Rain fell softly over the harbor town of East Verdan.
Not violent rain.
The quiet kind.
The kind that made old buildings look blurry and made messenger birds hide beneath rooftops with their feathers puffed up.
Rows of black umbrellas surrounded a burning funeral platform near the cliffside temple.
Incense smoke drifted into the gray sky.
Hunters stood silently.
Some wore long coats decorated with squad symbols.
Some carried strange weapons wrapped in cloth.
Some looked more dangerous than the storm itself.
Yet none of them spoke loudly.
Because the man being cremated today wasn’t ordinary.
Harun Mehata.
A hunter known across multiple continents.
A man who disappeared for months at a time chasing legends most people laughed at.
And according to rumors… a man who died searching for the Seven Stones.
Near the burning flames stood a seventeen-year-old boy wearing an oversized black t-shirt and baggy jeans.
Black hair.
Brown eyes.
A red thread tied around his wrist.
Dhruv Mehata stared at the fire quietly.
No tears.
No dramatic breakdown.
Just silence.
The flames reflected in his eyes while rainwater slowly slid down his face.
An old hunter standing nearby muttered under his breath.
“Poor kid.”
Another hunter crossed his arms.
“Harun was insane till the end.”
“He got too close to something.”
“Serves him right for chasing myths.”
Dhruv heard them.
But ignored them.
Because none of them knew his grandfather properly.
To the world, Harun Mehata was:
– reckless
– strange
– obsessed with old stories
But to Dhruv… he was the person who taught him how to enjoy life.
Even during hard times.
Especially during hard times.
A memory flashed through Dhruv’s mind.
“You’re thinking too much again.”
Young Dhruv sat beside his grandfather on a rooftop years ago while messenger birds flew across the orange evening sky.
Harun laughed while eating grilled fish straight from a skewer.
“Life’s not treasure, kid.”
Dhruv blinked.
“Then what is it?”
Harun pointed at the sunset.
“The moments before the treasure.”
The memory vanished with the sound of crackling fire.
Dhruv looked down slightly.
For the first time all day… his chest hurt.
A temple priest stepped forward quietly.
“The funeral flame will continue until midnight.”
People slowly began leaving afterward.
Hunters disappeared into rain-covered streets.
Whispers faded.
Umbrellas vanished one by one.
Soon… only Dhruv remained near the burning platform.
The wind grew colder.
He stared at the flames for another minute before quietly speaking toward them.
“You could’ve at least told me where you were going, old man.”
The fire crackled softly.
No answer.
Dhruv gave a tiny smile anyway.
Then turned around and started walking home through the rain.
East Verdan looked beautiful at night.
Warm lanterns glowed above narrow streets while messenger birds hopped between rooftops carrying spoken messages between houses.
Far away near the harbor, massive hunter ships swayed slowly against dark waves.
Dhruv shoved his hands into his pockets while walking.
His grandfather’s old home sat near the edge of town beside a cliff road.
Small.
Wooden.
Filled with memories.
The moment Dhruv reached the front door… he stopped.
Something felt wrong.
The door was slightly open.
Dhruv frowned immediately.
He distinctly remembered locking it before leaving for the funeral.
The wind pushed the door gently.
Creeeak.
Dhruv slowly stepped inside.
Darkness.
The room smelled strange.
Not dangerous.
Just… disturbed.
Drawers were open.
Books scattered.
Cabinets searched through.
Someone had been here.
Recently.
Dhruv’s eyes sharpened.
“…What the hell?”
He quickly moved through the house.
Nothing appeared stolen.
Not the money.
Not the furniture.
Not even Harun’s old weapons hanging on the wall.
Which meant only one thing.
Whoever came here wasn’t searching for valuables.
They were searching for information.
Dhruv’s heartbeat slowed.
That made this worse.
He entered Harun’s room carefully.
The room looked mostly untouched except for one thing.
The old bookshelf beside the window had shifted slightly.
Dhruv narrowed his eyes.
His grandfather hated crooked furniture.
Slowly, Dhruv approached the shelf and pushed it aside.
Click.
A hidden compartment opened inside the wall.
Dhruv blinked.
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Inside the compartment sat:
– an old compass
– a leather notebook
– a small dagger
– and a rolled-up map tied carefully with red thread
Dhruv slowly picked it up.
The thread felt old.
Worn.
Like it had been carried for years.
His expression changed slightly.
“This is what they were searching for…”
He carefully untied the thread and opened the map across the wooden floor.
Ancient markings covered the paper.
Continents.
Routes.
Symbols.
Some places were circled aggressively in black ink.
And near the center of the map… written in Harun’s handwriting… were four words.
“East Cloud knows truth.”
Dhruv stared silently.
The rain outside intensified.
His grandfather had talked about East Cloud before.
The continent of floating markets, hunter ports, ancient ruins, and dangerous crews.
One of the most chaotic places in the world.
Dhruv’s fingers slowly tightened around the map.
For the first time since the funeral… something sparked inside him.
Not happiness.
Not excitement.
Something deeper.
Movement.
Like standing at the edge of a giant road.
A floorboard suddenly creaked behind him.
Dhruv instantly turned.
Nobody.
But the front door downstairs slowly moved.
Someone had entered.
Dhruv’s heartbeat sharpened.
Heavy footsteps echoed faintly below.
Not one person.
Multiple.
A deep unfamiliar voice spoke downstairs.
“Search carefully this time.”
Another voice answered.
“The old hunter definitely hid it somewhere here.”
Dhruv’s eyes widened slightly.
They came back.
Fast.
He quickly rolled the map shut and looked around desperately.
No escape through hallway.
Too risky.
The footsteps were already approaching stairs.
Dhruv’s gaze shifted toward the bedroom window.
Outside:
– rain
– darkness
– cliffside road below
A dangerous jump.
Dhruv smiled nervously.
“Yeah… that sounds about right.”
The footsteps reached halfway upstairs.
Dhruv grabbed the map tightly, climbed onto the window frame… and jumped.
CRASH.
Glass shattered behind him.
Cold rain slammed against his face as he rolled violently onto the muddy cliff road below.
Pain shot through his shoulder.
“Found him!”
Dhruv instantly stood up and sprinted through the rain.
Behind him, shadowy figures rushed out of the house.
Messenger birds exploded into the sky from nearby rooftops.
Dhruv ran without looking back.
Heart pounding.
Rain blurring his vision.
The rolled-up map pressed tightly against his chest.
Above the storm… his grandfather’s words echoed faintly inside his mind.
«”The moments before the treasure.”»
Dhruv grinned breathlessly while running into the night.
And for the first time since the funeral… the journey had begun.
END OF CHAPTER 1