Amukelo: The Burdened Path

They traveled through the mountain, their pace steady but determined, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the place where they had nearly lost their lives. The night air was crisp, the sky darkening as the sun dipped beyond the forest. Every step felt heavier than the last for most of them, yet they pressed on.

Bao visibly struggled under Pao's weight, her arms stiff from exhaustion, her breaths coming out heavier as she carried her sister along the uneven terrain. Yet despite how obvious her struggle was, none of them dared to ask if she needed help. The sharp look in her eyes, the way she held Pao close, it was clear—this was her burden, and she wouldn't let anyone else carry it.

Amukelo walked at the back of the group, watching them. He wasn't as tired as them.

It was something he noticed as they moved, and it confused him. During the fight, they seemed just as strong as him—if not stronger in some ways. Idin had the sheer strength to hold back the landwyrm's attack, Bral's agility wasn't any inferior to his. So why was he the only one who didn't feel completely drained?

He frowned, his thoughts drifting as he silently analyzed the situation. Was it because he had been living in the wild for so long? Had his body become so accustomed to exhaustion that he simply didn't feel it the same way anymore? He knew he was physically strong, but the way his stamina held out longer than theirs was strange.

The more he thought about it, the less sense it made.

Eventually, they found a small, shallow cave nestled between the rocky slopes. A perfect place to set up camp. They gathered wood, their movements sluggish from fatigue, and once they had everything prepared, Pao flicked her staff, igniting a small but steady fire.

As soon as the flames flickered to life, everyone collapsed.

Bral leaned back against a thick log, stretching his arms behind his head. "We did a good job today," he said, exhaling deeply.

Bao finally let go of Pao, lowering her carefully to the ground. She was breathing heavily, her arms trembling slightly from the strain of carrying her sister for so long. Meanwhile, Pao seemed completely at ease, stretching her arms over her head as if she had just taken a pleasant nap rather than been carried half the day.

Idin simply lay flat on the ground, staring up at the sky with unfocused eyes. His chest rose and fell slowly, his body visibly drained from the fight and the escape.

"Yeah..." he muttered between slow breaths. "We did."

Amukelo sat a short distance from the fire, watching them. His confusion only grew as he observed their exhaustion.

It wasn't that he wasn't tired at all, but compared to them, he still had energy left. His legs weren't shaking, his arms weren't sore, his mind wasn't fogged by fatigue. The only pain he felt was from the lingering wounds, but even those had been healed by Pao.

It didn't make sense. He furrowed his brow, deep in thought. Why was this happening?

His body had limits, he knew that. But somehow, even after everything today, he still felt ready to keep going.

Could it be that he had gotten stronger than he realized? He thought back to his life in the wilderness, to the months of pushing his body to its limits. Out there, rest was a luxury. Out there, you either endured, or you died. Maybe that was it.

Maybe he had just adapted differently than them.

As he sat silently processing his thoughts, the conversation continued without him.

Bao, now recovered from carrying Pao, sat beside her sister and let out a heavy sigh. "Pao, next time don't keep your head in the clouds." Her voice wasn't angry, but it was firm. "That could've cost all of us our lives."

Pao, her usual energy subdued by guilt, looked away slightly and muttered, "I'm sorry... I'll pay more attention next time."

Idin, still staring at the stars, exhaled sharply. "Really, Pao. I don't know if you were thinking about magic or whatever, but you have to be more careful."

Bral leaned forward slightly and spoke in a calm but serious tone. "Yeah. You did a great job during the fight, but if you had fallen back there... with only four of us left, the landwyrm definitely would've seen us as an easy threat worth finishing off."

There was a moment of silence. Then Bao turned to Amukelo.

Her expression was more composed now, her usual sharp demeanor softened slightly. "Thank you again... for saving my sister."

She hesitated for a second, then added, "And for giving your best during the fight."

Amukelo blinked.

Before he could react, Bral nodded in agreement. "Yeah... We really appreciate your help."

Idin, despite his exhaustion, lifted a hand weakly in a sign of acknowledgment. "You could've easily run away when things got bad, yet you decided to stay and risk your life with us."

That's when Amukelo realized he wasn't listening.

He had been so caught up in his own thoughts, so lost in his confusion about his own body, that he hadn't even processed the conversation around him.

As if suddenly snapped out of a trance, he raised his hands quickly in a defensive motion. "No, no, no… I didn't do anything special." His voice came out awkward, rushed. "I'm sure most people would've done the same."

