The crystal pulsed in Han Yuna's palm like a heartbeat—alien, erratic, alive. It shimmered black under the firelight, reflecting the dancing flames with a strange luminescence. Beside her, Han Sen stared at it in awe and a bit of hesitation, as if it might suddenly explode.
"What is it?" he asked, crouched low, keeping his blade at the ready just in case.
"I don't know," Yuna murmured, though she had an idea. A very dangerous one.
The black beetle's corpse still twitched slightly, its shell split clean down the back, a wound likely inflicted by another predator. The crystal had been lodged deep within its thoracic cavity, nestled near the central nerve cluster—if such a thing even existed in these mutant creatures. The moment her fingers had brushed it, a whisper of something had moved through her.
A signal.
Not in words, but in instinct.
Power.
The kind that didn't belong to any one gene or flesh. The kind that shifted the rules.
"It's not a beast soul," she continued slowly, eyes locked on the object. "And it's not something this beetle was supposed to carry. I think… it's a mutation trigger."
"Mutation?" Han Sen asked, frowning. "Like… what, gene splicing?"
She shook her head. "No. Something deeper. It didn't just respond to the beetle—it responded to me."
Yuna had read about this in the deepest recesses of her previous life's research—genetic catalysts theorized to push evolution by leaps rather than steps. But those were myths, old whispers among Earth's fringe xenogeneticists. She had never expected to see one, much less hold one.
The system confirmed it:
> [Black Crystal Catalyst absorbed.]
[Gene Synthesis Ability acquired.]
[Evolution Tier: 0 → 1 initiated.]
The changes were subtle, but immediate. Her senses grew sharper. Her awareness of her surroundings expanded, no longer limited to the physical. She could feel the pulsing life patterns of nearby beasts, the raw structure of gene sequences as they shifted within flesh. It wasn't telepathy. It was science so advanced it felt like magic.
"Yuna," Han Sen said quietly, "you're glowing."
She glanced down. The veins under her skin shimmered faintly, only for a second, like a ripple of liquid starlight.
"It's temporary," she lied. "Just a reaction. Don't worry."
He didn't look convinced. But he nodded.
They buried the remains of the beetle to avoid drawing scavengers and retreated into the cleft of a rocky outcropping for the night. It wasn't shelter, but it was cover. Their makeshift campfire smoldered low, providing just enough warmth to survive.
Yuna didn't sleep.
Not really.
She sat with her back to the stone, blade across her knees, staring out at the alien landscape lit by twin moons. She wasn't afraid—only restless. Her mind kept looping through data, matching instincts with theory, trying to decode what she had just become.
She didn't absorb the beetle's memories. No visions, no hallucinations. But she knew how it hunted. She could replicate its coiling ambush tactics and anticipate its attack rhythms. She had absorbed the beast's instinct, and it made her faster, sharper, and far more lethal.
And that was just a low-tier creature.
In time, with enough absorption, she could surpass any known limit.
But not yet.
Her brother stirred in his sleep, muttering. Yuna glanced over at him and her expression softened. He had always been brave—reckless, maybe—but his heart was good. In this world, he would become a legend, with or without her interference. But now, she could protect him from the darkest turns of that journey.
She would not take his place.
She would walk beside him in shadow, just close enough to guard his back.
Morning in the Sanctuary came like a slap—cold mist rising from the ground, blanketing the terrain in haze. Yuna woke Han Sen with a light nudge.
"Up. Something's moving nearby."
He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and grabbed his weapon.
The rustling came from the left, beyond the boulders. Yuna motioned for silence and crept forward, each step controlled. She signaled to Han Sen to stay back, then climbed the slope, heart steady, eyes narrowed.
There, just at the edge of the clearing, was a two-headed foxhound creature. Mutated. Its fur shimmered like oil, and both heads sniffed the air independently, tongues lolling in opposite directions.
A pack animal, likely a scout.
She dropped low and began planning its trajectory. But before she could move, a shadow dropped from above—a giant figure, armored in beast bone plating, landed with a crunch and decapitated both fox heads in a single swing.
"Nice catch," came a low voice. "But you were too slow."
Yuna stood as the man turned. He was older, early thirties maybe, with a scar down his temple and a sword that buzzed faintly with residual energy. He wore piecemeal armor made from mutated beasts—clearly crafted by hand, not issued.
"You're new," he said, looking her over. "No tag. No unit crest."
"Independent," she replied. "Just arrived."
"With your brother?"
Yuna tensed slightly. "What do you want?"
The man chuckled. "Relax. I'm not recruiting. Just warning. Rookies die fast. Stay out of the northern ravines unless you want your organs harvested by flesh leeches."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"You're quick, though. Too quiet for a first-timer. What's your name?"
"Han Yuna."
The man raised a brow, then nodded. "I'm Fang Mingquan. Keep moving, rookie."
She memorized the name. Not because she feared him, but because in this world, knowing someone could mean the difference between alliance and betrayal.
Back at the camp, Han Sen had already broken down what was left of the fire and was preparing a crude satchel from animal hide.
"Was that a soldier?" he asked when she returned.
"An experienced hunter. He gave a warning."
"Helpful?"
Yuna snorted. "Sort of. The type that expects a debt for a favor."
They set off toward a nearby lake rumored to have docile herbivores—low threat, moderate yield. Han Sen's confidence was growing, and he had a natural flair for ambush tactics, though he still lacked restraint. Yuna let him take the lead occasionally, offering advice without command. She didn't want to override his path.
She wanted to sharpen it.
By the time dusk came, they had slain two greenscale boars and a razorfeather turkey. The boar meat increased their ordinary gene points, and though it wasn't much, it was enough to stave off hunger and bring slight strength improvements.
Back at their new hideout, an overhang near the eastern cliffs, Han Sen finally asked the question that had been simmering behind his eyes all day.
"Yuna… how did you fight like that?"
She looked up from carving a bone dagger. "Like what?"
"Like you already knew what the beast was going to do. Like you felt it."
Yuna paused, then shrugged. "Instinct."
"That's not instinct. That's training. Real training."
She didn't answer. He frowned, sitting across from her.
"You're hiding something."
"Yes," she admitted softly. "But not from you. Just… not ready to explain it yet."
Han Sen leaned back, watching her.
"You don't have to protect me, you know."
Yuna smiled. "Of course I do. That's what big sisters are for."
He didn't argue. He just nodded.
Later that night, after Han Sen had fallen asleep, she pulled the crystal out again. It was inert now, but something inside it still called to her—a buried code, maybe. She suspected it hadn't given her a full gift. Just a taste.
And that meant there was more.
More to unlock.
More to evolve.
Yuna had no intention of rushing it. She needed knowledge. Precision. Tools.
Which meant only one thing.
She had to return to the city within the Sanctuary — Steel Armor Shelter. There, if the stories were true, existed a man known only as the Old Professor. A genius of Super Geno Art theory. A man whose designs had influenced half of the mutant-tier hunters in the region.
And if she played her cards right, she could convince him to teach her.
But not as a student.
As a fellow pioneer.
She closed her eyes as the fire died, the sound of beast cries echoing in the distance. The Sanctuary was a crucible, yes—but it was also her forge.
And Han Yuna was just beginning to shape her legend.