By the time the sun dipped behind the dense canopy, the smell of blood had become part of the air.
Three of the Hunter Group were dead.
Their bodies lay covered near the fourth wagon, wrapped hastily in spare blankets. No time for burial. No time for grief. One had been the silent one—bald, barely spoke a word since the journey began. Another was the youngest among them, often seen smiling at the kids. His throat had been torn open protecting two students who had frozen in fear.
The last was the axe-wielding woman. She died standing, her final blow crushing a beast's skull even as its fangs pierced her chest.
Kael had watched it all.
He had done nothing.
Inside the third cart, he sat motionless. His sword lay across his lap, stained only at the edge. Around him, others cried quietly. A girl near him sobbed, hugging her knees. Another was staring blankly, lips moving silently in prayer. Someone vomited in the corner of the cart.
Even the nobles were pale now. Their silk cloaks stained, perfume overpowered by coppery blood.
No one mocked. No one bragged.
"Welcome to the wild," Dren had said after the fight. "Only eight hours in. Keep your eyes open—these beasts ain't even the worst part."
Tara walked down the caravan line after the fight, tending to the wounded with basic healing salves and a sturdy presence. She didn't smile anymore.
"Are you hurt?" she asked Kael, her voice quieter than before.
He shook his head.
"Good. Keep your weapon close. And your fear closer."
She moved on.
The camp was formed hastily, with carts positioned in a tight ring. Fires were lit in the center—four of them, glowing low with fire stones to avoid drawing too much attention. The guards—seven now—formed a rotating watch pattern.
Dren remained quiet most of the evening. He sat sharpening his sword, his eye scanning the treeline every few seconds.
Another hunter, a gruff man with a missing hand, growled under his breath at some students for complaining.
"You rich bastards thought this would be a ride through a royal garden? These forests eat silver and shit bones."
A chuckle came from another guard—Kira, the dark-skinned woman with braided hair and a jagged scar running down her cheek. She sat close to the fire, chewing roasted roots.
"They'll learn. Or they'll bleed."
Kael sat near one of the fire circles with five others from his village. Among them was a boy who cultivated the body path, flexing bruised knuckles proudly. Another girl, Lira, was of the soul path—her element revealed as wind, rare and respected. She barely talked, her eyes constantly on the woods. She gave Kael a small nod, as if sensing something in him she couldn't explain.
The conversation drifted slowly.
Each student had shown their cultivation path and element during the village selection ceremony. Some had fire, others water, lightning, or earth. Body cultivators boasted strong limbs and thick bones. Soul path cultivators, all four of them, had quickly become the center of attention—even in fear, the others admired them.
Kael had been labeled as essence-aligned. No element had manifested clearly.
No one asked what his path was. Most had already dismissed him.
Except one.
A boy named Joren, son of a minor merchant. Not noble, but proud enough. He had fire element, body cultivation, and a loud mouth.
"You," Joren said, pointing across the fire. "What's your path again? Wind? Water? Or just crying in corners?"
Some chuckled. Not many.
Kael didn't respond. He simply looked back, his silence sharper than words.
Joren scoffed and turned away.
"Tch. I hope you're good at hiding. You'll need it."
Later, as night deepened, Dren stood before the fire circle to address them all. His voice was calm, but every word cut like flint.
"We've lost three. We'll lose more. Maybe you. Maybe the one sitting beside you. Beasts don't care if you're noble or peasant. They only care if you bleed easy."
He paused, scanning every face.
"Some of you want to be heroes. Others just want glory. Doesn't matter. Out here, survival comes first."
"This forest's not like yours. It's part of the wildlands. Close to beast territory. We'll travel ten more days. Through rivers. Caves. Maybe worse. The path we take isn't the one marked on your maps. It's the one that burns weaklings away."
And with that, he walked back to his post. Silent.
Kael lay awake that night, blade under his thin blanket, eyes fixed on the swaying branches above. The moonlight filtered down like shards through a broken window.
He could still see the blood on the leaves.
Still feel how his body trembled—not from cold, but helplessness.
He was nothing here.
But deep within, under the shame and fear, something small stirred.
A flicker.