The group looked at him. The fire crackled softly between them, casting flickering shadows across their faces. For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Bral's expression shifted slightly. His gaze lingered on Amukelo, studying him for a moment before he finally spoke. "You know, Amukelo… not many people would do that."

Amukelo blinked, still caught in his awkward attempt to downplay their thanks. "Do what?"

Bral exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a small, knowing smile. "Stay. Fight. Risk your life for people you barely know. A lot of people like to think they'd do the right thing, but when death is staring them in the face? Most would run."

Amukelo frowned slightly, looking down at the dirt beneath him. He didn't know how to respond, because he hadn't thought about it like that. He had just... acted. He didn't choose to stay. He just did.

Bral continued, leaning forward slightly. "And another thing. I've noticed that every time someone thanks you or praises you, you get really awkward about it. You always deny it, like you can't even let yourself take credit for anything. At first, I thought maybe it was just shyness, but now..." He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to solve a puzzle. "Now, I think it's something else. And, honestly? It kinda seems fake."

Amukelo's chest tightened. Fake? That wasn't what he was doing—was it? He wasn't lying when he said he didn't deserve praise. He wasn't pretending. But hearing Bral say it so bluntly made something uncomfortable settle deep in his gut.

Before he could find words, Bral pressed on. "Maybe you mean it, maybe you don't. But it's not really how you react, is it?"

Amukelo lowered his head. His fingers idly ran over the fabric of his cloak as his thoughts spun. Was it really fake?

After a long pause, he finally muttered, "My mother always said that humility is important… and that pride comes before the fall. So I thought that's what I should do."

The moment he spoke the words, a heavy silence followed.

Bral's expression softened immediately. His tone lost any edge it had, replaced by something almost gentle. "You have a really wise mother, Amukelo."

The words hit harder than expected.

Amukelo felt his throat tighten, his vision slightly blurring. He almost choked on the emotion that surged in his chest. He missed her. Even after all this time, after all the pain, he still missed her. More than anything.

He clenched his jaw, forcing down the emotion. He didn't want to show it. He didn't want to talk about it. Instead, he just nodded.

Bral watched him carefully, clearly noticing the shift in his demeanor, but he didn't press. Instead, he leaned back slightly and continued. "But you know… there's no pride in accepting someone's thanks. Or their compliments."

Amukelo looked up at him, confused. "How?"

Bral smiled slightly, gesturing with his hand as if explaining something simple. "If you really believe everything you have—your strength, your skills, your achievements—comes from God, then accepting recognition isn't about pride. It's just acknowledging reality. But if you constantly deny it, yet deep inside you think you're better than others, then that's worse than just being honest about your strengths."

Amukelo's lips parted slightly as if he wanted to respond, but no words came.

Did he truly believe that everything he had was given to him by God?

For years, he had clung to that belief. Through every hardship, through every near-death experience, he had told himself that God was watching him, guiding him. But the more he thought about it now... the more he realized he didn't know. It was something instilled from his mother, not something he had developed himself.

The things he had survived, the battles he had fought—was it fate? Or was it just him, clawing through life with his own hands?

He lowered his head again, staring at the fire. "I... I don't know."

Bral hummed in understanding. He didn't look disappointed or surprised. He just smiled slightly and said, "Then in that case, until you find the answer, just accept the compliment."

Amukelo let out a quiet breath. He wasn't sure if that made sense, but... he nodded anyway.

From beside him, Idin suddenly let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "That's a relief."

Amukelo turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. "What is?"

Idin smirked, grinning like he had figured something out. "You seem really genuine. Like... someone who's trying to act good, but just doesn't know how."

Amukelo blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Idin laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "It means you act awkward as hell, but you're not doing it on purpose. It makes sense, considering you were basically a wild animal for so long."

Amukelo's face twisted into an awkward half-smile. He scratched at the back of his neck, not sure if he should feel complimented or insulted. "I... don't really know how to react to that."

Bral grinned and raised a hand. "That's exactly the right reaction. It's genuine."

Amukelo gave a small, helpless chuckle. For the first time, the conversation didn't feel like something he needed to escape from. It didn't feel like he was being interrogated or like he had to constantly say the right thing.

It just felt... real. And even though he wasn't quite sure where he fit in yet, a small part of him felt lighter.