A long time ago, in the northern forests—a place abandoned by humanity after the "Great Explosion" at the fertilizer factory that turned vast swaths of the forest into a barren wasteland.
Three years passed.
Life began to creep back into the forest, but not for its original inhabitants. It belonged to the scavengers who seized every inch of it. Despite this, the displaced residents tried to return, forced to pay "protection money" to these thieves just to reclaim their own homes, all while the government and its noble ruler turned a blind eye.
The most powerful of these factions was Charlie’s group. Charlie was a man with a heart of stone and a terrifying, hulking frame. He was feared by everyone, leaving the field clear for him and his gang to impose their dominion over every corner of the forest.
Did the ruler react? Not at all. He left the matter to his son, Conar—Aaron’s father—who brokered a deal with Charlie: don't touch state property. And the only state property worth mentioning was a dilapidated, abandoned hospital on the forest’s edge.
Every path toward the forest became treacherous and lethal. The moment you stepped foot there, a gang of scavengers would intercept you, and that would be the end of you.
Bruno knew this well. But he didn't care.
That man, who had lost his only son—the one who was closer to him than his own soul—had abandoned the capital and divorced his wife at her own request. He had forsaken everything, save for one obsession: finding his child, Johan.
He wandered endlessly, like a man who had lost his mind. He would scream his son's name in despair, drifting between moments of crushing reality and bouts of deadly, icy silence. The only reason he survived was the fragile, lingering hope of finding his boy.
One night, he ventured into the forest as he always did, walking with a heavy, listless gait. A scavenger stopped him, leveling a firearm at his chest.
Bruno didn't react. In fact, it was the scavenger who trembled. Bruno’s appearance was harrowing: a tattered black robe, ruined shoes worn thin by miles of aimless wandering, and long, wild black hair.
"I’ll kill you and take whatever you’ve got!" the scavenger threatened, trying to project strength.
"I have nothing," Bruno replied in a hollow voice.
The scavenger stepped closer, pressing the muzzle harder against Bruno, and whispered, "Maybe you’re the one they call the Forest Monster? Come with me. Charlie will be pleased to have you."
"Get out of my way."
"You’re definitely him... the monster who screams names every night. What was it? Oh, I remember... you scream 'My son!' and grab every child you see. 'My son!'" The man laughed hysterically, mocking him.
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Bruno ignored him and kept walking. The scavenger lunged, but Bruno shoved him aside with effortless strength. The man tumbled, his head striking the edge of a jagged rock. Blood began to drip from his temple.
"Guys!" the scavenger shrieked, struggling to his feet. "This bastard tried to kill me!"
At his call, nearly twenty men converged, surrounding Bruno, beating him mercilessly until he was subdued and bound.
Bruno opened his eyes to find himself tied to a tree trunk. The area was lit by numerous torches despite the dark of night. A massive man approached, his footsteps echoing with the thud of a heavy cane. It was Charlie, the "Leader of the Northern Forest."
Charlie struck the ground with his cane. "You are the monster who threatens our lands. Tomorrow, in front of our dear people, your head will be severed and fed to the starving dogs!"
Bruno stared coldly. Everyone in this world had truly gone mad. This man saw himself as a ruler of land that was never his, and the people behind him clapped like fools.
Someone steals your house, gives it back, and charges you tax for the privilege, Bruno thought. "Everyone here is insane," he whispered.
"People of our great forest!" Charlie roared. "This man attempted to kill my orphan nephew and has been terrorizing your children, trying to abduct them. To deter him once and for all, I invite you all to his execution tomorrow!"
The crowd dispersed—a barbaric gathering that felt like a relic of the Stone Age. If anyone from the capital saw this, they wouldn't believe their eyes. Bruno, left alone tied to the tree, realized the truth: he would die tomorrow.
The faint light of dawn was already beginning to bleed across the horizon.
Bruno lowered his gaze as someone approached. A child.
Bruno’s eyes widened. Was he dreaming? No, this wasn't a dream. That face, those features—despite the hair color, the boy standing before him looked exactly like Johan. But he was older, perhaps ten years old.
Tears welled in Bruno's eyes. "Johan..." he whispered.
The boy smiled kindly. "You’re looking for a child named Johan. My friend told me you asked him about it before."
The boy moved closer, dropping his voice. "I know you’re innocent. I saw my uncle on the road attacking you first. You don't kidnap children; you just think they look like your lost son. Don't worry, Uncle! I’ll try to cut those ropes, then you must run far away."
Bruno remained silent, gazing at the child’s features. If only his hands weren't bound, he would have embraced him. He bit his lip in frustration.
The boy began to climb the tree, a knife clutched in his hands. He worked on one of the ropes and smiled triumphantly. "That was easy!"
"What is your name?" Bruno asked, his voice trembling.
"My name is Jake. I am not your son Johan, Uncle. I have my own family, and I have a father who loves me. But don't ask me who he is; it's better if you don't know."
Before the boy could finish, Bruno heard a sickening thud. Jake had fallen, his cheek sliced deep by the knife, blood pouring down. The boy clutched his wound, trembling.
Bruno strained against the remaining ropes, tearing them apart with raw, desperate strength. He fell to the ground, rushed to the boy, and lifted him up. He ripped a piece of his own robe and pressed it firmly against Jake’s cheek to stem the bleeding.
Their hearts were racing in unison. Jake’s eyes filled with tears, but he wiped them away, feigning strength. He grabbed the cloth from Bruno’s hand and whispered, "Run, Uncle! My father’s men will be here soon!"
My father’s men?
Did he just say... his father’s men?
Could this boy... be the son of that scoundrel Charlie?
Bruno stood up, trembling with shock and anxiety, and turned to flee. It had been a long, long time since Bruno had felt anything—since his heart had beat like this.
He ran, disappearing into the dark, leaving the lands of Charlie behind forever.