Two Hundred Years in the Forest of Phorashia
Valtherion didn't die.
He should have.
The forest had done everything right. It starved him. Poisoned him. Hunted him with creatures born to kill. Crushed his body, fractured his bones, burned his nerves raw with mana backlash.
Any normal child would have vanished into the soil within weeks—bones picked clean, name forgotten, a ghost left behind in the soil and the wind.
But Valtherion was never given the luxury of being normal.
He was a flame born from grief.
A spark ignited by terror.
A fire that learned one truth early:
If it stopped burning, it would disappear.
Phorashia wanted him dead.
And somehow—
It failed.
---
Year 1 — A Boy Who Refuses to Die
When Valtherion woke, the first thing he smelled was rot and heat.
The Bone Serpent's corpse lay half-buried in ash beside him, its melted skull fused into the earth like slag poured by a careless god. Thin trails of smoke drifted lazily upward, curling around blackened stones and charred tree roots.
He was alive.
That realization came slowly. Painfully.
His throat felt like sandpaper. His stomach cramped violently, empty enough to fold in on itself. Every muscle screamed as he tried to lift himself, tendons burning, limbs trembling. His chest heaved, barely able to draw air.
But it rose.
And fell.
"…I'm alive," he croaked.
His shoulder wound had sealed into an ugly burn-scar, flesh fused by his own fire. It hurt constantly—but it didn't fester. The fire inside him killed sickness before it could take hold, purging poison, pain, infection.
He forced himself upright using a broken branch. Black spots danced in his vision, heat waves rising from the scorched earth beneath his hands.
Food.
Water.
Shelter.
Fire.
The order mattered. He learned that fast.
He nearly died twice that first week—once from thirst, once from eating berries that burned his insides until he vomited blood. After that, he learned patience the hard way.
He boiled water by heating stones and dropping them into leaves folded into crude bowls. He slept in hollow tree trunks, curled tight, knife made of sharpened bone clutched to his chest. Every sound of snapping twigs made him flinch. Every shadow held the threat of death.
And every night—
Something hunted him.
Wolves prowled just outside the firelight. Insects the size of dogs burrowed beneath him. Mana leeches drifted like fog, trying to latch onto his skin and drink him dry.
Valtherion screamed.
He ran.
He burned.
Fear never left.
But fear kept him alive.
---
Year 12 — The Forest's Young Hunter
By twelve years in, Valtherion's hands no longer shook when something moved in the dark.
He was still small for his age, but his body had changed—lean muscle carved by hunger and constant motion. His senses were sharp enough to feel mana pressure before a beast revealed itself. A rustle of leaves, the faintest hum of energy, a shift in the air—they told him more than eyes ever could.
When a Phorashia Stalker Wolf lunged from the brush, he didn't freeze.
He stepped sideways.
The wolf's claws missed by inches.
"Ember Pulse."
The fire left his hand clean and controlled, not wild. The blast punched through the wolf's ribs and dropped it instantly. Its screams were short, drowned in the hissing of smoldering leaves.
Valtherion stared at the body for a second.
Then exhaled.
No celebration. No relief.
Just efficiency.
He skinned the carcass, cooked the meat carefully, and ate in silence. His fire obeyed him now—it no longer lashed out randomly. His thoughts were calm, sharp, precise. Every movement measured. Every breath calculated.
He spoke less. Dreams faded. His laughter disappeared somewhere between night screams and morning survival.
But he lived.
That alone was enough.
---
Year 47 — Master of Expanded Fire
By forty-seven years in the forest, Valtherion no longer avoided the deep regions of Phorashia.
He walked into them.
Places where trees grew twisted by mana storms. Where the air itself pressed down like a weight. Where beasts roamed that could wipe out human settlements in hours.
He fought them anyway.
Not recklessly—but deliberately.
His fire had changed. It was no longer just heat.
It answered him.
