In a land teeming with wild beasts and scattered tribes, there lay a solitary village—untouched by the outside world, living in quiet harmony.
On the village's outermost edge lived Anik, a bright-eyed boy who shared a humble home with his father and grandfather.
His father was a skilled hunter, returning each day with fresh game—often rabbits or birds, just enough to feed their small family.
On rare, fortunate days, he would bring back an antelope, a feast that filled their home with warmth and laughter.
"Anik! Come—lunch's almost ready. Go fetch your grandfather!"
"Yes, Father..."
Anik ventured deep into the forest, toward the secluded cave where his grandfather spent his days in prayer.
As he stepped into the dim cavern, he found the old man kneeling, his skin adorned with eerie blood-markings—tracings drawn from the sacrifices of animals, dark and permanent like tattoos.
His grandfather chanted in a guttural tongue, words ancient and incomprehensible, a language passed down through generations of their lineage.
It was said this sacred prayer would deliver them from ruin when despair came knocking.
The tribe called his grandfather a madman—a title only his family refused to believe.
Yet, despite the whispers, the old man remained kind, sharing his hunts and offering food freely to the villagers.
In return, they tolerated his strangeness, never driving him out.
When the grandfather sensed Anik's presence, his weathered face broke into a joyful grin.
"Come... you still haven't learned the prayer properly. Don't be like your stubborn father."
"Y-yes, Grandpa..." Anik muttered, hesitating.
He repeated the ancient words his grandfather had taught him, but soon, his growling stomach interrupted.
"Grandpa... Father's waiting. Let's eat!"
Anik was relieved. He hated being stuck in that dark cave, lit only by a flickering lamp.
"Hmph. This prayer must be passed down—to your children, your grandchildren. Don't ignore it like your fool father, obsessed only with hunting!"
With that, they left the cave and returned home, where the three of them shared a warm meal, happily chewing on the meat Anik's father had provided.
"So Anik... how's Kanaz doing?"
At the mention of her name, Anik's cheeks flushed red.
"Sh-she's fine!" he stammered, embarrassed.
Kanaz was his childhood friend—the Tribe Leader's daughter, clever and lovely. Every boy in the tribe admired her, but none more than Anik.
After lunch, he hurried back into the forest, climbing his favorite tree to snack on ripe fruit.
Just as he took a bite—tink!—a pebble bounced off his head.
He looked down.
There stood Kanaz, grinning up at him.
"I knew I'd find you here! Come on, Anik—let's go to the river!" Kanaz said, grinning.
"But... you know I can't swim!" Anik protested.
"Don't worry, we'll stay where it's shallow. Uncle Ton taught me something fun!"
Anik hopped down from the tree, landing smoothly before flashing her a smile. "Alright, let's go!"
Laughing, they raced through the forest to their favorite spot by the river.
Kanaz searched the shore until she found a flat, round pebble.
With a flick of her wrist, she sent it skimming across the water—plink! plink!—before it sank.
Anik's eyes lit up.
Learning hands-on always excited him… unlike his grandfather's endless prayers.
They played until the sun began to dip, then sat on a warm rock, lazily kicking their feet in the cool water.
"Anik..." Kanaz whispered, gazing at the sky with dreamy eyes.
"If I ever leave this forest to explore the world... will you come with me?"
Anik hesitated, watching the hope in her expression.
"I... I don't know. Maybe when I'm older—when I can hunt well enough to feed us. Your stomach's always growling, you know."
Kanaz burst into laughter—bright and musical—making Anik's face burn even hotter.
Suddenly, she jumped up, but the slick rock betrayed her.
"Whoa—!"
"Kanaz, careful—!"
Anik grabbed her hand, but her weight yanked them both into the river.
Thrashing in panic… he still hadn't learned to swim... then he surfaced—only to see Kanaz standing waist-deep, giggling at him.
"You're such a mess," she teased, shaking her head.
"It's shallow here!"
Dripping and scowling, Anik muttered,
"You know I can't swim... Now I'm soaked."
Kanaz laughed, offering her hand to pull Anik up—but with a mischievous grin, he yanked her down instead.
Splash!
She face-planted into the water.
"ANIK! I'LL MURDER YOU!" she screeched, lunging at him.
What followed was a full-blown water war—splashing, shrieking, laughter ringing through the trees.
Anik watched Kanaz, her hair plastered to her face, eyes sparkling with joy, and felt his heart squeeze.
No one else laughed with him like this.
No one else saw him like she did.
For this moment, they were just two kids, wild and free—
Until a shadow fell across the water.
A hunter stood at the riverbank, his longbow strapped to his back, watching them in silence.
"Kanaz. Come here."
The cheerful glint in Kanaz's eyes dimmed as she turned.
"Uncle Tom..."
Tom's gaze cut toward Anik—cold, disdainful.
Anik's shoulders hunched, his eyes fixed on the ground.
"Kanaz," Tom said sharply,
"how many times must your father warn you? Stay away from this boy."
"But Anik is my friend!" Kanaz protested, fists clenched.
"He's part of our tribe too! What's wrong with—"
Tom grabbed her arm, yanking her to his side as he loomed over Anik.
"They're madmen. Filth. You will not shame your family by mingling with them."
Kanaz stumbled as Tom dragged her away.
Over her shoulder, her eyes met Anik's—wide, wet with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry, Anik..."
Her whisper hung in the air long after they vanished into the trees.
...
Anik trudged home, his clothes clinging to him, dripping with river water.
The sun had sunk below the trees, painting the sky in bruised purples and fading gold.
Shadows stretched long across the forest floor, swallowing the last remnants of daylight.
He sighed, kicking a pebble as he walked.
Why?
Why was his grandfather—who did nothing but pray, preserving the sacred words of their ancestors—called a madman? Why were they treated like outcasts?
By the time he reached home, night had settled in full.
He changed into dry clothes and stepped outside, where he found his grandfather standing motionless, his wrinkled face tilted toward the moon.
There was something hollow in his gaze—something aching.
"Grandpa..." Anik murmured.
His grandfather turned to him with a gentle smile before gazing back at the moon.
"Anik... I think my time is near."
Anik's breath caught.
"Don't say that, Grandpa! I—I still haven't learned the prayers properly. You can't go yet!"
It was a lie.
He'd memorized every word, every ritual step years ago—but admitting it meant inviting the same scorn his grandfather endured.
Madman.
The word clung to their family like a curse.
His grandfather only smiled, silent.
There was no fear in his eyes, no resistance.
Just quiet acceptance.
Everything dies.
Even a man who speaks to the old gods cannot escape that truth.
...
Days passed...
Then came the day his grandfather died.
No one from the tribe came to mourn.
No condolences, no shared grief—only Anik and his father remained by the old man's side as his breath faded.
Tears streamed down Anik's face as he clutched his grandfather's frail hand, replaying his final words:
"Keep praying... Remember, in times of despair, this will be your salvation. Pass it on... Promise me... it will never be forgotten..."
Then, with his last shuddering breath, the old man whispered something in that ancient, forgotten tongue—words only the dying seemed to know:
"Let death be the start of a new beginning."
Neither Anik nor his father understood it. But they knew this much—it was the same phrase their ancestors had spoken before slipping away forever.