The first rays of dawn spilled across the sleeping village, painting the rooftops in pale gold.
Mist coiled low between the huts, clinging to the earth like stubborn ghosts. Roosters crowed in the distance, and smoke drifted lazily from dying hearth fires.
But Soe Gyi was already awake. His shadow stretched long across the dirt path as he stepped out of his modest workshop.
The axe rested against his shoulder—not just a tool, but a companion worn smooth by years of calloused hands. Its weight was familiar, almost comforting, the steel edge catching a glint of morning light.
By trade, he was a carpenter, a man who shaped wood into homes, furniture, and tools for the villagers.
The forest at the village's edge stirred with whispers carried on the wind. Birds scattered suddenly, wings slicing the dawn air. Soe Gyi's eyes lingered there for a moment, dark and unreadable, before he began walking, his boots crunching against the dewy earth.
The forest closed around him, its shadows stretching tall and dark. The smell of damp earth and pine hung heavy in the air, while cool mist clung to his skin.
He walked deeper, each step steady, boots pressing against roots and wet leaves. His sharp eyes scanned the undergrowth for timber, yet a faint unease stirred inside him.
To others, these woods were perilous—a maze of beasts and hidden dangers. To Soe Gyi, they had always been a second home. Yet today was different. Unsettling. Wrong.
The silence was not ordinary silence. It was a silence that pressed against the ears, heavy and unnatural. The wind that usually stirred the branches had stilled.
No bird sang, no insect droned. Even the trees themselves seemed to be holding their breath.
It was as if the forest watched him, waiting.
Then the silence shattered.
A low, rumbling growl rolled through the underbrush, deep enough to rattle the ground.
Soe Gyi froze, his instincts flaring like fire. Two golden eyes cut through the mist, glowing with hunger and rage.
The Tiger King emerged from the shadows, massive and terrible. Its muscles rippled under striped fur, claws digging into the dirt. Fangs dripped with saliva as it fixed its gaze on him.
Soe Gyi raised his axe slowly, his voice sharp and cold.
"So… you are the root of this silence. What's up, buddy? Lost your way?"
The beast moved first.
With a roar that split the sky, the Tiger lunged. The ground shook under its weight, claws tearing trenches into the earth. Soe Gyi rolled aside, feeling the wind of death graze his back.
His axe swung in answer, biting into the beast's flank. Hot blood sprayed across his face.
The Tiger screamed, louder this time, its roar rattling the trees. It turned with fury, claws flashing.
One strike raked across Soe Gyi's arm, tearing flesh to the bone. Pain seared, but he only gritted his teeth.
"Is that all, beast?"
he spat, raising his weapon again.
The forest became their battlefield. Trees cracked, the earth shook, and the air filled with roars—one of beast, one of man.
At last, the Tiger leapt for the kill, its roar deafening. Soe Gyi answered with a roar of his own and swung. His axe cleaved through flesh and bone.
The Tiger's head fell, its body crashing down with thunder.
Silence returned—broken only by Soe Gyi's ragged breath.
"If you get lost in the forest," he muttered, wiping blood from his face,
"be careful… you might lose your life."
Soe Gyi stood over the fallen Tiger King, his axe still buried in its skull. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, but his eyes stayed cold—like a man finishing his work, not someone who had just killed a legend.
With a hard pull, he tore the axe free. The sound was wet and sharp, echoing through the trees.
He gripped the beast's head by the jaw, lifting it high as blood ran down his arm. Then, without hesitation, he hauled the massive body across his shoulders.
The forest, once alive with roars and chaos, fell into a crushing silence.
By the time Soe Gyi reached the village gates, dawn had broken. The first rays of sunlight struck his bloodstained frame, and the villagers froze where they stood.
Mothers dragged their children behind them. Farmers dropped their baskets, grain spilling across the dirt.
"Is that… the Tiger King?"
someone whispered, voice trembling.
"Who is carrying that beast?" another muttered.
"Look… my god… it's Soe Gyi," a third breathed.
Soe Gyi didn't answer. His boots thudded against the packed earth, each step leaving a dark trail.
He bore the massive carcass on his shoulders as though it were nothing more than timber, his face blank, his dark eyes locked straight ahead.
The village seemed to hold its breath as he passed. Whispers chased him through the crowd—fear, awe, disbelief.
"Is he even human?"
"They said he was only a carpenter…"
"That's..... impossible."
When he reached the village square, Soe Gyi let the carcass drop. The ground shook under the weight, dust rising in a heavy cloud.
Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by silence so sharp it rang louder than the beast's final roar.
The shopkeeper stumbled out of his stall, eyes wide and face pale.
"By the gods… Soe Gyi, you killed it?"
Soe Gyi's voice was calm, almost indifferent. "Two gold coins."
The shopkeeper blinked, disbelief etched across his face.
"Two… gold coins? For this? The fangs alone could buy a farm! The claws, the pelt—"
"I didn't bring it here to be admired,"
Soe Gyi interrupted, his gaze sharp and cold. "I brought it to sell."
The shopkeeper swallowed hard, fumbling to count the coins. His hands shook as he dropped them into Soe Gyi's calloused palm.
After taking the gold, he walked away, leaving only silence—and fear—behind.
That night, in the tavern, whispers spread like wildfire.
"A carpenter killed the Tiger King."
"Soe Gyi… the one who lives on the edge of the village?"
"I never knew he could fight like that… so ruthless."
And when the story reached the ears of men far beyond the village, it carried a name:
Soe Gyi.
A man who had stepped out of the forest carrying the head of a legend.
A man whose journey was only just beginning.