Hael woke to darkness again.
The same heavy, starless dark that had greeted him after the takeover. His cheek was pressed against cold, damp earth. Pine needles poked into his skin. Every small movement sent fresh pain lancing through his side and ribs.
He lay there for a long time, eyes open, staring at nothing.
He didn't want to move.
Moving meant accepting that this was real. That the manor was gone. That the screams had stopped forever.
He stayed curled on his side, arms wrapped around himself, breathing shallow. The forest was quiet. No voices. No footsteps. Only the faint rustle of wind in the leaves high above.
He didn't know how long he lay like that—minutes, maybe hours. Time felt broken.
Then the crimson letters appeared again, steady and unhurried, floating in the blackness of his vision.
[Critical condition stabilized.]
[Quest Offered: From Weakness to Strength]
[Objective: Survive. Grow. Overcome the frailty of the mortal vessel.]
[Reward: Basic Interface Access. Path Guidance.]
[Accept? Y/N]
Hael didn't move.
The words just hung there, patient.
He stared at them, chest tight.
What did they even mean? Survive? Grow? He was fourteen. He was hurt. That made thinking about things a little harder.
He wanted to close his eyes and make them go away. Pretend they were a dream. Pretend everything was a dream.
But the pain in his body wouldn't let him.
The memory of blades wouldn't let him.
The silence where his family should have been wouldn't let him.
The letters pulsed once, softly. Waiting.
Hael's fingers twitched in the dirt.
He thought of the assassins' faces—cold, certain, wiping blood from their knives like it was nothing.
He thought of the man who had held him down, forcing him to watch.
He thought of the leader raising the dagger above his heart.
They had taken everything.
And they were still out there.
A spark flickered in the hollow place inside him—small, fragile, but hot.
He didn't understand the words. Didn't trust them.
But he understood hate.
And he understood that lying here waiting to die would mean they won. He won't allow that. He won't let those go unpunished who destroyed his peaceful life. Now way in hell.
His hand uncurled slowly. Dirt fell from his fingers.
"Yes," he whispered, voice raw and barely audible.
The letters brightened for a moment, then dissolved.
[Quest accepted.]
[Basic Interface initializing…]
New words appeared—simple, orderly.
Name: Hael Voss
Age: 14
Level: 1
Class: None
Stats
Strength: 6
Agility: 8
Vitality: 5 (injured)
Perception: 10
Will: 12
Abyssal Affinity: 15
Skills
Shadow Step (Instinctive – Rank 1)
Void Grasp (Instinctive – Rank 1)
Corruption: 12%
[Note: Power draws from the Abyss. Use brings cost.]
The words lingered, then slowly faded.
Hael sat up carefully, wincing as pain flared. He stared at the place where the letters had been.
Numbers. Words. Like some strange ledger of his life.
Weak.
So weak.
But the last line burned in his mind.
Power draws from the Abyss. Use brings cost.
He didn't know what the Abyss was. But if it gave him power…
He would pay. He would pay anything to make them bleed the way his family had.
Hael pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet—slow, shaking, every movement a fight. With each movement he felt quite the pain.
One step forward into the dark.
Then another. He didn't know what he should do now. Where he should go. But he moved forward. Staying still won't help.
The resolve was small, quiet. But it was there.
Hael took another shaky step, then another, leaning against a tree when his legs threatened to buckle. The forest floor was uneven—roots snagging his feet, branches brushing his face like cold fingers.
He didn't know where he was going. Only away. Deeper into the wilds, where no one would find him.
The crimson letters had vanished, but their after-image lingered in his mind. Numbers. Words. A path.
He stopped beneath a gap in the canopy where faint starlight trickled down. His breath came in short, painful gasps. The wound in his side throbbed with every heartbeat.
He was going to die out here—slowly, alone—if he didn't do something.
The letters returned, quieter this time, as if waiting for him to notice.
[Basic Training Tutorial Available.]
[Objective: Complete introductory exercises to stabilize the vessel.]
[Tasks]
Perform Shadow Step (short distance) – 3 times
Perform Void Grasp (on inanimate object) – 3 times
[Rewards upon completion]
Minor Healing Potion (1)
+1 Strength
+1 Vitality
[Accept? Y/N]
Hael stared, chest tight.
Exercises? Like training with the old sword-master back home?
But there was no one to guide him. No wooden sword. No encouraging nod.
Just him, the dark, and this thing inside him.
