Koby ran through the woods, his feet pounding a frantic, uneven rhythm against the soft, leaf-littered earth. He did not run with purpose, only with the desperate need to move, to outpace the thoughts crowding his mind. He stopped only in brief, gasping moments—leaning against a mossy trunk, hands on his knees—to take in the view and force himself to think about his situation.
The valley sprawled beneath him in patches of emerald and shadow, but its beauty felt distant, like a painting he could not step into. What did he really want? He couldn't figure it out. The question was a hollow echo in his chest, unanswered and unnerving.
Eventually, his wandering feet brought him to a familiar spot in the valley—the small, sun-dappled clearing where he had stood with the mystery girl just the day before. Here, the air felt lighter, the silence less accusatory. He sank down beneath the broad canopy of an ancient oak, its roots cradling the earth like giant, knuckled fingers. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the cool breeze wash over his body. It felt like a gentle, cleansing sprinkle, a momentary balm against the heat of his frustration.
"You sure like to skip around the forest."
A very familiar voice cut through the quiet, clear and lightly teasing from somewhere above.
Koby didn't open his eyes. A faint, reluctant smile touched his lips. "And you sure do like to stalk me," he replied, his voice tired but playful.
"Oh, please. You're not that cute."
"I don't see anyone cuter than me in this entire forest," Koby said, the sarcasm a comfortable, worn blanket.
"Very funny." He heard the soft rustle of leaves and the faint creak of wood. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw her lying casually along a thick branch of the oak, one leg dangling, her bow resting across her stomach.
"Are you always out hunting?" Koby asked, tilting his head back to look at her.
She shrugged, a fluid movement. "Sometimes. Sometimes, just being in nature helps me clear my head."
"Tell me about it," he said, the agreement heartfelt.
"Got something on your mind, too?" Her green eyes were sharp, perceptive.
"Don't we all," Koby answered, deflecting with a question of his own.
For a moment, she just watched him, the dappled light shifting across her thoughtful face. "You know what might help?" she offered.
"What?"
"A run. Race you to that tree there." She pointed to a tall, slender pine standing alone at the edge of the next clearing, maybe a hundred yards away through the undergrowth.
"Not feeling like it," Koby mumbled, the weight of his mood anchoring him to the ground.
"Don't be such a lady," the girl said, laughing—a bright, challenging sound that seemed to bait the very air around them.
Koby sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Alright." He pushed himself up, brushing dirt from his trousers. He took a ready stance, meeting her gaze where she still lounged on the branch. "On your mark."
She didn't give one. She simply rolled off the branch, landed in a silent crouch, and took off like an arrow loosed from a bow.
"Hey!" Koby shouted, scrambling after her.
And then they were running—really running. Not the panicked flight from yesterday, but a reckless, joyful dash. They wove between towering trunks, leapt over mossy logs, and ducked under low, snagging branches. The forest became a blur of green and brown, their laughter and ragged breaths mixing with the sounds of rustling leaves and snapping twigs. For a time, the only weight they carried was the weight of their own bodies moving through space, a pure and simple exertion that left no room for thought.
After a while—lungs burning, legs aching—they skidded to a halt at the base of the target pine. Koby slumped against it, sliding down to sit heavily on the ground, chest heaving. The girl, barely winded, jumped nimbly onto a low branch and perched there, a satisfied grin on her face.
"That was nice," she said, her smile genuine.
"Yeah," Koby admitted between gulps of air, a chuckle escaping him. "I forgot my problems for a while there."
"Yeah, I guess you would have more… decent problems than me," she said, swinging her legs gently. "Seeing as you're a player, you could die at any moment."
The statement was blunt, but not unkind. It was just a fact of Nyxoria.
Koby looked up at the canopy, where splinters of blue sky showed through. "You know, for the gods that brought me here, into this world, you would think they'd at least be fair. Give me a fighting chance with the challenges."
The girl's expression softened into something more serious. She lay on her side on the branch, propping her head on her hand, her gaze steady on him. "Nyxoria isn't a fair place, Koby. If you're weak-willed, then you might as well be dead already."
"What's the point?" The words tumbled out, heavy with the despair he'd been carrying. He dropped his eyes to the forest floor. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. My friends and I… we were supposed to protect each other. But now I'm the one holding them back. I'm the weight around their ankles."
"If you say so, then it's true," she replied, her voice quiet but firm. Her eyes sparkled with an intense, almost challenging light.
Her words hung in the air, simple and devastating. He stood up slowly, brushing off his clothes, and leaned back against the rough bark of the pine, facing her.
"Has anyone told you that you suck at trying to comfort someone?" Koby said, a wry smirk finally breaking through.
"A lot of people. My grandmother the most." A flicker of a smile touched her lips. "And I wasn't trying to comfort you." She sat up on the branch, crossing her legs beneath her. "I was in a position once, thinking I was holding someone back. A whole village, actually. I convinced myself so thoroughly of my own incompetence… that it became a reality. For a long time."
"That's tough," Koby said, the sincerity cutting through his sarcasm.
"Yes, well, life is filled with ups and downs. Mostly downs, though." They shared a small, understanding laugh, a brief connection in the shared language of hardship. "But it all comes down to how we use those downs. We can let them bury us, or we can use them as footholds to climb somewhere new. To create better opportunities for ourselves."
