Jermal finally woke, after what must have been a full day of sleep. His right arm was wrapped in red leaves soaked with dried blood.
He sat up slowly, his mind hazy, fragments of memory swirling like smoke.
He remembered taking a bite of the glowing meat… then nothing but pain and darkness.
And the dream.
The dream was unlike anything he had ever known.
He remembered agony: endless, searing agony, and a storm that raged without rest. Thunder crashed for months, lightning carving scars into the earth.
He had wandered through it, barefoot and alone, traversing a canyon that stretched beyond the horizon.
Monsters came for him in waves, shadows with claws and teeth, and he slew them all.
He never understood why he pressed forward, why something inside him knew which way to go, but he did. Every instinct screamed that the end of the canyon held purpose.
But now, he awoke strong. Stronger than before. Because Jermal had, unknowingly, accomplished all that was necessary to unlock an ancient power: mana.
He got up from his makeshift bed and headed out of the cave. Outside, Jermal could see the vague silhouettes of his fellow hunters.
Stepping outside, the sun, blinding in its noon form, shone down on him.
The moment Jermal stepped into the light, the chatter outside ceased. Every head turned toward him.
The hunters froze, eyes widening in disbelief.
"Jermal…?" one of them whispered, uncertain.
He looked the same, yet entirely different. His skin, once the dull gray of all Kramlins, now carried faint crimson streaks that pulsed beneath the surface, like veins of molten rock. His hair, once a deep black, now gleamed with a faint silver tint that shimmered under the sun.
His eyes burned faintly red, mirroring the glow that had surrounded the divine meat.
Even his stance had changed. There was a weight to him now, a quiet power that made the others instinctively step back.
One hunter reached out, hesitant. "You look… blessed."
Jermal looked down at his own hands. The red and gray hues shimmered as he flexed his fingers. He could feel something coursing through him: an energy that hummed beneath his skin, faint but alive.
"I feel… different," he said softly, voice filled with both awe and unease. Like the world was breathing with him.
Totat, the tribe elder, approached slowly, leaning on his carved staff. His old eyes trembled as they traced the glowing streaks along Jermal's arms.
"It seems the Hollow Eye has chosen His champion," Totat said. "You carry His mark."
Totat gave a firm swing with his makeshift shaft, striking Jermal's new scales.
DOOIIING!
The blow bounced off as if it had hit a tree. Jermal didn't even flinch.
"Woah!" gasped the tribesmen, eyes wide with shock.
But Jermal could feel the real change, the one that ran deeper than flesh. Something within him had shifted, as if his very being was now shared with something greater. Something ancient.
And he was itching to test it.
"Now that you're more clear-headed, can you tell us what it is you saw—" began an older woman, only for Jermal to cut her off.
"I'd like to be alone," he said, turning away and vanishing into the forest.
Every member of the tribe watched in silence as he left, too stunned to argue.
Now finally alone, after walking for quite some time, Jermal snapped out of his trance. He had been going over recent events in his head, again and again, trying to make sense of them all. One thing, however, was certain: he wholeheartedly followed the Hollow Eye god.
In his dream, after crossing the canyon, there had been no reward waiting for him. Only a voice.
"You, the First, have passed the trial. You have proven your faith to your god. Fight in his name, for glory."
Beyond the cryptic message, Jermal understood one thing: there was no point resisting. The Hollow Eye was, without a doubt, a god, and He had chosen him as His first… something.
Enough of that for now. Jermal had a new strength to test.
He could feel the strange energy coursing through his veins, sharpening his senses, heightening his awareness. It was as though he could feel the essence of life itself pulsing within him.
"Now… how does this work?"
Jermal was fairly certain that he needed to move this energy through his body in some kind of sequence, to shape it, to command it.
So, he sat down.
He imagined the energy gathering in his right hand, focused and sharp.
Nothing happened.
"TSK!"
He tried again. Still nothing.
Jermal took a deep breath. He had barely begun, yet frustration already gnawed at him. His pulse quickened. He tried once more. Slower this time.
He followed the current. From his chest, he felt it flow upward through his neck, then slide down into his arm like liquid fire.
As it neared his outstretched hand, a searing pain ripped through him. It was as if his flesh were melting off, layer by layer.
"GRR!" he grunted through gritted teeth.
But he didn't stop. He wouldn't stop.
Finally, the mana reached its destination.
Just as the pain peaked…
FWHOOOM!
A deep, dark crimson flame erupted from his hand. It wasn't fire, not truly: something between pure energy and molten light. The blast carved through the air, painting the forest in a blood-red glow.
Jermal stumbled back, the recoil knocking him off balance. His head struck the ground with a dull thud.
The beam kept going.
It slammed into a tree a hundred meters away, its massive trunk melting like wax under a forge.
Then, CRAAACK!
The ancient tree split in two and crashed to the ground.
Panting, Jermal checked his arm for any signs of injury.
Nothing.
"Well, all right, then."