He hesitated.
The words pulsed gently, patient as before.
He thought of bleeding out under the trees. Of never seeing the men who did this pay for it.
His fingers curled into fists.
He didn't trust the voice. Didn't understand it. He didn't know what the hell it was.
But he needed to live. He needed to be stronger. Resolve glimmered in his eyes.
"…Yes," he whispered.
The letters brightened briefly.
[Tutorial accepted.]
[Begin when ready.]
Hael took a slow breath.
He didn't know how to start.
But he remembered the feeling—the freezing rush, the way the shadows had carried him.
He closed his eyes.
Focused on the dark behind his eyelids.
And tried.
Nothing happened at first.
Just pain and silence.
He tried again—harder, desperate.
A faint chill stirred in his chest.
Then the forest floor fell away for an instant.
He stumbled forward three steps, catching himself against a tree trunk.
The letters flickered.
[Shadow Step: 1/3]
Hael's eyes widened.
It worked.
Weak. Short. But it worked.
The spark inside him burned a little brighter.
He would do this.
One step at a time.
Whatever the cost.
Hael took another shaky step, then stopped, leaning heavily against a tree trunk slick with moss. His legs trembled. Every breath pulled at the wound in his side, a hot, wet ache that reminded him how close he was to collapsing again.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself.
Nothing happened.
No rush of cold. No sudden shift.
Just the ordinary dark of the forest and the thud of his own heart.
He opened his eyes and tried again—harder this time. He pictured the feeling from before: the way the shadows had wrapped around him in the hall, carrying him away.
Still nothing.
A flicker of panic rose. What if it had been a one-time thing? What if the voice—the letters—had abandoned him already?
He focused again, fists clenched, brow furrowed with effort. He whispered to the dark, half-plea, half-command.
"Come on…"
A faint chill stirred in his chest—like ice water trickling through his veins. Barely there.
He pushed harder, teeth gritted, willing the shadows to move.
The chill grew, sharp and sudden.
Then the ground lurched.
His body flickered forward—not gracefully, but clumsily. He stumbled three uneven steps, nearly falling, catching himself against another tree with a gasp.
The forest spun for a second.
The crimson letters appeared, small and matter-of-fact.
[Shadow Step: 1/3]
[Minor strain detected.]
Hael panted, clinging to the bark. His side burned worse now. A thin trickle of fresh blood soaked his shirt.
It had worked.
But it hurt.
And it had taken everything he had just for that short, awkward hop.
He slid down the trunk until he sat on the cold ground, knees drawn up, breathing hard.
The letters hovered patiently.
He stared at them.
Two more times for Shadow Step.
Three grasps on something inanimate.
Then… a potion. Healing. And numbers that might make him a little less weak.
He didn't move for a long while.
The forest rustled around him. Somewhere far off, a branch cracked—maybe an animal, maybe wind.
He was still so tired.
So small.
But the faces flashed again—his mother's last look, his sister's hand reaching.
He couldn't stay here forever.
Hael pushed himself up again, slower this time, using the tree for support.
One more try.
He closed his eyes.
Focused on the faint chill that lingered in his chest.
Waited.
And tried again.
This time, the shadows answered—just a little.
Hael stayed sitting against the tree for a long time, breathing slow and shallow. The faint chill from that first clumsy step had already faded, leaving only the ache in his side and the cold night air.
He stared at the place where the letters had been.
[Shadow Step: 1/3]
One.
He needed two more.
His body felt heavier than before—like the effort had taken something out of him he couldn't name. His fingers were numb. The wound throbbed in rhythm with his pulse.
He could stop.
Lie back down. Let the dark take him.
No one would know.
No one would care.
But the faces came again—unbidden, sharp.
A low sound escaped him—half growl, half sob.
No.
He wouldn't let them win.
Not like this.
Hael pushed himself up again, slower this time, using the tree trunk to haul his weight. His legs shook. Pain flared hot in his side, fresh blood seeping warm against his skin.
He didn't care.
He closed his eyes.
Focused on that faint, lingering chill deep in his chest.
It was still there—barely. A whisper of ice in his blood.
He reached for it.
Nothing at first.
Just strain. Sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold.
He gritted his teeth.
Come on.
The chill flickered—weak, teasing.
He pushed harder, willing it, demanding it.
His hands clenched into fists. Nails dug into palms.
For Mom.
For Dad.
For Lia.
The chill surged—sharp, sudden, painful.
