The morning after his fever broke, Aiden forced himself upright.
Pain flared instantly, sharp and biting, radiating through his ribs. His body screamed for him to lie back down. But his will — his need to move — burned hotter.
The bandages Elara had wrapped were tight, restricting his chest, but he gritted his teeth and swung his legs over the bed. His feet touched the cool wooden floor.
If I stay here, I'll rot. If I don't move forward, I'll never catch up.
The memory of the Alpha's golden eyes carved itself into his mind. He had survived only because of luck and desperation. That wouldn't happen again.
---
The door creaked.
"You're up already?" Elara's voice held a mix of exasperation and disbelief. She carried a small basket of herbs, her long hair tied back, her face smudged with dirt.
"You should be resting," she scolded. "Chief Roderic said—"
"I can't," Aiden interrupted. His voice was calm but unyielding. "If I rest, I'll just get weaker."
Elara frowned, setting the basket down. "Stronger or not, if you push your body too far, you'll die."
Her words should've been enough. They weren't.
Aiden stood, his body swaying. His vision darkened at the edges for a moment, but he steadied himself with the wooden wall.
"Then I'll die moving forward," he said.
Elara's lips parted, but no words came. She stared at him — not with anger, not even with worry, but with something else. Something heavier.
Finally, she sighed. "…Then at least let me help."
---
Outside, the village was alive with its quiet, rustic rhythm. Children chased each other between wooden houses. Hunters sharpened spears on whetstones. Women hung freshly washed clothes across lines strung between poles.
The air was crisp with the scent of pine and the faint smoke of chimneys. It was ordinary. Peaceful. Fragile.
Aiden walked slowly, each step deliberate, feeling the gazes of villagers trail after him. Whispers followed, some hushed, some not.
"That's the boy who fought the wolves, isn't it?"
"I heard he killed a Rank 4 beast…"
"No way. He's just a farmer's son."
"…Or maybe something else."
Their voices stung, but Aiden didn't respond. He kept walking until he reached the small clearing at the village's edge — the training ground used by hunters.
Bran was there, overseeing drills. The hunting captain's broad shoulders and weathered face made him an imposing sight, his voice carrying across the clearing as he barked instructions.
When his eyes landed on Aiden, they narrowed.
"You shouldn't be here," Bran said flatly, striding over.
"I need to train," Aiden replied.
Bran snorted. "You're half-dead."
"Then I'll train half-dead."
For a long moment, the two stared at each other. Bran's jaw worked as if he wanted to say more, to tear into the boy for his arrogance. But then, unexpectedly, a faint, humorless smirk tugged at his lips.
"…Stubborn brat," he muttered. "Fine. But don't expect me to coddle you."
---
What followed was less training and more torment.
Bran tossed him a wooden practice sword. Its weight nearly pulled Aiden's sore arms down, but he forced his grip steady.
"Show me what you've got," Bran barked.
Aiden lunged forward, his body screaming with pain. His movements were clumsy, slowed by his wounds. Bran parried easily, his wooden blade cracking against Aiden's with brutal force. The impact rattled Aiden's bones.
Again and again, Bran struck, each blow forcing Aiden to defend, to stumble, to fall.
"Too slow!"
"Too sloppy!"
"Your stance is trash!"
Each word was a lash, each strike a reminder of how far he had to go.
By the time Bran finally lowered his blade, Aiden was on his knees, gasping, sweat soaking his bandages.
"You're weak," Bran said coldly. "Weaker than any hunter I've trained. But…" His eyes narrowed. "…there's something in the way you don't stop getting up. That's the only reason I'm letting you live to see tomorrow."
He turned and walked away, leaving Aiden trembling, his hands raw from gripping the wooden sword.
Elara hurried over, her face pale. "You're insane," she whispered furiously. "You're bleeding through your bandages—"
"I need this," Aiden rasped.
She bit her lip, but said nothing more. She just helped him to his feet, her hands warm against his cold skin.
---
That night, Aiden slipped away from the village.
The forest loomed before him, black and endless beneath the silver moon. His wounds throbbed with every step, but his resolve was steel.
If he feared the forest, if he let pain chain him down, then he'd never grow.
The trees swallowed him whole.
For a long time, nothing stirred. Just the rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the crunch of his boots on fallen twigs.
Then — a low growl.
From the shadows, a pair of eyes gleamed.
A Rank 2 Shadowfang boar. Its tusks glinted in the moonlight, its muscles rippling as it pawed the earth.
Aiden's hand tightened around the wooden sword he still carried. It wasn't meant for killing, not against a beast like this. But his eyes burned with determination.
"Come on," he whispered.
The boar charged.
---
The clash was brutal. The wooden sword cracked against tusks, splinters flying. Aiden rolled aside, his ribs screaming, barely avoiding being gored. He struck at its flank, the blow weak but precise, forcing the beast to stumble.
But his strength was failing fast. His vision blurred, his breath ragged.
Not enough.
The pulse of something deeper stirred within him — the dragon's heart, the whisper of devouring power. It called to him, dark and intoxicating.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he let it in.
The world sharpened. His muscles surged with unnatural strength. His vision focused on every weakness, every vein, every opening. He drove the broken wooden blade into the beast's eye.
The boar shrieked, collapsing in thrashing agony before going still.
Aiden stumbled back, panting, the power fading as quickly as it had come. His chest burned, his veins felt alight with fire. But he was alive.
And the beast was not.
---
Unseen, a pair of cloaked figures watched from the trees.
The slim woman murmured, "There it is again. That aura."
Her companion's hand tightened on his weapon. "It's growing stronger."
She nodded slowly, her eyes gleaming with something between fascination and dread.
"The question is… will the boy survive his own power, or will it consume him before anyone else gets the chance?"
The forest held its breath.
And in its heart, the whispers grew louder.
---