The swamp stank of rot.
Dragonflies buzzed above the dark water, and every ripple carried the promise of teeth. Somewhere beneath the murk, scales shifted, heavy and deliberate.
Orin crouched on a rock jutting over the shallows, bare feet muddy, shoulders taut. At ten years old, his body had stretched—still small, but wiry, roped with lean muscle not born of comfort but of climbing cliffs, wrestling boars, and tearing through wilderness that would kill a normal boy.
His grin, though, was the same as ever.
A ripple widened. The swamp gator rose, jaws yawning wide, rows of jagged teeth flashing in the dim light.
"Finally," Orin muttered, licking his lips. "Dinner."
The beast lunged.
Orin's aura snapped to life—dark smoke curling from his skin, streaked with faint lines of blue sparks. The ground seemed to hum beneath him as the haze wrapped his body.
He leapt forward.
The gator's jaws clamped shut, but Orin's hands caught them, one on top, one on bottom. His arms shook, muscles taut, but his grin never faltered.
"Not bad…" he hissed. "But I'm better."
With a roar far too large for his ten-year-old frame, he shoved. The jaws split wide. Bones creaked. The gator thrashed, tail whipping water into the air.
Orin's feet dug into the mud. Sparks danced across his skin. His grin widened.
"Break!"
CRACK!
The jaw split. The beast writhed once, then slumped, limp.
Orin panted, chest heaving, arms trembling. Then he laughed, wild and breathless, dragging the carcass onto the bank.
"Ha! That's two this week! Yira's gonna kill me if I drag another one home… but she'll cook it anyway."
He collapsed onto the mud, staring at the gray sky. His whole body ached, but his blood sang. The aura faded, smoke dispersing like mist.
After a moment, he stood, grabbed the tail, and hauled it toward the village. His bare feet squelched in the muck, his body swaying, but his grin never dimmed.
Birds scattered from the treeline at the sound of his laughter.
---
By the time Orin dragged the swamp gator into the village square, half the villagers had already gathered to stare.
Its massive body thudded onto the dirt road, jaw bent at an unnatural angle. Orin perched on top like it was a throne, waving at the crowd.
"What? Never seen dinner before?" he called, grin wide through mud and blood.
Mothers pulled children closer. Men muttered under their breath. But no one dared confront him.
Orin laughed, kicked the tail, then hauled it back onto his shoulders and marched home.
---
The Capillet house was warm with lamplight.
At the table sat Hegar Capillet, broad as an ox, beard streaked with gray. Across from him, Mira Capillet, slim and gentle, ladling stew, her face etched with worry even as she smiled. Between them sat Yira.
Nineteen now, her hair tied back in a loose braid, sleeves rolled to the elbow. No longer a girl but a sharp-eyed young woman—and cursed with being Orin's favorite target.
The door banged open.
Orin staggered in, dragging the gator by its tail. "I'm home!"
Mira gasped, hand flying to her mouth. "Orin! What in the heavens—"
Hegar roared with laughter, fist thudding the table. "By the gods, boy, that's the biggest catch yet! A gator? With bare hands?"
Orin puffed his chest. "Snapped its jaw like a twig. Easy."
Yira pinched her nose. "Easy, he says. You're going to get yourself killed one day."
Orin plopped into the seat beside her, reeking of swamp. "If I die, I'll be smiling. Besides, if I'm the strongest, you'll marry me before that happens."
The ladle clattered from Mira's hand.
Hegar choked on his drink. "W-what did you say?!"
Yira went crimson. She snatched a wooden spoon and smacked him on the head.
"You shameless little pest!"
Orin yelped, rubbing the spot but laughing. "Ow! See? Even your love taps hurt more than that gator!"
Mira buried her face in her hands. "Saints preserve me…"
Hegar wheezed with laughter, pounding the table. "This house will never be quiet with you two!"
Orin grabbed Yira's bowl of stew, gulped it down.
"Hey!" she snapped.
He licked his lips, winked. "Delicious. Almost as good as watching you bathe this morning."
The room froze.
Yira's jaw dropped. Mira gasped. Hegar spat his drink.
"You—!" Yira lunged, spoon swinging like a weapon.
Orin dodged, sprinting around the table, laughing. "It's not my fault the river's clear water!"
"You little demon!"
"Demon? No—future husband!"
"Keep talking and I'll drown you!"
The chase rattled dishes, Mira shrieking, Hegar roaring with laughter. And Orin, laughing loudest of all.
---
The forest was quiet, too quiet.
Orin crouched on a branch, chewing dried gator meat. His aura buzzed under his skin, restless.
Men's voices drifted up.
"…the village isn't rich, but we'll take what we can."