The world lurched.
He stumbled forward five uneven steps this time, farther than before, but still clumsy. His knee buckled on landing. He caught himself against another trunk, gasping, vision spotting black.
The letters returned.
[Shadow Step: 2/3]
[Moderate strain detected. Minor bleeding resumed.]
Hael laughed—a cracked, bitter sound that echoed strangely in the trees.
It hurt.
Everything hurt.
But it worked.
Again.
He slid down the trunk until he sat once more, chest heaving, blood soaking his shirt anew.
One more.
Just one more.
He rested his head back against the bark, eyes closed, breathing through the pain.
The forest was silent around him.
Waiting.
He thought of the men who had done this.
Thought of their faces.
Thought of what he would do when he was strong enough.
The spark inside him—the one born from hate—wasn't small anymore.
It was growing.
Hael dragged himself upright again, slower than before, every movement a fight. He swayed, caught his balance against the tree. Blood dripped steadily from his shirt now, pattering softly onto leaves.
He didn't care.
He closed his eyes.
Reached for the chill inside him.
It was fainter now—exhausted, sullen.
He didn't ask.
He demanded.
The spark of hate flared hotter.
For them.
All of it—for them.
He pushed.
Harder than before.
The chill resisted, sluggish.
He pushed again—teeth clenched, nails biting into his palms, every muscle straining.
Come on.
Move.
The chill snapped awake—sharp, painful, like ice cracking in his blood.
The world lurched harder than ever.
He shot forward—six full steps this time—clear, controlled, almost graceful.
He landed in a crouch, one hand on the ground to steady himself, breathing hard but upright.
No stumble.
No fall.
The letters appeared, brighter than before.
[Shadow Step: 3/3]
[Task segment complete.]
Hael stayed crouched, chest heaving, a shaky smile pulling at his blood-crusted lips.
It hurt. It hurt so much.
But he had done it.
Three times.
On his own.
The spark inside him—the one born from hate, from memory—wasn't small anymore.
It was a flame.
He straightened slowly, eyes burning in the dark.
The letters pulsed again.
[Next task: Void Grasp – 3 times on inanimate object.]
He didn't hesitate this time.
He was ready.
Whatever it took.
The letters shifted again, patient as always.
Hael stared at the words, brow creasing.
Void Grasp.
He had no idea what it meant.
Shadow Step had been… stepping into shadow. Moving through it. That made a kind of sense, even if it hurt.
But grasp? Grasp what? The void?
He glanced around the dim clearing. A fallen branch lay nearby. A rock half-buried in moss. A pine cone.
Inanimate object. Something not alive.
He sat back down, slowly, wincing as his side pulled. His head throbbed now too—dull, persistent. Thinking felt like pushing through thick mud.
He picked the branch first. It was thick as his wrist, rough bark flaking under his fingers.
Grasp it with the void? Reach into nothing and pull?
He held his hand out, palm toward the branch.
Focused on the faint chill that lingered in his chest.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, harder. Imagined his hand extending into shadow, wrapping around the branch from inside the dark.
Still nothing.
The branch just sat there.
Hael's breath came shorter. Frustration mixed with exhaustion.
He dropped his hand, rubbing his temple. Pain spiked behind his eyes when he tried to think too hard.
What was missing?
Shadow Step had worked when he needed to move—when he was desperate to escape.
Maybe this needed… intent? Something to grasp for?
He thought about the takeover. The way the darkness taken over his body when he needed to escape. That feeling. That intent.
He tried once more. Closed his eyes. Pictured the branch in his mind. Imagined darkness flowing from his palm, coiling around it like fingers.
A faint tingle stirred in his hand—cold, distant.
But when he opened his eyes, the branch hadn't moved.
He tried a fourth time, harder, straining until his vision blurred.
Nothing.
The tingle faded.
Hael slumped forward, forehead against his knees. The effort made his vision swim.
His head hurt worse now. Thinking felt like dragging nails across raw skin.
He was so tired.
So weak.
He reached for the branch one last time—palm open, willing the darkness to obey.
The chill rose, weak and fleeting.
Then slipped away.
Something was missing.
He could feel it—just out of reach.
Like a word on the tip of his tongue.
But no matter how hard he strained, he couldn't find it.
The letters waited in silence.
Hael stayed curled there, breathing shallow, pain and exhaustion pressing down.
The night stretched on.
And the task remained unfinished.