The Abyssal Forest never slept.
Even at dawn, its mist moved like breath through the ancient trees, carrying the scent of blood, moss, and spirit dew. Shafts of light tried to pierce the canopy, but the leaves were thick as armor, turning sunlight into dim emerald haze. Every shadow could kill, every whisper might be a predator's call.
Among the roots of a fallen stone giant, a den pulsed faintly with heat. Inside lay a litter of wolf cubs, their fur still slick with the damp of birth. They whimpered and pressed against each other for warmth—except for one.
The smallest cub lay apart, shivering. His fur was darker than night, his heartbeat uneven.
Each time he tried to breathe, crimson light flickered across his chest.
His brothers nudged him aside; even newborns sensed difference.
Their mother, a colossal silver she-wolf named Lyris, watched in silence. Her eyes glowed with ancient power—yet sorrow dimmed their light. She had carried a curse within her womb, a spark of the Origin Energy left from an old battle with human cultivators. That spark now lived inside the weakest of her children.
> "Little one," she murmured in the language of beasts, "you carry what I could not control. Survive, and you will rewrite the fate of our kind. Fail… and the forest will forget you."
She bent her head, pressing her nose against the cub's heart. A soft hum spread through the den as she poured a fragment of her remaining life force into him. Silver aura and crimson rune interlaced.
Then she looked toward the forest canopy, where distant thunder rolled.
> "They are coming for me. Live, my Raviel."
Her howl split the air—a sound that shook birds from the trees. A moment later, the ground trembled. Shapes moved through the mist: shadow-cloaked figures with hunting spears forged from spirit jade. Human cultivators, tracking the scent of her power.
Raviel felt warmth fading from his mother's body as she turned to face them.
His tiny paws clawed helplessly at the soil. The den shuddered; stones collapsed around him.
When the battle began, light consumed everything—silver arcs against green shadows, cries of beasts and men. The cub could not see, only feel: the burn of spiritual energy, the scent of blood, the echo of his mother's dying roar.
Then silence.
---
Hours later, rain washed the forest clean.
The den had caved in, leaving only a small pocket of air where the cub still breathed. He whimpered weakly, nudging at the soil until light pierced through. The world outside was wide, wet, and cold.
He stumbled into the open, paws sinking into mud. His eyes opened fully for the first time—crimson like molten stone. In their reflection glimmered a single, broken moon.
Raviel raised his head and howled. The sound was thin, uncertain, but the forest heard. Somewhere in the distance, another howl answered—not of kin, but of hunger.
Instinct took over. He ran.
---
The days that followed blurred into survival.
He learned to stalk insects, to drink dew from leaves, to hide when larger beasts prowled. Each night, dreams tormented him: silver fur, blood, a pair of blue eyes beneath falling rain. He did not understand them, but the feeling of connection remained—like a thread tugging gently at his heart.
When hunger and exhaustion nearly claimed him, the crimson rune on his chest flared again. Warmth flooded his limbs. His wounds healed faster; his senses sharpened. He began to sense the spiritual energy in the air—the Heavenly Essence his mother once commanded.
One evening, while resting beside a spirit-spring, he saw his reflection ripple. For the first time, he heard a voice—not spoken, but resonating within.
> "You are not meant to die here, child of Lyris. The flow calls to you."
The water pulsed. An image surfaced—faint, human.
A girl kneeling beside ashes, her eyes a mix of azure and red.
Raviel tilted his head. His instinct whispered that she was both danger and kin.
He didn't know her name, but the pulse in his chest matched hers perfectly for a moment. Then the image vanished as ripples broke the surface.
> "Who…?" His thought barely formed, more emotion than word.
The forest answered with a low growl. A Soul Fang Leopard, twice the size of a horse, emerged from the shadows. Its body shimmered with silver qi, eyes fixed on the small cub that dared touch its spring.
Raviel froze.
The beast's roar split the air, shaking branches loose. He turned and ran, his small body weaving between roots. The leopard gave chase, claws tearing bark and soil.
The cub's lungs burned. He darted into a narrow crevice between two ancient stones, too small for his pursuer. The leopard slammed a paw against the opening, snarling, then left after several frustrated swipes.
When silence returned, Raviel collapsed. Blood dripped from his side where a claw had grazed him. He closed his eyes, breathing raggedly.
Within the darkness of his mind, two voices whispered: one soft and sorrowful, one deep and wild.
> "To live, you must awaken."
"To awaken, you must devour."
A strange instinct surged. His wound sealed as crimson light flowed from the earth into his body—energy stolen from the fallen creatures nearby. When he opened his eyes again, they glowed brighter. Power, raw and untamed, coiled within him.
He had taken his first step beyond mere survival.
The mark on his chest shimmered, forming a pattern resembling twin crescents—one silver, one red.
Far away, in the human lands, Lian Yue suddenly stirred from meditation. Her own chest burned with the same pattern. She gasped, clutching the jade pendant that had begun to glow faintly.
> "That feeling again… Who are you?"
No answer came—only the whisper of wind through distant ruins.
---
As twilight descended, the cub climbed to a hilltop overlooking the forest. The world spread endlessly before him—mountains shrouded in mist, rivers glinting with spirit light, castles faint on the horizon.
He raised his head toward the twin moons and howled once more.
This time, the sound carried power—a promise, not a plea.
> "I will live," his heart declared, "and one day, I will find the one whose soul calls mine."
Deep within his blood, the legacy of the Divine Beast stirred.
Crimson energy coiled around him, outlining the faint shadow of a giant wolf. The cub stood taller, stronger, his fur rippling with spirit flame.
From that night forward, the forest remembered his howl.
And the name Raviel began its long path toward fear and reverence.