Pre-chapter author note:

This is a character-driven story with slow-burn development and rising stakes. If you enjoy layered worldbuilding, characters and psychological twists, give it a shot.

In a small village far from the colossal cities, a young boy stood under a large tree beside a lake that shimmered with the light of the setting sun.

He wore a jumpsuit and had a pair of goggles hanging around his neck. With one hand, he held his straw hat against the gusting wind. 

Standing among a group of younger children, He seemed to be their leader. 

His face was round, and his big, bright eyes matched the color of his brown hair, which was visible beneath his hat. 

He spoke with enthusiasm, “Should we try it now? I think it’s ready. The wind is strong, but I think it will work…”.

He was interrupted by a younger boy who lisped many of his words: “Lyan throw it do me, throw it do me.” 

The young boy stared at him and muttered to himself, ‘This little guy is lucky because I’m the only one who can decipher his language—and it’s Ryan, for god’s sake’.

A few seconds later, Ryan loosened his grip around a handmade ball and tossed it gently toward him. 

“Zam, catch it!”

After a few passes, one of the kids threw the ball a bit too hard, and it ended up stuck in the branches of the tree. The kids started shouting and yelling at him. 

“Not again Dell! Why did you throw it so high?” 

Dell froze in place, his eyes fixed on the ground.

Ryan gave him a faint smile and mouthed, "Dell! It's okay, don’t worry," while moving his lips slowly and deliberately.

At that moment, Ryan sighed and thought, ‘Finally! Now we can check if the villagers need help getting home—we always end up distracted whenever we start playing’.

“Let’s head back, and tomorrow I—”

Zam interrupted, “Bud da ball is up dhere, candu dump high like—”

Ryan quickly cut him off and covered Zam's mouth, saying, “Alright, alright, I’ll get it. You don’t need to embarrass me more than this.”

He stared at the ball stuck in the branches, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and shifted his weight, bending his knees to gather power. 

As his muscles coiled, he jumped—over a meter off the ground. 

He extended his right hand, trying to catch the ball, but only managed to touch the lowest branch. He tried several more times, but each attempt was in vain.

Finally, he said, “Let’s try another way. Rock, get the rope from the emergency box.”

Rock adjusted his glasses, then carefully retrieved the emergency box. He handed Ryan the rope, eyeing the tree like it might bite. ‘Please don’t do anything reckless,’ he muttered under his breath.

***

Meanwhile, on the other side of the road, a young boy with a distant look was running, with headphones around his neck. He seemed to dislike loud sounds, preferring to wear the headphones there rather than over his ears. Suddenly, he stopped as the signal faded. Frustrated, he muttered, ‘Must be the wind messing with it.’

He hit the device a few times, but only made it sound worse. 

He turned it off completely, ‘It’s okay, I already finished the last lap. I should head back now.’

Just as he was about to turn around, he noticed a group of kids yelling and shouting across the road. 

His eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of one of the kids.

’How can that kid jump so high? Am I seeing things?‘

***

Under the tree, Ryan took hold of the rope, coiling it in his hands before throwing it at the ball. Each time he threw it, the rope fell short. He took a deep breath and readied another throw, his focus narrowing on the branch.

Just as his arm was about to swing forward, a voice cut through the air.

“You’re doing it the wrong way.”

Ryan turned around to see a boy about his age, dressed in a neat black training suit that contrasted with his pale skin and white hair. He stood out easily, as most village children had sun-kissed, wheat-colored skin from growing up in the warm weather.

Ryan’s eyebrows lifted. “Who are you?”

Rock walked closer to Ryan “I heard from my father that a rich kid was coming to our village this week.”

“Who are you calling a kid?” 

The boy snapped, his tone sharp with irritation. He crossed his arms and added, “Well, I’m not obligated to tell you who I am. And I’m not that rich… although, compared to you, maybe I am.” A smirk played on his lips.

