One night in the season of Veralis, in the world of Oraterra—

  Crack!

  The prophecy stone beneath the roots of the World Tree Herna’lor split apart.

  “For Ter’na and Kaivyr, Oraterra—It…” The guardian’s breath caught in his throat. “Summon the elders!” he cried.

  As the elders gathered to interpret the omen from Oraterra, on the other side of the world, a cub was born in a house at the edge of the forest within the Feline Kingdom.

  The male cub was born into the Sein’ei clan.

  Children of the Sein’ei bore a distinct mark: pale fur inherited from ancient Siamese ancestors—elegant and almost ghostlike—wrapped in soft white yet brushed by shadow, darkening at the ears, paws, and tail, as if the night itself remembered their lineage.

  All who looked upon him were captivated by fur that shimmered like twilight—slowly pushing away the last remnants of daylight and welcoming the first rise of the moon.

  Twenty-five years had passed since Raian’s birth. The season of Veralis breathed life into the world once more—fertilizing the soil and cooling the air.

  “Going to train?”

  The warm voice came from behind Raian as he opened the door of his home.

  “Yes, Mother. I’ll head into the forest, as usual…” He smiled at a forty-five-year-old she-cat who was wiping down their wooden dining table.

  Ariani, Raian’s mother, looked at her son dressed in his black cloak and returned his smile with equal warmth.

  “Be back before dinner, dear.”

  Raian’s eyes softened. He nodded, gave a small wave, rolled his shoulders, and stepped toward the forest—his usual training ground.

  As the sun revealed itself to the world—

  “Yaaawn…”

  A sleepy voice echoed, followed by the sound of rubbing eyes that made Ariani turn.

  “Morning, Mom…” said Mika, Raian’s younger sister. “Where’s Brother?” she asked drowsily, scanning the room.

  Clink… clink… clink…

  The soft chime of spoon against ceramic accompanied Ariani’s movements.

  “As usual, your brother went to the forest to train,” she replied gently.

  Mika pulled out a wooden chair and dropped into it lazily, resting her chin on the table as she watched her mother approach with a steaming glass of tea. She wrapped her hands around it, inhaling the soothing aroma.

  “Alright,” she murmured after a sip. “As usual…”

  Then her eyes brightened.

  “I’ll go to the river to fetch water—and gather some roots and herbs for Brother after his training.”

  “Yes… After I finish tidying up, we’ll go to the market to buy ingredients for tonight’s dinner,” Ariani said.

  Meanwhile, deep in the forest, Raian stood among towering trunks stretching toward the sky. Morning air hung heavy with dew and the scent of damp soil.

  He drew a long breath and stretched slowly—like a warrior preparing for a ritual etched into his bones.

  His joints cracked softly.

  Then he ran.

  Grass split beneath his steps. Dew shattered into fragments of light. Ancient trees with roots like aged hands stood silent witness—watching a cat challenge the stillness.

  Raian did not run merely to strengthen his legs.

  He ran as though something pursued him: discipline.

  Wind sliced across his cheek fur. Leaves whispered. Shadows moved faster than his body. He did not simply pass the trees—He leapt from branch to branch, his steps landing with enough force to make them tremble.

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  And that morning, Raian ran not only against exhaustion—

  but against the whispers settling in his mind.

  The Sein’ei clan.

  One of the clans of the Feline Kingdom, Vel’farra.

  He stopped.

  Before him stood the old oak—a silent giant that had witnessed every wound and every vow he had never spoken aloud. Its bark was cracked from years of blows he had delivered.

  He braced his hands against his knees. His breath broke, harsh and uneven. Sweat dripped from his temples to the cold earth.

  His legs trembled.

  Not just from fatigue.

  His muscles tightened like a bowstring drawn too long. Pain radiated from calf to thigh, merciless and sharp.

  He tried to stand upright.

  Failed.

  His body refused.

  The forest watched without sympathy. The wind passed indifferently, rustling the oak leaves above him like nature’s quiet scoff at his weakness.

  Raian swallowed. The taste of iron lingered on his tongue. He had not come here for comfort.

  This tree was not a place of rest.

  It was the silent witness to ten years of his training.

  He loosened his black cloak, letting it hang at his waist, revealing a muscular body etched with discipline. Tightening his belt, he took his stance before the oak.

  Feet planted wide.

  Fists clenched at his sides.

  One breath.

  Bam!

  The oak trembled beneath his strike.

  Bam!

  His left fist followed. Fur fell loose. Bark splintered. He did not care. His fists became claws—sharp talons extending, tearing into the rough surface as though the ancient trunk were a living enemy.

  Punches turned into kicks.

  Blow after blow without pause. His heel struck. His shin collided with hardened wood. Pain rebounded into him like an opponent’s counterattack.

  Still, he continued.

  Every strike was a refusal of weakness.

  Every ache a burden he never voiced.

  The morning sun climbed higher, its light piercing the leaves and falling across Raian’s sweat-soaked back.

  Time moved.

  He did not.

  He struck.

  And struck again.

  Elsewhere, at the city’s edge where commerce stirred with scent and footsteps, life wore a different face.

  Mika walked beside Ariani, clinging to her arm, cheek resting against her mother’s shoulder.

  “Mom… What are we cooking today?” she asked sweetly.

  Ariani glanced at her daughter, eyes soft. “How about rodent stew for your brother tonight?”

  Mika’s face lit instantly.

  “That’s a great idea! Brother loves your roasted rodent stew.”

  She rubbed her cheek against Ariani’s cloak like a kitten seeking comfort.

  The market was crowded.

  Various feline races moved between stalls, carrying baskets and spices. Bargaining voices clashed with the ring of metal and steady footsteps.

  But when Ariani and Mika stepped into the crowd—

  Something shifted.

  Eyes turned toward them.

  Not curious.

  Not respectful.

  Whiskers trembled as murmurs spread.

  “Look… how pitiful…” whispered a she-cat, too softly to be polite yet loud enough for sharp ears. “The Sein’ei clan has truly lost its glory…”

  Mika’s step faltered.

  Ariani did not stop.

  She simply tightened her daughter’s hand and pulled her hood lower over both their faces.

  “Be patient,” Ariani whispered softly. “Let’s finish quickly and go home.”

  Mika nodded.

  They returned once their woven bags were full.

  The walk home felt different.

  Mika walked with her head lowered now. Each step felt heavier.

  From beneath her hood came a long exhale.

  “Mom…” Her voice trembled. “When is Father coming home?”

  Ariani slowed.

  She drew in a breath, searching for words that had never truly existed.

  “I don’t know… maybe tomorrow. Or the day after…”

  “Lie!”

  Mika’s voice rose.

  “You always say that… for ten years now!”

  She turned away and walked ahead, her shopping bag swinging unevenly.

  “But… your father—”

  Ariani’s words died in her throat.

  She could only swallow and stare at the small back before her—a back that had grown too quickly from loss.

  If Father hadn’t left us…

  The thought came uninvited.

  Mika inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. The weight of the bag in her hand grounded her drifting mind.

  Maybe Father doesn’t care about this family…

  She closed her eyes briefly.

  And in that brief darkness, one figure appeared.

  Raian.

  Firm. Silent. Strong as the oak he struck every morning.

  Brother is still with us…

  A faint smile curved her lips—born from a simple truth: though one pillar had fallen, another still stood.

  And beneath the warming skies of Veralis, two shadows walked home.

  One carried a lie.

  One carried hope.

  And in the forest, Raian carried the burden passed down to him.