The wind carried the scent of rot and iron.
Kael stood at the edge of the woods, his bare feet sunk into the damp earth, the cold seeping into his skin. Around him, the other chosen disciples fidgeted with nerves, adjusting their robes, whispering prayers under their breath. But Kael stood still.
The elder had said this was a test.
"One night. One beast. Bring back its heart."
Simple words. Cruel task.
The beast they were hunting was not just a rogue spirit-creature—it was a Deathroot Panther, an apex predator mutated by failed alchemy. It had slaughtered four outer sect hunters already. This was no training exercise.
This was a weeding.
The weak wouldn't return.
A horn blew once in the distance. The signal.
The trial had begun.
Without a word, Kael slipped into the forest.
Midnight in the Wilds
The jungle was alive with sound—clicks, hisses, rustling leaves—but to Kael, it all blurred together into something alive. Not chaos. Breath. The forest breathed.
And he had learned to listen.
He didn't track by sight—too slow. He tracked by instinct.
When the vines grew thicker, he ducked.
When the moss smelled sour, he stopped.
When the wind paused, he knew he was being watched.
Hours passed. The moonlight barely pierced the canopy.
Kael's breath was ragged, muscles screaming from strain. His body was still changing. The whispers of the Feral Path echoed in his chest.
"Let go."
"Let pain guide you."
He refused.
He wanted control.
Then, it came.
The sound no human would've heard—a soft crack of a twig two ridges down.
The panther.
Kael didn't think.
He ran.
Bounding over roots, sliding through underbrush, lungs burning, he followed the trail with eyes half-shut.
And then—
Silence.
Too sudden.
Kael stopped.
The scent hit him next—rotten meat and copper.
It was behind him.
He turned just in time to see a flash of midnight fur and green eyes leaping—
CRASH!
Kael was thrown into a tree, ribs creaking, blood spraying from his lip.
The panther snarled, its body malformed and twisted, patches of its flesh glowing sickly green from alchemical corruption. Too fast. Too strong.
Kael rolled aside as it lunged again.
His hands grasped for a weapon—nothing.
Only stones. Dirt. And broken twigs.
"Let go."
He remembered the words.
So he did.
Feral Awakening
Kael closed his eyes.
His pain sang.
His hunger screamed.
His soul opened.
When he moved again, it wasn't clean or trained.
It was wild.
He threw dirt into the panther's face, rolled under its paws, grabbed a broken branch, and stabbed upward.
The makeshift spear pierced one eye.
The beast howled, and Kael latched onto its back, biting, scratching, blinding it further with mud and blood.
He didn't win with strength.
He won with refusal to die.
By dawn, the forest was quiet again.
And Kael, trembling, coated in gore, held the panther's still-beating heart in both hands.
When he returned to the sect gates, the others stared.
Of the seven sent, only three returned.
Kael looked the worst.
But he was the only one smiling.