Ryan seemed to filter most of what was said. He was focused on one thing, He grinned back and went on with what he was doing. “That’s unfair. I thought you were the same age as me. Guess I was wrong,” he teased. Then, tilting his head curiously, he asked, “How old are you, then?”

The boy shrugged, glancing away without answering, looking slightly embarrassed.

Dell, who had been quiet hesitantly, interrupted and said, “Ryan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— ”

Ryan patted his head gently and said , “Don’t worry. It’s okay; we’re just playing. I’ll get it for you guys.” 

Zam, who had been glaring at the foreign boy, finally spoke up, “Yes, Layan, hully up aleeady. I’m hungwy!”

The foreign boy looked puzzled, trying to make sense of Zam’s words, then he turned to Ryan, gesturing with an open hand, he said, “Give me the rope. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Ryan, looking a bit worn out, handed him the rope without a second thought and watched closely. The boy tied a small loop at one end, held the other end tightly, then swung the looped side in a circular motion before tossing it at the branch. The loop hooked perfectly around the branch.

All the kids stared, amazed—especially Ryan whose eyes lit up. “That was awesome!” Then he glanced at the branch. 

“Uh… we were actually trying to knock the ball down from the tree — not catch the branch.”

The boy paused for a second and a quick realization hit him, furrowing his eyebrows, then pointed at the ball in surprise. “Wait, what? You did all that for this voodoo ball?” he asked, giving them an odd look, but no one seemed to get what he said. 

He waved his hand while walking toward the tree, then added “Nevermind, I just thought you wanted to climb it.” He sighed then straightened his shoulders and put his hand on the tree, feeling its texture, then said, “Alright, that’s even easier.” 

Suddenly, he rose a few inches off the ground, then launched himself toward the tree and skillfully struck it with one leg, slamming into it. The tree shook violently, as if struck by a powerful force, leaving a small crack on its surface. The ball dropped to the ground, and birds scattered into the air, startled by the impact.

The kids’ jaws dropped, completely stunned. They gathered around him, begging, “Teach us! Teach us! We wanna do that too!”. 

Ryan’s wide eyes sparkled with admiration as he looked at the foreign boy and asked, “Wow, How did you do that?”

The foreign boy smirked and replied, “Well, can’t you tell? I’m a candidate. This is the least I can do.”

Ryan thought, ‘A candidate?’ But he brushed it off and asked, “What’s that move called? Do you have a name for it?”

The boy raised an eyebrow, thinking, ‘Did he just ignore me? Anyways… what should I name it?’ He coughed, trying to suppress a laugh, then looked back at Ryan and said in a serious tone, “Of course it has a name. It’s... the Strike of Thunderbolt.”

Ryan’s eyes lit up with excitement. ‘Strike of Thunderbolt—awesome name,’ he thought.

The boy’s poker face began to slip. He looked uncomfortable, then quickly turned away and said, “I have to go now.”

“Wait—” 

Ryan called out, but the boy was already walking off, not giving him a chance to say more. He watched him disappear into the distance, he thought ‘Would I ever see him again?.’ 

He sighed, grabbed the ball, and gave it to Zam, and said, “Here you go, Zam. Let’s head back now.” Then he looked at the kids and said ”Aren’t you all hungry?”

One voice responded immediately, “Yes, of couth!” The kids all followed Ryan back to the fields.

After running for about ten minutes, the foreign boy finally stopped, leaning over to catch his breath. A short laugh escaped him—bitter and sharp—though it hurt to breathe. Then he laughed harder, clutching his side, saying, “Are those kids dumb? Thunderbolt, my foot.” He sat down, took off his shoes, and winced at the sight of his swollen, bruised leg. 

He looked down and thought ‘At least I didn’t look weak in front of them,’ he muttered, trying to stand while holding his injured foot. Hopping on one leg, he grumbled, “Ahhh, it hurts, it hurts! Damn you, my ego…”. 

With a wince he glanced back toward the village, a smirk tugging at his lips. ‘Didn’t think I’d find someone like that in a backwater place like this... things might not be as boring as I thought.’