He melted stone into barriers when cornered. Shaped flame into blades that cut through iron hide. Wrapped his body in burning armor that scorched anything that touched him.
When seasonal mana storms ripped the forest apart, he anchored himself with explosions of flame, blasting roots into the earth and riding shockwaves instead of being crushed.
His skills refined themselves through blood:
Heatwave Burst evolved from raw force into a controlled shock of thermal pressure.
Ember Pulse became fast, cheap, reliable.
Flame Control settled into his bones like instinct.
Fire Adaptation hardened his skin and nerves permanently.
Pain still existed.
But it didn't stop him anymore.
Valtherion stopped thinking like a prey.
He hunted.
---
Year 83 — A Forest That Learns Fear
Phorashia adapted.
Paths began to change. Apex beasts avoided certain clearings. Predators circled wide around zones marked by scorched earth and melted stone.
Valtherion noticed.
He learned to build instead of just hide.
Underground shelters reinforced with baked clay and bone. Hollow trees connected by tunnels only he could navigate. Traps layered upon traps—some lethal, some meant to herd enemies where he wanted them.
He used the forest as a weapon.
Vines cut and ignited mid-fight to bind enemies. Tree sap heated into blinding bursts. Mist ignited into walls of fire. Burning leaves scattered to mislead trackers.
He didn't conquer Phorashia.
He shaped it.
And the forest remembered.
---
Year 131 — Burning Phantom of the Deep Woods
By now, the beasts had a name for him.
Not spoken aloud.
Felt.
The Phantom Blaze.
A presence that moved without sound. A heat signature that appeared and vanished like a curse. A predator that hunted predators.
Mana Drakes fell after hours-long aerial battles that scarred the sky. Shadowbound Panthers—creatures that phased through darkness—burned screaming when Valtherion ignited the shadows themselves.
The Crystal-Crested Hydra nearly killed him.
Three days of battle. Two severed limbs regrown by regeneration he had to outpace. His left eye permanently scarred by crystal shrapnel.
When it finally died, Valtherion collapsed beside it and didn't move for two days.
The fire kept him alive.
Barely.
Each victory deepened his connection to flame—and widened the gap between him and humanity.
He wanted answers.
He wanted escape.
He wanted vengeance.
But one wall remained.
No matter how far he pushed—
Expanded Fire would not break.
---
Year 200 — The Threshold
Two hundred years after a child first screamed in the dark, Valtherion stood in a burned clearing that had once been a forest.
He looked twenty-something. His lifespan extension preserved his youth—but not his eyes.
Those eyes had seen too much.
Black hair streaked with ember-red fell past his shoulders. His skin bore scars that never faded. His presence warped the air, heat shimmering faintly around him.
Inside his chest, his mana core throbbed violently.
Cramped.
Strained.
Angry.
"I've reached the limit," he muttered.
Expanded Fire answered everything he commanded—but refused to change.
He felt it.
The threshold.
A wall only catastrophe could shatter.
Phorashia answered him.
The earth trembled.
Trees snapped like twigs. Mana pressure surged so violently the air screamed.
Then—
Something emerged.
DING!
⟢ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
[High-Tier Threat Detected]
[Enemy: Phorashia Lesser World Serpent]
[Level: 33]
[Class: Dragon]
[Threat Level: Extreme (Environmental)]
[Warning: Target Possesses Overwhelming Mana Output]
[Warning: Survival Probability — Extremely Low]
[Recommendation: Immediate Retreat]
[Reward: Exp +12,900]
So massive the forest bowed. Crown-tier. Ancient. Scales etched with runes worn smooth by centuries of slaughter.
Its eyes locked onto Valtherion.
The pressure alone cracked the ground beneath his feet.
Valtherion inhaled slowly, flames rising around him.
"So," he said, voice steady despite the terror clawing at his chest.
"This is the test."
Win—and ascend.
Lose—and finally burn out.
The forest held its breath.
And the world prepared to change.