Pochinei grew up on a small, remote island, the kind that rarely appears on maps. It was a quiet place, surrounded by wind, sea, and the slow rhythm of nature. He lived there with his parents, although they were often away. With few jobs or resources on the island, they had to travel for work, sometimes disappearing for weeks or even months. So Pochinei learned to manage life on his own. He gathered wood, fished for food, fixed what needed fixing, and listened closely to the world around him. The island became his home, his teacher, and his companion. He noticed the way the clouds moved, the way the birds flew before the rain, the way silence could speak. And although he sometimes felt lonely, he also grew stronger, more patient, more in tune with everything around him. Over time, he began to feel something shift. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, just a quiet pull, as if something far away was calling him. One morning, he felt it clearly. A sense that a journey was beginning. He didn’t know where it would lead or what he was meant to find. He only knew one thing: he had to follow it.