Adlet returned to the forest, moving with the ease of someone who had spent countless hours among its trees and shadows. Light from the Stars above shifted slowly, casting soft patterns across the mossy ground and marking the gentle passage of time.
He kept to the familiar paths—each bend memorized, each stone a silent companion—yet every journey felt new. Birds chirped overhead, their calls echoing softly through the vast rocky expanse. A faint breeze stirred the leaves, carrying the smell of damp earth and blooming shrubs.
Stopping at a low bush, he retrieved his handmade bow and fishing rod from their hiding place. Catching small game and fish wasn't mere survival for him—it was training. Each arrow fired, each line cast, sharpened his reflexes, preparing him for the creatures he dreamed of facing one day.
Despite the serenity of the forest, Adlet's mind wandered to an old childhood tale: a mysterious monster said to lurk somewhere in these woods. Adults retold it with laughter, a mere warning to keep children inside. But for Adlet, a tiny flame of hope persisted. What if the legend held truth? What if danger watched him from the shadows, waiting to test him?
Hours passed as he tracked a squirrel, then a rabbit, moving silently, crouching low, calculating each step. Every snapped twig, every rustle of leaves became a sign to decode. It was a ritual—a rehearsal for a future he refused to abandon.
By late afternoon, hunger nudged him toward the river cutting through his favorite western clearing. There, the rocky wall rose dramatically toward the vault above, brushing against the soft glow of the Stars. The water flowed clear and cold, reflecting the shimmering points of light like thousands of tiny flames drifting in the current.
He cast his line with practiced care. The forest hummed around him—the whisper of leaves, a distant hawk's cry, the rhythmic splash of the river. He steadied his breathing, fingers brushing the line, waiting for the telltale tug.
Minutes stretched. Then—suddenly—he felt a violent pull.
The rod bent sharply, trembling under the strain. Water erupted in furious swirls, drenching his face. Adlet dug his feet into the ground, muscles tightening as the unseen creature thrashed with near-unreal strength beneath the surface. For a moment, he thought the line would snap. But he held firm.
With a final surge, he pulled upward.
The river exploded in a spray of shimmering water, revealing a long, slender fish. White scales streaked with gold glimmered under the Stars, and seven ribbon-like tails fluttered behind it like threads of living light.
Adlet froze, breath caught in his throat.
The creature shone brilliantly—then dissolved, right before his eyes, into silvery mist that faded into nothing.
He staggered back, heart racing. Was it real? A dream? A hallucination born of hope?
He stared a long moment at his empty hands before finally turning toward home. Each step replayed the scene in his mind—the weight of the creature, its beauty, its impossible nature. By the time he reached the village, the Stars had dimmed to their familiar twinkling, as if the world itself wished to pretend nothing had happened.
Dinner passed quietly. His parents, thinking it just another of his wild stories, laughed it off. Adlet barely noticed the taste of his food. The questions in his mind were louder.
Sleep came quickly.
—
Later that night, he opened his eyes.
Darkness surrounded him—vast, silent, formless. He felt no body, no limbs. Only consciousness drifting freely, carried by unseen currents.
Then a soft white glow took shape before him.
Slowly, the light wove itself into something familiar: seven ribbons flowing gently from the slender silhouette of the fish he had caught hours earlier.
"Hello," said a voice that came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Who are you?" Adlet asked, more curious than afraid.
"Who am I? I am right here, before you," the voice replied, serene and emotionless.
"You're… a fish?"
"If that is the word you use for me, then yes."
"Why are we here?" he asked.
"You defeated me, so I am here. As for you—what could be more natural than standing within your own mind?"
Adlet glanced around the endless dark. "If this is my mind, Why is it so dark, then? Something wrong with my personality?"
"It appears your spirit is weak," the fish answered calmly. "But I can help you change that—if you wish."
"My spirit may be weak," Adlet muttered, stung, "but my will is strong enough to make up for it."
"And what do you seek to achieve with such will?"
"To become strong enough to be a Protector."
"I do not know what a 'Protector' is," the fish admitted. "But we share a fate now. Whether it makes you stronger—or whether you can use what I offer—remains to be seen."
"You can share your strength with me?" Adlet's voice wavered slightly, stunned. The words echoed the tales he had heard of Protectors drawing power from the creatures they had overcome.
Of course, if this was just a dream, it could be nothing more than his imagination replaying what he longed for most. Yet the possibility was too immense to dismiss.
"Yes," the fish said simply. "You have earned it."
"So… does that mean I'm a Protector now?" Adlet asked, excitement lacing his words.
"I do not know what a Protector is," the fish admitted. "But you are my master, since you defeated me."
"And your strength—does that mean I am stronger now that you are with me?" he pressed, seeking some confirmation.
"If you mean physical strength, I doubt my presence will change much. As you have seen, you bested me already."
"Then… how will you help me?" Adlet asked, uncertainty creeping in.
The fish's voice was calm, distant yet kind. "I cannot fully explain all that I am. Could you, if our roles were reversed, truly understand?"
"No… I suppose not," Adlet admitted.
"I am sorry I cannot assist more directly. Perhaps I am not the companion you imagined. I have always avoided conflict."
"Until you attacked my hook," Adlet said with a small, amused smile.
"Precisely—that was your achievement," the fish replied. "And the reason for your victory."
"Our conversation must end," the fish continued. "You are still too weak to remain here for long." Its glowing form began to dim, curling gently into the surrounding darkness.
Adlet's mind raced with questions, but he realized he might only have time for one more. "What… is your name?"
"You called me Fish. That will do for now."
"No," Adlet said thoughtfully, "'Fish' is not a name. If you do not have one, I will give you one." A simple, fitting name formed in his mind.
"My first friend is a fish?" the boy murmured. "So be it. From now on, I will call you Pami."
"As you wish, master," the voice echoed from every corner of the space.
Adlet shook his head with a grin. "No, we are friends. No need for 'master.' Call me Adlet."
At that, a warm glow lingered briefly around Pami before fading entirely. Adlet felt his consciousness gently drifting back, returning to the quiet world of his body. Outside, the Stars remained steady and eternal, watching over a boy who had just taken his first step toward a far greater destiny.