Morning broke in thin, pale light. Mist drifted low across the forest floor, clinging to the roots and the breath of the wolves.

The boy wrestled with the eldest of his brothers near the willow cave, the sound of their scuffle echoing faintly through the damp air. 

They locked and rolled, strength meeting strength, until the elder pinned him down with a heavy paw and a short, sharp huff of victory. He pushed back, grinning through the dirt, before giving in. 

The younger wolves watched for a moment, then resumed their own chaotic wrestling, tumbling into the brush. The scent of pine and rain thickened as a shadow approached. 

The mother wolf emerged from the trees, her coat shining with raindrops, eyes weary but glimmering with a depth that silenced the others. 

There was water in her gaze, most likely fatigue, the kind that only long nights bring. 

The boy stood still. The mother stepped closer, inspecting him, her breath calm and deep. 

Then, without warning, she turned and began walking towards the open field beyond the cave. The other wolves stayed behind. The boy was confused.

Only he followed. When they reached the clearing, the mother stopped and looked around. It was wide, empty, no prey, no threat. Only the wind and the soft hiss of leaves. 

She stepped aside, making space between them, and fixed her gaze on him. For a moment, the boy didn’t move. Then he understood. This was different.

She wasn’t sending him to fight, or to prove himself.

She was giving him room, a chance to face what lived inside him, not out of fear this time, but focus. To see if power could be guided when not cornered by the threat of a ferocious predator. 

Her tail flicked once. A gesture of quiet approval. 

He took a deep breath, eyes locked on the horizon, and raised his hand. The world seemed to pause. 

A faint hum filled the air, soft at first, then rising like a pulse beneath the ground. The scent of ozone bit the morning air. He breathed in until his chest ached, the air humming with invisible weight. Then he let go.

From his fingertips, lightning cracked. 

Not the harmless spark of before, but a surge: bright, violent, pure. It split the clearing, tearing the clouds apart.

Birds exploded from the trees. The wolves flinched back. And then it was gone. 

Smoke curled upward, the scent of burnt bark lingering in the still air. The mother wolf’s eyes stayed fixed on him. She didn’t move. She only watched, silent, as if measuring what she’d just witnessed. 

Then, slowly, she turned away, leading the boy back towards the cave. 

The boy followed, heart still thundering. The echo of power still buzzed faintly beneath his skin. 

However, far away, in a world built on order, brick, and metal, a different morning began. Rayan wakes up. Contemplates his bedroom ceiling for a few minutes. 

He then feels a surge of productivity for the day. 

He washes his face, about to get ready for school, trying to convince himself that he should attempt to pay extra attention out of respect and effort for his teacher. 

He lay back in bed, motivation slipping away, deciding he’ll skip everything except the compulsory patrol later. The only session he ever looked forward to.

Later. Sitting in the classroom. Eyes half-focused on the tie of his instructor. The same grey walls. The same predictable rhythm. His notes were smudged from the rain outside, his fingers restless. 

It was the last period of the school day. The instructor gathered the class and outlined the day’s patrol plan.

“Unknown lightning activity detected in unregistered coordinates’’

Then followed with, “Junior patrol, gear up. You’re on sweep duty.” 

Rayan straightened, the monotony of the morning replaced by a quiet pulse of adrenaline. 

Within minutes, his boots hit concrete, drones hummed, and engines started. 

By noon, the patrols had reached the treeline. The air there felt different, thicker, heavier. The trees seemed older, the soil darker. The kind of forest where sound doesn’t echo, it swallows. 

As they walked for a few hours, a faint scent of smoke drifted through the wind. Rayan adjusted his gear, scanning the horizon. Adjusting his gear, he fell slightly behind.

As he began moving again, the sound of distant branches crackling caught his attention. Then movement, fast, low. A shape darted between the trees.  The shadow drew closer. Leaves snapped under bare feet. Rayan’s heart pounded as instinct and curiosity collided, adrenaline lacing every nerve.

For a second, it looked like an animal. Then he realized, too upright. Too human. 

And then he saw him.

It was the wildboy. He burst through the foliage, chasing a deer across the wet undergrowth, instinct and speed blurring into one. 

His bare feet struck the soil like drumbeats. The animal bolted left, he followed, driven by the thrill of the hunt. The deer leapt, vanished between the trunks. He stopped, chest heaving, pulse wild. 

Then his eyes caught Rayan’s. The fully geared human froze first. For a long, silent heartbeat, neither moved. Both examined each other. 

For the first time, the city and the wild looked each other in the eye. This was the first encounter between the wildboy and Rayan.