She pointed suddenly, her finger indicating a massive, gnarled oak on the far side of the clearing. "See that tree? Lightning struck it years ago. It grew sideways, split right down the middle—but it survived. And now it stands alone in a clearing full of straight, perfect trees. Still standing. Still growing. Just… differently."
"I don't think either of us are trees," Koby joked, and they laughed again, the sound easier now.
"Maybe we aren't," she conceded, her grin fading into something more thoughtful. "And maybe we aren't meant to follow the path set for us. So… why not make your own path?"
Koby fell silent, the words settling deep. He stared at the crooked oak, its defiant, asymmetrical shape against the orderly forest. She wasn't wrong.
"So," she prompted gently after a moment. "What exactly is your hindrance? The real one."
"My pathways," Koby said, the term feeling strange and clinical on his tongue. "They're kinda… destroyed. Torn. I can't channel aura like I should. Like everyone else can."
She absorbed this, her head tilting. Then, to his surprise, she let out a short, bright laugh. "Well, then you're screwed, Koby."
He blinked, then a startled laugh burst from his own chest. It was the first real laugh he'd had in days, raw and relieving. "Yeah," he agreed, wiping his eye. "Yeah, I guess I am."
The shared laughter faded into a comfortable quiet. Koby looked at her, truly looked at her—the keen eyes, the easy confidence, the mystery that clung to her like forest mist.
"You said you'd give me your name if we met a second time," he reminded her softly. "And you're still yet to say it. At this point, I might just give you a name of my own choosing."
"Well then, let's hear it," she challenged, leaning forward. "If it's good, I might just tell you my real one."
Koby's eyes gleamed with mischief. "The Unusual Bow Girl."
She snorted, a very un-ladylike sound. "Well, you just lost your chance at ever knowing my name."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he said, laughing again. Then his expression softened, his gaze earnest. "So? Please?"
She watched him for a long moment, as if weighing his worth. Finally, she said, "Aries."
"Aries," Koby repeated, testing the sound. It felt strong, unusual. "That sounds very nice. And unusual."
"I know," she said, but a shadow passed behind her eyes—a quick flash of something like anger or old pain. "Even though I despise it."
"Why despise it?" Koby asked gently.
"That," she said, swinging her legs down and hopping lightly to the ground, "is a story for another time." She brushed a stray leaf from her sleeve. "I have to go now. Came out to check my traps, but they caught nothing but damp leaves and disappointment."
"Alright then," Koby said, pushing himself away from the tree. A genuine smile, small but real, lit up his face. "Thank you for the talk, Aries."
"You're welcome, Koby," she said, and with a final, unreadable look, she turned and melted into the trees, silent as a shadow.
Koby stood alone in the clearing for a long time, the late afternoon sun stretching his shadow long and thin across the grass. He replayed her words in his head—make your own path. The despair was still there, a cold stone in his gut, but alongside it now was a spark. A tiny, stubborn flicker of determination. He had decided. He would take what Aries said and do it.
He was going to create his own path.
The walk back to the cottage felt different. The same trees, the same path, but his footsteps were firmer, his head held a little higher. As he emerged from the treeline, he found Rowan, Kai, and James outside, gathered around the rough wooden dining table. They were speaking in low tones, but all conversation ceased the moment they saw him. Three pairs of eyes fixed on him, filled with a tense anticipation.
Koby walked straight up to Rowan, ignoring the questioning looks from his friends. He met the older man's steady gaze with a calmness that surprised even himself.
"Can you really train me?" Koby asked, his voice clear and level. "Can you train me to survive with this… disability?"
Rowan studied him, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow nod. "If you're willing to learn—truly willing—I can train you so that your disability doesn't define you. It will always be there, but it won't have to be what stops you."
Koby took a deep breath, feeling the promise and the weight of the commitment in the air. He glanced at Kai and James, who were watching, silent and hopeful. He saw the support in their eyes, not pity.
"Fine then," Koby said, turning back to Rowan. "I'll do it. Whatever it takes."
A palpable wave of relief seemed to pass through the small group. "That's good," Rowan said simply, a hint of approval in his voice. He gave Koby's shoulder a brief, firm clap before turning and heading toward the training area, leaving the three friends alone.
James was the first to move. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Koby's shoulder, his grip reassuring. "Hey," he said, his voice low and sincere. "Whatever happens, we stick together. Strong or not. That's the deal."
Koby nodded, a faint but determined smile touching his lips. "Yeah."
"On the plus side," Kai chimed in, a familiar, cocky grin spreading across his face, "I'm stronger than you now. Officially."
"You wish," Koby shot back, the old rhythm of their rivalry returning like a comforting habit.
Kai laughed and playfully punched Koby's arm. Koby feigned a stumble, then lifted his guard with a grin, and the two began a light, sparring dance of shoves and blocked jabs right there in the dooryard, their laughter cutting through the quiet evening.
James watched them, a smile tugging at his own mouth. He leaned back against the cottage wall, looking up as the first stars began to pierce the darkening velvet of the night sky. He wondered, not with fear, but with a cautious kind of hope, about the difficult days ahead—and the crooked, unexpected path they were now committed to walking, together.