"Go... Athtar... Live..."
The words carried deep meaning in the heart of the boy as he ran away, no longer able to tell which direction he was heading. His feet finally stopped moving in front of a massive wall—the furthest point he could reach on foot.
His heart ached terribly, and he wanted desperately to go home, but his mother's last wish was what gave him the motivation to keep going. He clenched his fist tightly, wiped away his tears, and looked around calmly. 'I have to calm down… If I'm going to leave, I can't just walk out like this… I have to sneak out… but how?'
He looked around. The guards at the gate were strict, and Athtar wasn't stupid enough to think he could just walk past them like that. Even though his powers had finally awakened, and his mother had taught him a little about magic, none of it was of any use. He didn't have enough magical energy to do anything that might help him leave.
In the distance, he saw a caravan preparing to leave, and he decided to hide in one of the tents there, since that caravan seemed to be the only one leaving. It was dangerous to stay in this kingdom for too long; perhaps the bad people were already looking for him.
He quietly crept up to one of the barrels, climbed inside, and shut himself in, hugging his knees to his chest. In the midst of the surrounding darkness, he hoped he would be able to get out before anyone noticed he was hiding in that barrel.
And so, over the next few hours, Athtar's feelings wavered between fear, loneliness, and the urge to cry, but he kept himself calm thanks to his extraordinary mental strength.
When it seemed the caravan had finally stopped to rest, Athtar decided to try his luck and leave. He quietly opened the barrel's lid and looked around the tent; when there was no sign of anyone, he climbed out of the barrel and closed it.
He left the tent slowly, trying not to draw attention to himself. He looked around, and when no one was watching, Athtar headed toward the forest and began running away as fast as he could.
He didn't stop running until about half an hour had passed. Athtar stopped running and began panting as he lay down on the grass beneath him; his chest burned with exhaustion, and he was catching his breath rapidly.
Fortunately, the awakening of magical power generally boosts physical strength, so he was able to run nonstop for a long time.
After a few minutes, the boy regained his ability to breathe normally and think with full mental clarity. He stood up and looked around, searching for anything that might satisfy his hunger; his stomach had been growling for some time, and hunger was quickly wearing him down.
"My mother told me that the awakening of magical power means one gains affinity for the six elements in varying degrees, and some may have no affinity for certain elements at all," Athtar recalled his mother's explanation of the power system in their world.
"Since we are descendants of Her Majesty, the founder of this kingdom, we possess magical powers far greater than other people, and we have a greater affinity for the elements as well. I had a 30% affinity for both the elements of light and darkness, and a 10% affinity for the other four elements—fire, water, air, and earth. All of these add up to 100%, which is the total affinity a person possesses for the elements within them, and this percentage cannot be exceeded."
Athtar bowed and pointed his finger calmly at the ground, then a brown light began to emerge from the tip of his finger, sparkling with stars, before the light transformed into tiny particles, which then gathered and turned into dust. With his other finger, a blue light appeared, sparkling with stars; it began to form particles, and those particles converged to become a colorless liquid—water. Athtar brought his fingers together and mixed the two elements.
A dark brown substance began to form slowly, but unfortunately, Athtar was unable to complete the process, and the mixture he was stirring exploded into sparkling stars that merged with the air before disappearing completely.
"I thought it would work, but it's harder than I thought. How did Mama do all this in record time?" Athtar wondered for a moment, then remembered his mother, and tears welled up in his eyes. He whispered slowly, in a childish, whiny tone, "I miss you, Mama…" "
He sat on the ground, pulling his feet up to his chest a little, and rested his head on his knees. His body trembled slightly, accompanied by soft sobs.
After a while, Athtar stood up and wiped his tears. His gaze became more determined as he repeated the same process again. "If Mama can do it, then so can I. Mama said I'm a smart person. I'll live up to her expectations…" "
He comforted himself and began combining the elements once more.
Athtar himself was unaware that this combination of elements was taught in the advanced classes of prestigious schools of magic, but his discovery of this was another story.
After an hour of trying, Athtar finally succeeded in making what he wanted: a bundle of ropes, followed by a kitchen knife.
Athtar stood up and began cutting down the trees around him, especially the branches, then started shaping them with the knife. After a while, as the sun neared the horizon, he finally finished making what he had envisioned: a bow and some arrows.
Athtar set out on his journey to hunt some game, but since he was clumsy with the bow and arrow, he found himself in the darkness of night without any food.
Athtar searched for a small cave, found one, and rested there to sleep, hoping that the next day he would be able to find food.
...
The next day, 07/14/540
Athtar woke up from his sleep in that small cave; luckily for him, no monsters had attacked him.
He left the cave and decided to keep walking away from the kingdom. The reason he hadn't lost his way was that he had been walking straight ahead without any detours since leaving the caravan.
After walking for several hours, and having failed miserably to catch anything that day as well, he finally reached the river. He felt the first glimmer of hope since his family's death and began drinking the river water to quench his thirst, even if only a little. As he knelt down to drink, he heard a faint howl. Athtar was terrified and turned around, and there he saw a furry figure emerging from the bushes—a terrifying wolf with red eyes gleaming with a murderous intent that made Athtar flinch and lose the ability to think for a second, but because of his mental fortitude, Athtar regained his ability to think as the wolf advanced toward him, and the first thing that came to mind was grabbing the knife—the only thing that might help him survive. All the while, he was slowly backing away.
His legs were trembling, and a look of terror was etched on his face, but he kept moving nonetheless; his survival instincts compelled him not to stop. Athtar crossed the river to the other side, but the wolf continued to follow him, as if waiting for the slightest mistake from Athtar so it could pounce on him and tear him to pieces.
It seemed the wolf had finally lost patience; it lunged, opening its jaws toward Athtar. But the boy, with his enhanced abilities, was quick enough to dodge and strike the wolf's eye, inflicting a severe wound that made it bleed—and, more than that, enraged it.
Athtar ran away; he wasn't stupid enough to start a fight against a predator that could kill him the moment it caught him, but the wolf chased after Athtar and attacked again. This time, Athtar dodged downward and crawled behind the wolf, which seemed to be searching for its prey. With the knife he held, he slashed the wolf's paw, causing it to howl in pain and turn to look—exactly what Athtar had been waiting for. As soon as the wolf turned to look, Athtar attacked its other eye, leaving the wolf blind. After that, Athtar decided to flee, but the wolf picked up Athtar's scent and tried to chase him. However, Athtar used the same tactic as before: he dodged, then stabbed.
After a battle that lasted several minutes, the wolf finally fell, and Athtar breathed a sigh of relief. Athtar looked at the mangled wolf, its body covered in blood, and felt a little fear, but his strong rationality kept him on guard.
When the wolf stopped moving, Athtar approached it and plunged the knife into its flesh. He cooked the meat and ate it, for he was very hungry, and he couldn't catch rabbits with a bow and arrow anyway—he was hopeless at using them. Instead, using a knife was more comfortable for him.
After eating a tough, coarse meal of bad-tasting wolf meat, Athtar felt that he was finally alive, that he was breathing, and that he was truly continuing to live, just as his mother's last wish had been.