"Keep it quiet. The chief's gone, but they might fight back."
Orin grinned.
Bandits. Again.
He dropped behind them without a sound. Three men. Ragged armor. Knives drawn.
He cracked his knuckles. "Boring day's over."
They spun. "A kid?"
"Where'd you come from?"
The tallest sneered. "Run along, brat, unless you want that face cut open."
Orin tilted his head. "Cut me open? Perfect. Try it."
His aura flared.
Smoke licked from his skin, blue sparks hissing. Dust lifted at his feet.
The bandits blanched.
Orin blurred forward. His fist buried in the first man's gut. WHUMP! He flew into a tree, crumpled.
The second swung. Orin twisted, elbow crashing into his jaw. CRACK! Teeth flew. The man dropped.
The last screamed, charging. Orin caught his wrist, grinned, twisted. SNAP! The man shrieked, dropped, Orin's kick sent him sprawling unconscious.
Silence.
Villagers peeked from the trees—farmers with wood bundles. Their faces drained as they saw the broken bandits at Orin's feet.
"That boy…"
"He's controlling it now…"
"Not cursed… trained."
Orin waved cheerfully. "Don't worry! Just bandits. Dinner's safe."
They flinched at his smile. Orin shrugged, dragging a body toward the village, whistling.
---
The sun dipped low. Orin was in the yard, fists pounding a tree until bark split, wood groaned. Each strike sparked black smoke and blue light.
"Harder! Break already!" he laughed, blood on his knuckles.
The tree cracked.
A voice cut through.
"You hit like a beast. But beasts only know how to thrash."
Orin spun.
A tall man stood at the path. Broad-shouldered, hair tied back, staff across his back, scarred face steady. His eyes—sharp, unblinking—fixed on Orin.
Orin's grin lit up. "It's you!"
The man nodded. "You remember."
"You saw me fight that big ugly with the cleaver! You saw!"
"I did," the man said. "And I came back to see if that wild pup grew into more than a dog."
Orin's aura flared, sparks leaping. "Perfect. Let's fight!"
The man sighed, set his staff aside. "Show me."
---
Orin lunged, aura blazing, fist streaking.
The man shifted a step, hand flicking. Orin's punch hit nothing.
A palm touched his chest. Light. Gentle.
Orin flew back three steps, skidding.
He blinked, then grinned wider.
"Again!"
He rushed, fists, kicks, headbutts, aura trailing like claws.
Each strike brushed aside. Redirected. The man flowed like water, every counter precise, every step calm. A wrist twist, a foot shift, a gentle shove—Orin was face-first in dirt again.
He spat mud, laughed, sprang up. "Ha! Amazing! Teach me that trick!"
"It's not a trick," the man said. "It's martial art. Discipline. Technique. Things you've never touched."
"Then teach me!" Orin roared, eyes blazing. "Make me stronger! Show me everything!"
The man studied him. The aura flickered raw, unstable—but bright with hunger. Not fear. Not despair. Only fire.
"…Interesting," he murmured.
Orin bounced, fists raised. "So? One more round?"
The man smiled faintly. "Not today. You've shown me enough."
---
"You fight like wildfire," the man said. "Unstoppable—until rain comes."
Orin tilted his head. "Rain? I didn't see any rain."
"Exactly."
He slung his staff back, gaze sweeping the yard. "This village is too small for you. Beyond these woods, there are schools, sects, kingdoms—men who train from birth to master fists, blades, ki, spirit. Power that makes bandits look like insects."
Orin's eyes blazed. "Stronger than you?"
"Much stronger."
Orin's grin split wide. "Then I'll fight them all! I'll crush everyone until I'm the strongest!"
"Orin!"
Mira stood at the doorway, apron tied, fear in her eyes. Hegar behind her, arms folded. Yira stormed out, broom in hand.
Mira rushed forward, clutching his arm. "Enough! You're just a boy!"
Hegar's voice rumbled. "He's not just a boy anymore, Mira."
Orin grinned at her, softened just slightly. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll come back alive. Too many wives to find first."
Mira gasped. "W-wives—!"
Yira flushed scarlet. "IDIOT!" She smacked his head.
Orin laughed. "Ow! Even your love taps hurt more than his punches!" He jabbed a thumb at the martial artist.
The man arched a brow. "At least she keeps you disciplined."
"She's not my sister!" Orin bellowed. "She's my future wife!"
Mira fainted into Hegar's arms. Yira shrieked, chasing Orin in circles with the broom.
Through the chaos, the man stood silent, eyes sharp.
"This child…" he murmured. "Untamed, he'll be a calamity. Guided…"
His lips curved, eyes glinting.
"…he may become legend."