Yuhan, Ivan, and Mikayle trailed cautiously behind three men in their mid-thirties, each clad in rugged, travel-worn attire—faded coats, sturdy boots, and belts weighted with tools and weapons. Their steps kicked up dust that hung in the eerie stillness of the Forsaken Wastes, and each stride carried quiet purpose.
Two of the men carried a bloodied predator, its limbs heavy and grotesque. A woman walked beside them, calm, her gaze sharp.
Mikayle blinked in disbelief. How could two men carry such a massive creature so effortlessly? And why were they here? Were they… kidnapping them? The thought clawed at him, a cold dread settling in his chest. "A slave… damnation…" he whispered internally, the word tasting bitter. Was this truly what he feared most—being powerless?
Ivan's dark red eyes scanned the dead forest around them. "Is it just me… or does this place repeat itself?" He gestured vaguely to the trees. "The soil, the leaves… it's like life itself is trapped in a loop."
Yuhan's , dark eyes flicking between the men. His lips pressed together. "They're not here for money or status. They're after our awakening potential… the supernatural ability even Master Tormond acknowledged we possess."
Suddenly, a figure moved in the distance—a boy, no older than Mikayle, Yuhan, and Ivan. His clothes were similar to the three mid-thirties men, but his eyes glowed an intense white. He shifted his posture, stepping forward deliberately. When he reached them, his voice cut through the quiet like ice:
"So… how did you manage to kill that Diama?"
Mikayle, Ivan, and Yuhan froze. Diama? The word was foreign, heavy with menace. Yuhan, ever the observer, tilted his head and processed quickly.
"We used a magic thread," he said calmly, lifting an arm to demonstrate. "Anchored it to one of the trees like a slingshot… The predator flew like a rubber bullet and landed directly on its eyes. As we saw, its weakness… lies there."
The boy's face remained shadowed, yet a small sound of frustration escaped him.
"Tch… I still don't know," he muttered. "Why did Morin think they had a chance against a Diama? Lucky strikes. Injured prey. wall corpses… They were never meant to survive here."
From the darkness, more figures appeared. Six in total—one of them a girl, her eyes not glowing, yet her presence undeniable.
As her gaze met the green moonlight, her figure gradually revealed itself: small, slender, sharp even for her age. Just in same age as them, yet there was an undeniable, wild charm in her aura. Her skin was dusky and smooth, eyes deep black and unreadable, reflecting the night like still water. Her black hair fell just past her neck, neat and straight, with a single slender bang framing her face. She moved with quiet defense, every step precise, like a predator disguised as a child.
Mikayle's heart thumped. For the first time, he felt the weight of what lay ahead—the unknown power, the strange children, and the dangers that lurked in this lifeless, eerie land.
She wore the same roughspun fabric as the others, yet she stood apart. A twisted scarf of wilding cloth wrapped around her upper body, slung across her chest like a battle-worn sash. Her knees and legs were bare to the chill, but another scarf coiled around them—a rugged, tattered veil that ended in heavy shoes crusted with dust and road grime. For all her slight size, she seemed something feral, wrapped in ritual, a child raised by the wind.
The girl slowed until she matched Mikayle's pace. Her eyes glimmered faintly in the moonlight, soft yet unsettling, like a flame smoldering under ash. She smiled—warm, but with a calm that didn't belong to this place.
"Don't look so afraid," she said, voice teasing. "If we wanted you dead, you'd already be bones in this forest."
She flicked a glance at Yuhan and Ivan, then back at Ivan again—twice. Mikayle, of course, kept his gaze steady, though he sometimes found it maddening how easy it was to be distracted by such a gorgeous face.
Her smile widened when they stiffened.
"You should be glad. Very few awaken with soulfire burning in their hearts. Fewer still get the chance to learn to wield it before the hunt claims them. We'll teach you. Shape you. And when the time comes…" She tilted her head toward the village ahead, its firelight flickering across her eyes. "…you'll hunt with us."
Her voice softened, conspiratorial, as if letting them in on a secret.
"Don't worry. It won't all be pain and blood. If you survive, you might even call this place home."