The rooster's cry echoed across the village as dawn broke. Aiden stirred from the straw mattress, blinking as sunlight poured through the shutters. The air smelled faintly of smoke and damp soil — the familiar scent of a farming village.
For a moment, he lay still, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. It was stronger than it should have been for a boy his age, pulsing with something strange. The memory of that black void and the voice that had spoken to him lingered like a half-remembered dream.
"…Devour. Surpass."
His hand clenched over his chest. That power — the thing slumbering inside him — it wasn't something he could ignore.
But for now, he had to live. To blend in. A boy suddenly acting differently would draw suspicion, and in a village this small, rumors spread like wildfire.
He rose and dressed in plain clothes, a linen shirt and rough trousers. His body felt light but weak; though he carried the memory of being a grown man, his muscles now belonged to a twelve-year-old farmer's child.
Stepping outside, he was greeted by the sight of Blackwood Village waking to life. Wooden cottages lined the dirt paths, their thatched roofs glistening with morning dew. Villagers carried buckets of water from the well, smoke drifted from chimneys, and the clatter of tools rang out as hunters sharpened their weapons near the edge of the square.
The village was small — perhaps two hundred souls at most. Isolated. The world outside seemed distant here, separated by the looming wall of the Blackwood Forest to the north.
Aiden walked toward the well, nodding politely to passing villagers. Some offered warm smiles, others gave curt nods. Many remembered the boy's parents, who had died three years prior. There was pity in their eyes, though Aiden kept his expression neutral.
As he reached the well, a booming voice called out.
"Aiden! Up early again, I see!"
Turning, Aiden saw Garron, a burly man with arms thick as tree trunks, waving to him. Garron was the leader of the hunting party, a respected warrior in the village. His beard was dark with streaks of gray, and his broad frame carried the scars of countless battles with beasts in the forest.
"Good morning, Uncle Garron," Aiden replied politely.
The man laughed heartily, clapping him on the shoulder with enough force to nearly knock him over. "You've grown some backbone, lad. That's good. The forest doesn't spare the weak."
Aiden forced a smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
Garron studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "Your eyes look different these days. Sharper. Hm."
Before Aiden could respond, Garron chuckled. "Well, that's not a bad thing. A boy needs fire in his eyes if he wants to survive in this world."
He turned away, shouting orders to a group of hunters preparing their gear.
Aiden exhaled quietly. Garron was perceptive — more than most. He would need to be cautious.
As the morning passed, Aiden helped with small chores: carrying buckets, mending tools, gathering herbs near the village's edge. Every action reminded him of how fragile his body was now. He lacked stamina, strength, and speed. Even lifting heavy buckets strained his arms.
But there was potential.
Whenever he paused, he focused inward, trying to sense the strange power that had awakened. He could feel faint currents in his body, something dormant yet alive, like embers waiting for air. He didn't know how to draw upon it, not yet.
By midday, he sat by the fields, eating a simple meal of bread and stew. Villagers gathered in groups, chatting about mundane things — harvests, tools, marriages. Aiden listened quietly, absorbing the atmosphere.
Despite the warmth of the community, he couldn't ignore the shadow looming in the distance.
The Blackwood Forest.
Its treeline stretched endlessly, dark and foreboding, the canopy so dense that sunlight barely pierced it. Hunters spoke of creatures that lurked there — Rank 1 beasts like horned boars and forest wolves, but also stronger predators. Occasionally, even a Rank 5 monster wandered near, threatening the village.
And beyond those trees… he felt something else. A faint pull, a whisper, the same voice that had spoken in the void.
It was there. Waiting.
That night, Aiden lay awake in his small home, staring at the ceiling beams. His hands tightened into fists.
"If I stay like this… I'll never survive."
He remembered his death in the alleyway. Powerless. Helpless. That weakness had killed him once — he wouldn't allow it to happen again.
To grow stronger, he would need to fight. To risk. To step into that forest where death lurked behind every shadow.
The thought should have terrified him, but instead, his pulse quickened with anticipation.
The next morning, Aiden woke before dawn. The village was still asleep as he slipped out, carrying only a wooden practice sword he had borrowed from the training yard. It was crude and splintered, but it would suffice.
The forest loomed ahead, shrouded in mist. Every villager knew it was forbidden for children to enter without hunters, but Aiden stepped forward anyway, his heart hammering.
The moment he crossed the treeline, the air changed. The sounds of birds grew sharper, the rustle of leaves heavier. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, yet he pressed on.
His first encounter came swiftly. A pair of glowing eyes emerged from the underbrush — a Forest Wolf, its fangs bared, growling low. Its aura was faint, but dangerous.
Rank 1.
Aiden tightened his grip on the wooden sword, sweat beading on his forehead. His body was trembling — not from fear, but from anticipation.
The wolf lunged.
Aiden moved instinctively, sidestepping clumsily but narrowly avoiding its fangs. His heart pounded, adrenaline flooding his veins. He swung the wooden sword, striking the wolf's flank. The blow lacked power, but the wolf yelped and stumbled.
Pain shot up his arm from the impact, but Aiden gritted his teeth. His movements were sloppy, unrefined — yet in that moment, something stirred.
A whisper in his chest. A spark.
Devour.
When the wolf lunged again, Aiden braced himself, driving the wooden blade into its side with all the strength he could muster. The wolf collapsed, snarling weakly before going still.
Aiden staggered, breathing heavily. His chest burned, but not from exhaustion. Something surged within him — faint, but undeniable.
It was as if the wolf's life force, its essence, flowed into him. His body tingled, his muscles tightening slightly, his breath steadier.
"…I really absorbed it," he muttered in disbelief.
This was the power of Devour.
For the first time, Aiden felt hope ignite.
This was his path forward.
But as he turned deeper into the forest, unaware that glowing eyes now watched him from the shadows, he realized — this was only the beginning.
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