Morning in the Mountains
The sun spilled over the mountain peaks, painting the little town in soft gold. A river wound lazily through the farmlands, its surface catching glints of light as cattle moved in slow herds toward the fields. The market stirred awake — stalls creaking open, vendors calling out greetings, the smell of warm bread drifting down the narrow streets.
Beyond the town, the forest whispered with life — a hawk circling high, a fox darting between ferns, and the rustle of unseen creatures greeting the day.
The camera's gaze drifted from the bustling marketplace, over rooftops, and toward the quieter edge of town, where a small wooden house sat with a garden in front. Inside, a narrow beam of sunlight slipped through a cracked window, landing across a small, single bed.
The alarm clock read 8:00 AM before it blared to life.
A boy stirred beneath the thin blanket, his black hair a wild mess, eyes still shut. He yawned so wide it seemed to shake the sleep from his bones, scratched his head lazily, and blinked open a pair of striking red-brown eyes.
"Another day, another rustle," he muttered in a gravelly morning voice.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood — dressed in white boxers and a light blue cotton T-shirt with no collar. His skin was pale but faintly shadowed, a tone that hinted at someone who'd spent enough time under both sun and moon.
The boy stretched, still half-asleep, and his eyes fell on a small, worn-out tiger plush sitting on a shelf beside his bed. Its fur was faded, one ear bent, and a loose thread dangled from its tail — the kind of toy that had survived countless years of being carried around, thrown, and hugged.
He picked it up, patted its head with a faint smile.
"Lemme have a shower first," he told it, as if the toy was patiently waiting for him too.
Tossing it gently back onto the shelf, he shuffled toward the small bathroom, rubbing his eyes. The sound of running water soon filled the quiet house.
Cut to:
On the far side of the river, the scenery changed. A cluster of wooden tents and makeshift benches formed a small camp beneath the shade of tall trees. The morning air here was livelier — voices overlapping, laughter echoing between the tree trunks.
A group of boys and girls, all in their mid-teens, lounged around a wooden table. Some leaned on their elbows, others stood with arms crossed, impatient but still smiling.
"Where's Salazar?" a tall boy with sandy hair asked, tossing a pebble into the river nearby.
"Still sleeping, probably," a short-haired girl replied, rolling her eyes.
Another boy chuckled. "It's him we're talking about — he's either still in bed or still in the shower."
The chatter at the camp quieted for a moment as a figure appeared on the path from the town, hands in pockets, walking at an easy pace.
"At least his brother made it first," one of the boys called out.
Divy glanced at him and sighed. "He's still in the shower. Probably gonna take an eternity."
He wore a plain white T-shirt without a collar, brown sports trousers, and well-worn sneakers. His black hair was neatly kept, his skin fairer than Salazar's, and his sharp grey eyes gave him a look somewhere between tired and mildly annoyed.
One of the girls leaned forward on the bench. "Divy, you should wake him earlier, naa."
"He locked his room before sleeping," Divy replied flatly.
The scene cut to a cartoonish flashback — Divy pounding his fist against Salazar's door, face red with irritation, the wood rattling under the hits. The sound effect practically read BANG! BANG! BANG! above his head, but the door stayed firmly shut.
Back to the present, the girl sighed heavily. "As expected from him…"
Steam still clung to the air as Salazar stepped out of the bathroom, running a towel through his messy black hair. His eyes landed on the clock hanging crookedly on the wall.
"Hm? I thought I put the alarm for seven o'clock…", he muttered, tilting his head.
A long sigh followed. "I guess I got late."
Cut to the camp.
The group was still lost in chatter — small jokes, teasing remarks about the absent main star of the day.
One boy, leaning against a wooden post with arms crossed, suddenly glanced toward the farmland. His tone was perfectly flat as he said, "I guess eternity comes to an end finally. Here he comes."
Heads turned.
Across the river and past the patchwork of fields, Salazar was running full tilt toward them, weaving between farmers and rows of crops. He wore a yellow shirt patterned with black and white stripes, paired with brown sports trousers identical to Divy's, and a pair of worn sneakers that thudded against the dirt path.
Even from a distance, his red-brown eyes caught the sunlight, flashing with urgency — or maybe just the panic of someone who knew they were very, very late.
Salazar skidded to a stop at the edge of the camp, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Despite the sweat on his forehead, he flashed a confident grin.
"Here I am."
Before he could even catch his breath, a shadow fell over him.
A girl stepped forward, her brows drawn in sharp anger. Without warning, she grabbed his cheeks and pinched — hard. The scene warped into that cartoonish style, his face squished comically between her fingers.
"WHY DO YOU ALWAYS GET LATE, DUMBASS!!!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the camp.
Salazar winced, trying to talk through the pain. "I–I set the alarm of eight o'clock by mistake instead of seven!"
"Why are you always a fool?!" she barked, releasing his cheeks only to give him a sharp smack on the head. The hit landed with an over-the-top BONK! sound, his head dipping forward dramatically.
Around them, the rest of the group stared with wide eyes and open mouths, the collective "Ehhh?" practically hanging in the air.
From the back of the group, a boy raised his hand lazily. "Yo, can we now go for registrations?"
Another girl, her voice light and cheerful, chimed in, "Yeah, everyone's here now — we should proceed for the registrations."
The nine of them began moving toward the camp entrance, chatting in little clusters.
Salazar fell into step beside Divy and asked, in a tone that sounded more like stating the obvious than actually asking, "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"
Divy stopped mid-step, his expression twisting into an annoyed glare. In a sudden cartoonish cut, he yelled, "YOU LOCKED THE DOOR!" The words practically shook in the air between them.
From a few paces ahead, the girl who had smacked Salazar earlier turned, walking backward as she called, "Let's go, boi. We're already late for registrations."
She disappeared into the camp's entrance.
Salazar grinned, jogging to catch up. "Yeah, sure… Ella."
Salazar ducked into the camp's entrance, the canvas flap swaying behind him. As he stepped inside, his eyes caught something off to the side — a large wooden board propped up near the doorway.
Bold letters stretched across it:
"DISTRICT MARTIAL ARTS TOURNAMENT REGISTRATIONS"
A small breeze fluttered the papers pinned beneath it, the sound of voices and rustling forms filling the tent.
Salazar's grin widened.
Chapter 1 — End.