"Some journeys don't begin with courage. They begin with goodbye."
The jungle was awake long before the sun rose.
A thousand whispers rolled through the mist — the cries of beasts, the creak of ancient trees, the slow, deep hum of life that only those who had lived here could truly understand.
Leon stood barefoot at the edge of a moss-covered cliff, his hair catching the faint gold of dawn. He wore simple black training robes tied with a rough cord, a single pack slung across his shoulder. His skin was marked with faint scars — trophies of years of wild training and narrow escapes.
Beside him sat Milo, the strange, cat-like beast with sleek white fur and bright sapphire eyes. Though still young, Milo's tail was longer than Leon's arm, its tip glowing faintly with spiritual light. When the wind shifted, a faint shimmer danced across his fur like moonlight rippling on water.
Leon reached down and scratched Milo behind the ear. "You nervous?"
Milo purred, then suddenly sneezed — sparks of light flying from his nose.
Leon chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes."
Below the cliff stretched the endless canopy of the Forbidden Jungle — green, black, and gold, a living sea that hid countless mysteries. To anyone else, it was a place of death. To Leon, it was home.
Behind him came the soft crunch of feet on wet stone.
"You really mean to go through with this, huh?"
Leon turned to see Old Pebble trudging up the path, his round belly barely contained by his half-torn robe. A long wooden stick rested on his shoulder, and his mouth was, as usual, occupied by a chunk of roasted boar.
"You know," Pebble said through a mouthful, "the world outside isn't like here. They don't appreciate good food, discipline, or honesty. They'll probably think you're crazy."
Leon smiled faintly. "I learned from the best."
Pebble stopped beside him, squinting into the mist. "Hmph. Flattery won't save you out there, boy." He sighed and crossed his arms. "Still… can't believe it's been eleven years already. Feels like just yesterday you were crying because a beetle crawled into your soup."
Leon laughed quietly. "That soup tasted awful anyway."
"That's because you cooked it!" Pebble retorted, pointing his stick. "You almost poisoned Ironwood! The man saw the afterlife for three minutes!"
"Three seconds," came a calm voice behind them.
Both turned to see Ironwood approaching — tall, thin, his long silver hair tied neatly behind his head. Unlike Pebble, Ironwood's robes were immaculate despite the humidity. He carried an aura of timeless calm, like a lake untouched by wind.
"Three seconds," Ironwood repeated, his lips curving faintly. "And yet he still complains eleven years later."
Pebble frowned. "Complain? I was traumatized! You try digesting a soup that made your soul itch!"
Leon grinned as they bickered. He had grown used to this—one master as wise as the heavens, the other as infuriating as an untrained monkey. And somehow, he loved them both equally.
Ironwood turned to Leon and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You've grown stronger than either of us imagined. The beasts no longer challenge you, your alchemy has surpassed mine, and your reading of ancient scripts would make scholars weep."
Pebble snorted. "And his appetite? That one's definitely from me."
Leon bowed his head slightly. "You both gave me everything. I don't know if I deserve it."
Ironwood smiled softly. "You survived what no human should have. You earned it."
For a moment, silence fell between them — only the jungle's distant heartbeat filled the air.
Then Leon's expression dimmed. "Do you… think they're still out there? My mother? My sister?"
Pebble froze mid-bite. Even Ironwood's calm faltered slightly.
"I can barely remember their faces anymore," Leon said quietly. "Sometimes I dream of a woman's voice singing… and a baby's laugh. But when I wake up, they're gone. It's like my mind doesn't want to remember."
Ironwood's voice was deep and slow. "Memories fade, but bonds do not. Whether they live among the living or rest among the stars, you carry them in every breath you take."
Pebble sighed and rubbed his neck. "You know, Ironwood, you always say things that make me feel like an emotional potato."
Ironwood ignored him. "Leon, the jungle cannot give you the answers you seek. Only the world beyond these trees can. Go, find them — or at least find yourself."
Leon nodded slowly, though his chest felt tight. He turned his gaze toward the endless mist ahead. "I'm not afraid of beasts or danger. I'm afraid I won't recognize home when I see it."
Pebble grinned suddenly. "Then just punch anyone who looks suspicious. Worked for me."
Ironwood sighed. "Do not follow that advice."
Milo meowed, hopping onto Leon's shoulder, his little claws digging gently into the fabric.
"See?" Pebble said. "Even the furball agrees with me."
Leon chuckled, eyes burning faintly with emotion. "I'll miss you both."
Ironwood nodded. "We'll always be here."
Pebble's eyes softened, and though he tried to hide it, a tear rolled down his cheek. "Yeah, yeah. Now go before I start crying and Ironwood calls me soft again."
"I never said you weren't," Ironwood murmured.
Pebble threw his boar bone at him. "Shut up, bamboo stick!"
Leon laughed — a pure, heartfelt sound that echoed through the trees. It was the sound of a boy on the edge of manhood, saying goodbye to everything that made him who he was.
He bowed low, his voice trembling slightly. "Thank you, Masters. For raising me. For saving me."
Then he turned toward the mist. The jungle seemed to ripple as if alive, opening a path lined with glowing plants and soft wind.
Ironwood's voice followed him, steady and proud. "Leon, remember — power without balance is chaos. And the world outside knows nothing of balance."
Pebble added, shouting, "And if anyone insults your cooking, hit them twice!"
Leon grinned, waving without looking back. "Got it!"
Milo let out a high-pitched roar — tiny but fierce — as they stepped into the fog.
The mist swallowed them whole. The light grew brighter, the sound of the jungle fading into silence.
The masters stood watching long after he was gone.
Pebble sighed. "Think he'll make it?"
Ironwood's eyes remained fixed on the fading trail. "He already has."
The jungle wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of ash and lightning — the same scent that had filled the air eleven years ago when a boy fell from the sky.
Now, that boy was walking back toward the heavens.
And his journey home had truly begun.