The forest hums with quiet life, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. Sunlight pierces through the towering canopy in soft gold, illuminating the soft moss and tangled roots beneath. A narrow stream winds through the undergrowth, its water crystal clear, murmuring as it slips over smooth stones. The world here is slow, untouched by the chaos of war and the weight of duty. For now, the forest belongs only to the wind, the river, and the man standing at its edge.

Katsuki Bakugo, one of the few dragon riders and chieftain of the nearby barbarian tribe. He exhales slowly, his breath misting in the crisp morning air, the tribal ornaments hanging from his neck shifting with his every movement, bones and claws clicking softly like a whispered melody. Scars stretch across his right arm and side, pale against sun-kissed skin.

He does not know what compels him to stop here today, to linger in the quiet. His mornings are usually spent in training, his time carved into discipline and sweat, into strikes that shatter air and muscle that hardens against pain. Yet something about the stream, about the way its waters cut a path through the land, endless and unyielding, gives him pause. There is power in that. Not in force, but in persistence. A different kind of strength, one he does not often consider.