she never saw herself as his guardian—she saw him as her master, the one soul she revered above all else.
Their bond was unspoken but unbreakable. Whenever Zen wished to travel to distant islands, Bora would always appear at the right moment, as if guided by an unerring instinct. Zen never had to summon her—she came of her own will. But even then, Zen never demanded anything of anyone—not even Bora. He was a free spirit, drawn only by the winds of fate and nature itself.
Bora understood this deeply. She never imposed her presence or expectations on Zen. Instead, she found joy in simply being there when he needed her most. That was the harmony between them—a connection that needed no words, only trust and mutual understanding.
Zen grew into a mysterious figure, a boy who inspired awe and fear in equal measure. With the force of nature woven into his being, he wasn't just a wanderer—he became a symbol of something far greater. With every step, Zen carried an aura of destiny strong enough to shake the world. And through it all, Bora remained faithfully by his side, a witness to the rise of a boy fated for greatness.
By the age of ten, Zen had traversed every sacred forest and remote island across the Blasic region. No one—not beast nor spirit—could stop his will or challenge his freedom. Zen was the only human ever known to roam that isolated realm. His name became legend among all the creatures of the continent. Despite his youth, every living being in Blasic saw him as a king. They would have knelt to him without hesitation.
But Zen had no sympathy to offer. He did not seek to lead or protect. He cared only for himself. The powerful admired him, while the weak feared the tyranny he might impose. Zen's nature was like day and night, sky and earth—opposite forces of equal magnitude.
Eventually, Zen grew bored with Blasic. He had encountered every creature the land had to offer—monstrous beasts, legendary animals, and ancient flora. There was no senseless conquest, no imbalance. Life in Blasic thrived under natural selection, with every being adapting and surviving. Even at ten, Zen understood this equilibrium perfectly.
When disputes broke out—like a lion and tiger clashing over forest territory—Zen intervened. His presence alone ended the fight. He once resolved a war between crocodiles and sharks over a river delta by declaring dolphins as the rightful rulers. Absurd as it seemed, both sides obeyed without question.
Yet something was missing. Zen longed to meet others of his kind—to speak their language, to understand human life. A longing that no beast or tree could satisfy.
And so, Zen made up his mind. He would leave Blasic.
He spent a day standing on the eastern shore, waiting for Bora. Creatures across the land sensed what was about to happen. They gathered at the beach, silent and reluctant to see him go. But none dared ask him to stay—the fear of his wrath was too great.
Zen, though calm, began to feel restless. Bora hadn't come. She couldn't bear to see him go, so she kept her distance—though she knew it would only make things worse.
"Boraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
Zen's voice shattered the silence like thunder across the heavens. Every creature nearby fled in fear. Never before had Zen shouted so furiously. His usual calm presence was already intimidating enough—now, with his fury unleashed, it felt as if the world itself had stopped. Everything turned still, cold, and silent.
Finally, Bora emerged from the shore, her massive frame trembling. She stepped cautiously toward her master.
"I'm sorry, Master," she said, her voice laced with fear. "This time, I had to defy your will. I don't want you to leave this continent."
"I don't care," Zen replied bluntly. "Since when have I ever followed anyone else's will? Is there something wrong with my purpose? Get ready. You may return after you take me across."
"But, Master—" Bora tried to speak again.
"Enough! Just get ready. I've made up my mind," Zen snapped.
"Yes, Master," Bora answered quietly, surrendering to his decision.
The creatures of the forest could only accept Zen's choice with heavy hearts. When Zen finally said, "I'll come back someday," cheers erupted across the continent. They cried out in unison, "Long live Lord Zen!"
And with that, Zen left the shores of Blasic on Bora's back, stepping into a new journey that would take him into a vast, unknown world filled with wonder and peril. The continent remained behind as a silent witness to the path of a child fated to become a legend.
For ten days, Zen lay on Bora's shell, drifting across the ocean. He spent his time resting, occasionally snacking on raw fish or seagulls that flew too close. At times, he grumbled about the lack of food and fresh water.
"This was your own choice, Master," Bora said casually, her voice a gentle reminder. "Just enjoy the journey—it was your will, after all."
Bora herself never complained. With her enormous body, she fed on plankton and small fish plentiful in the sea. Zen, on the other hand, grew thinner and weary. Without fresh water, he could only wait for rain to drink. Yet even so, Bora faced the roaring waves and fierce storms with unwavering strength. Her experience on the seas gave Zen confidence—he knew she could overcome anything.
When impatience got the better of him, Zen would tap her shell, urging her to go faster.
"Aren't you bored of this slow journey? I could've asked a whale, a shark, or an eagle to carry me. But if they annoyed me, I might've killed them," he said sharply, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Understood, Master. Let's pick up the pace," Bora replied with a small chuckle, watching her master suffer with pride still intact. "That means you think I'm special—enough to be waited for all day on the shore," she added with a touch of joy.
"I simply had no other choice," Zen replied shortly, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.
He never admitted it, but Bora knew—she was the only one he trusted. Though Zen lived entirely by his own rules, he never burdened others. He never demanded loyalty, nor did he accept servitude. Freedom was his sacred principle.
Back in Blasic, nearly every creature had longed to crown Zen as their king. They believed he was born to rule and protect them. But Zen, in his nature, often showed cruelty—just enough to shatter such illusions. He struck fear into those who stepped out of line, making them think twice before approaching him.
Still, they respected him. Deep down, they believed he would return. And so, they waited.
Midway through their voyage, Bora began to speak of Zen's parents.
"Your father and mother were extraordinary, Master. They saved the island of Blasic from destruction caused by the Dragon Oragon."
Zen listened, his eyes half-closed, but his mind fully attentive.
Oragon was once revered as the guardian of life's balance—the ruler of all beasts. But everything changed when he was struck with a terminal illness: a fierce and incurable cancer. The pain twisted his soul and turned him violent. Oragon exiled himself to the remote island of Blasic, far from human reach.
"His agony, Master, made him lash out. His roars shook the land, and anything in his path was obliterated. The creatures came to see him not as a guardian, but a demon, a monster from legend," Bora said solemnly. "But your father, the greatest warrior, came to Blasic with your mother. They brought not only strength—but hope. They didn't face Oragon with blades, but with courage… and deep compassion."
Zen opened his eyes, staring out at the endless horizon. He rarely heard stories about his parents, but when he did, a strange warmth filled his chest.
"What did they do to Oragon?" he asked quietly, curiosity flickering in his voice.
"Your father didn't kill him, Master. He gave the dragon peace. And your mother, with her vast knowledge of healing herbs, eased his pain—if only for a little while. They gave Oragon the chance to spend his last days in peace. That's why the creatures of Blasic honor them. They are heroes who saved us all from destruction."
Zen fell silent, letting the tale settle in his heart. He said nothing, but his mind filled with images of bravery and sacrifice. In that moment of quiet, he realized this journey wasn't just about himself—it was about carrying forward their legacy.
"Let's go, Bora. Let's speed this up," Zen said at last. "There's a greater world waiting for us."
"As you wish, Master," Bora replied, slicing through the waves with renewed purpose—carrying Zen toward the destiny that awaited beyond the edge of the known world.