Years passed…
"Catch it! Quick!" shouted Rogg, pointing toward a mogi darting through the underbrush.
Robb leapt without hesitation. "Hyaaah!" he cried as he dove, arms outstretched. "Gotcha!" His hands gripped the squirming, furry creature tightly.
Rogg chuckled and jogged over. "You got him fast this time. That's a big one."
"Yep! Should be good for dinner," Robb said proudly, lifting the mogi high. "Add some fruit and nuts—full till morning!"
They were used to it. For years now, Rogg and Robb had lived off the land, and mogis had become their primary source of protein. In every hunt, Rogg would flush the prey from behind while Robb waited at narrow trails where mogis often darted through.
That day's catch was decent. A mogi weighing nearly a kilo, and a handful of wild fruits they'd picked along the trail heading south—toward their long-sought destination: Guava Valley.
It had been four years since they left Rhazab Gush. Since then, they'd kept moving south, staying away from regions dominated by the Lagosh. Sometimes they were forced to shelter in caves for weeks, waiting out storms or thick fog. They never stayed in one place too long.
Though the Lagosh were nomadic, they often camped for months in food-rich areas. They weren't picky—any living creature could be their meal, including humans, though humans were harder to find. But they would consume wild animals, even stripping forests bare. Not even the smaller trees were spared. Only the ancient, giant trees survived their presence.
Luckily, Rogg and Robb chose steep cliffs as their home. Lagosh preferred dense forest plains but avoided swampy ground. Valleys around them would be ravaged—every living thing, from large beasts to tiny creatures, wiped out.
"Hurry and gather everything. It's getting dark," said Rogg, already picking up dry branches for kindling.
"I know," Robb replied, stuffing fruit into a sack. "But roast mogi... mmm... that's gonna smell amazing later."
Robb was meticulous when it came to food. He always roasted fruit before eating it, even knowing which needed to sit in warm places first. Rogg respected his younger brother's cleverness. Over the years, they had tried countless fruit types, and when in doubt, Rogg would be the first to taste them—just in case.
"You need to eat more, Robb. Look at you, all skin and bones. What if we have to run from a Lagosh?" Rogg said, eyeing him with concern.
"Hah! Who says small bodies can't survive?" Robb puffed out his chest. "I'm flexible, fast, and smart. Lagosh? Someday I'll trick them into running off a cliff!"
Rogg laughed. "Dream big, little man. Still, we need to stay alert."
Night fell fast. They returned to a cave they were using as temporary shelter. Rogg quickly struck stones together until sparks caught the dry twigs.
A fire crackled to life, spreading warmth. Robb skinned the mogi and placed it over the embers, slowly rotating it. Avocados and tubers lined the edge of the fire. A pineapple rested on a warm stone, softening. Robb watched it all with care.
"Don't forget the mogi's back. That part burns fast," Robb said seriously.
"I know," Rogg replied, flipping the meat. "You really have a sharp palate."
That night, they ate heartily. It was simple but satisfying.
But the bright morning didn't last long...
The sky darkened suddenly. A distant rumble grew louder. The ground began to shake violently.
"BOOOOOOOM!!" A massive eruption thundered across the land.
"ROBB! RUN!" Rogg grabbed his brother's hand and bolted downhill.
But the ground split open. Robb slipped—falling.
"BROTHERRRR!" Robb screamed.
"ROOOOOOBB!!!" Rogg cried out, dashing to the cliff where Robb had disappeared.
Dust and rock exploded into the air. A second blast threw Rogg against a tree. His body slammed hard—then everything went black.
Who knew how long he was unconscious.
When Rogg opened his eyes, the world was barely visible. A dense fog clung to the ground. Ash clouded the air. The stench of sulfur burned in his nostrils.
"Robb... Robb... Where are you?" Rogg mumbled, trying to stand. His body trembled, still weak.
He staggered forward, calling his brother over and over.
"ROBB! ANSWER ME! I'M HERE!"
But there was no reply. Only the groans of dying beasts and the distant echo of aftershocks.
Rogg climbed rocky slopes, combing through crevices and ledges, searching for any sign of Robb. He limped past charred remains of animals. In the distance, towering Lagosh could be seen fleeing the eruption zone. Rogg dove into the mud, hiding behind boulders, holding his breath. He knew—one wrong move meant death.
Still, he searched.
"No... Don't go, Robb... Please answer me..." he whispered hoarsely.
Day one: no sign.
Day two: he began eating scorched animal carcasses just to survive.
Day three: the air thickened. Breathing grew harder. The heat intensified. The fog closed in tighter.
Rogg shivered. He knew time was running out.
With tears that had begun to dry, Rogg gathered a few large stones. He arranged them into a circle, then pulled a small knife from his pocket and carved a sunset symbol onto one of the rocks.
"Robb… I don't know if you're still alive. But if not… let this place be your grave."
He lowered his head, staying silent for a long time.
"I won't stop, little brother. I'll keep going. But that doesn't mean I'll forget you. You're a part of me… the only part I have left."
His eyes welled up again, but he quickly wiped the tears away. "I have to stay strong. I have to keep moving. For us. For Father's message."
He stepped away slowly, leaving the stones behind in the middle of all the destruction.
The massive eruption had a far-reaching impact—reaching all the way to Rhazab Kash.
The rumbling shook the ground, followed by a rain of ash and clouds of acidic mist.
The Lagosh, who had been migrating south, suddenly turned back north.
After four years of relative peace, Rhazab Kash was thrown back into chaos.
Life was under threat again, and signs of a new wave of devastation had begun.
Two years passed since the day the volcano separated Rogg from Robb. From that day on, Rogg never stopped training.
Each morning, he rose before the first light.
Each night, he slept with a body bruised and aching from exhaustion.
But to him, pain was a companion, hunger was a reminder, and losing Robb was the reason to keep going.
In the wild forests surrounding the now-dead volcano—its slopes buried in ash—Rogg had become something else.
Once, he was a boy who ran from Lagosh and wild beasts.
Now, he was the hunter. And the forest... was his domain.
"Your steps are too loud," Rogg muttered, eyeing a massive beast in the distance—a gorhorn, a four-legged animal with skin as tough as stone.
In one fluid motion, he raised his father's old spear, slid the Heraxes knife into his belt, and crept silently toward his target.
He hadn't yet fought a Lagosh face-to-face again.
But every battle with gorhorns, razka, and giant serpents was a life-or-death trial.
There were no safe places. No time to rest.
And he knew—when that day finally came, when he would face the Lagosh again—he could not fail.
On a narrow ridge hidden by the blackened trees left by lava, Rogg had built his home.
Not just a cave—but a small stronghold made of stone, wood, and animal hides.
Inside, a long spear hung on the wall, engraved with his father's name: Brovos.
The Heraxes knife rested on a small altar beside a necklace—sunrise-shaped—the last memory of his father.
"They would be proud of me…" Rogg whispered one night, sharpening the tip of his spear until it gleamed. "I'm not that weak boy anymore. I will hunt the Lagosh… one by one."
One day, while hunting in a fog-covered valley, Rogg discovered a new trail—deep, fresh, and massive. Long claws. Ripped earth.
"This print…" he murmured. "It's not a gorhorn. This is… Lagosh."
He caught the scent of blood in the air. And for the first time in two years… his eyes burned with fire.
This time, he wouldn't run.
He pulled his hide cloak tighter around his shoulders, secured the Heraxes knife at his side, and gripped his father's spear.
"If you're still alive, Robb… wait for me. Your brother will make it right."