The forest was a tomb of shadows, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and something far more primal—the musk of predators. Kael moved like a wraith, his boots pressing silently into the loam, his breath steady despite the adrenaline coiling in his gut. He needed strength. And strength, in this merciless place, was carved from the bones of the fallen.
Beast cores.
The thought alone sent a thrill through him. Each one he claimed would be another step toward dominance, another fragment of power ripped from the jaws of this unforgiving wilderness. He exhaled slowly, fingers twitching at his sides, already craving the weight of his weapon.
Dryx, ever-attuned to his shifts in mood, let out a soft, keening cry before scrambling onto his shoulder, tiny claws pricking through the fabric of his tunic. The creature nuzzled against his neck, a fleeting warmth in the encroaching dark. Kael smirked, scratching beneath Dryx's chin.
Innocent thing.
But innocence had no place here.
Night fell like a blade. The forest's daytime murmurings died, replaced by something far more sinister—a silence so heavy it pressed against his eardrums. Kael perched high in the gnarled arms of an ancient oak, watching, waiting. The moon cast its silver glow, painting the world in monochrome.
It was time.
He dropped from the branches, landing in a crouch, one hand braced against the earth. Dryx tensed, his usual playfulness gone, replaced by a predator's stillness. His ears flicked, swiveling like radar dishes, parsing every rustle, every breath of wind.
Kael stood, rolling his shoulders. The night was his ally. Shadows clung to him like a second skin.
Then—movement.
A twig snapped.
His spine locked.
The brush trembled.
Not one. Not two.
Three.
They emerged like specters—wolves, but not as nature had intended. Their silver coats gleamed under the moonlight, stretched taut over gaunt ribs. Starvation had honed them into something desperate. Something dangerous. Saliva dripped from their maws, steaming where it struck the cold earth. Their eyes—black pits glowing with malice—locked onto him.
Kael's lips curled.
I remember you.
A guttural snarl ripped through the air, and the pack parted.
The alpha stepped forward.
Taller. Broader. A single onyx horn jutted from its skull, a jagged crown of dominance. Its muzzle peeled back, revealing yellowed fangs. The green stripe running down its spine flickered to life, pulsing with eerie, venomous light.
Mystclaw mana.
The air itself seemed to vibrate with the beast's power.
Dryx shrieked, his tiny body quivering before he vanished—blinking out of sight as he fled to the safety of the trees.
Kael almost laughed. Smart little bastard.
His fingers found the deer antler spear strapped to his back. The weapon was crude, unrefined—but it had tasted blood before. It would do so again.
Mana surged through his veins, igniting his muscles, sharpening his senses. The world crystallized—every leaf, every breath, every twitch of the wolves' ears.
The alpha growled, low and thunderous.
Kael dropped into a stance, spear leveled.
The first wolf lunged.
And the night erupted into violence