Five Years
The cliffside was desolate and silent, save for the soft whisper of the wind and the distant cawing of birds.
At the edge, a haggard-looking man sat with his feet dangling precariously over the void, staring down into the abyss below. His clothes were tattered, his hair unkempt, and a thick stubble covered his face, indicating days, if not weeks, of neglect.
A short distance behind him, nestled among the rocks and trees on the plateau, stood a modest cabin formed out of nature. Its walls were made of intertwined branches, rocks and vines, giving it an almost organic appearance as if it had grown from the earth itself.
The man sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping under the weight of unspoken grief.
This was Hallen, and for nearly five years, he had been consumed by the disappearance of his young master, Lassim. The pain of that loss had etched itself into every line of his weathered face, and the search for Lassim had become his singular obsession.