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Ashwood Forest groaned beneath the weight of dusk. A thick mist had rolled in, clinging to the gnarled trees like breath on a blade. The deeper they ventured, the darker the woods grew, as though the sun itself dared not challenge what lurked beneath the canopy.
Cael trudged behind Eldros, his breath shallow, boots sinking into the damp moss. His muscles ached from the morning drills, and the soreness in his core was a testament to how little he knew of the world he now walked in.
"Keep your ears open," Eldros murmured, his voice low and gravelly. "Ashwood doesn't forgive the careless."
Cael nodded, though his hand was already resting against the hilt of the ironshort blade Eldros had given him two days prior. It wasn't special—not like the kind the old man summoned with swirling glyphs and whispers—but it had weight, and weight, Cael figured, was better than empty hands.
Eldros suddenly halted.
The air grew denser.
A low growl echoed to their left.
"Stand ready," Eldros said sharply. "We're not alone."
From the shadows emerged a beast. Eight feet tall, hunched with fur black as dried blood and eyes that burned a sickly green. Its maw dripped with saliva that hissed when it touched the ground. Twin tusks curled out from its lower jaw.
Cael stepped back instinctively. "What the hell is that?"
"A Duskfang Urgor," Eldros replied. "Mid-tier Dire Beast. Equivalent to a Fourth Vein cultivator in raw power."
The Urgor snarled and charged.
Cael barely raised his blade before Eldros swept forward.
There was no hesitation in Eldros' movement, only precision. His hand glowed with a radiant red sigil—Flare Palm: Third Cycle Flame Technique. He struck the beast head-on.
The forest lit up.
Fire burst from Eldros' palm, crashing into the Urgor's snout. The beast roared and stumbled back, fur smoldering.
Cael watched, heart pounding. This wasn't just strength—this was the art of power.
Eldros turned, eyes fierce. "Cael! You must strike when it falters. Remember what I taught you."
Cael swallowed the fear and surged forward.
Step One: Channeling.
He focused his breath inward, pulling on the ember of energy Eldros had called Soulkindle. It sparked in his chest. Weak, flickering—but alive.
He swung the blade downward.
The Urgor snapped toward him, but Eldros moved again, sending a blast of wind that knocked the beast sideways. It wasn't magic—Eldros had explained it as Wind Binding, a support-type art from the Galeflow Scripture.
Cael's sword connected.
It carved across the beast's shoulder. Blood spurted, thick and foul. The Urgor howled.
Too late, Cael realized he'd overcommitted. The beast retaliated, claw swiping toward him.
He threw himself back, tumbling into the dirt.
The Urgor lunged.
But Eldros was faster.
With a sharp incantation, five glowing runes spiraled around his fists—Crimson Lock, a suppression art.
Chains of flame lashed out and wrapped around the Urgor, binding its limbs. It thrashed wildly.
Eldros extended his hand. "Finish it."
Cael rose, pain flashing in his ribs. He ran, blade raised, heart hammering with every step.
He brought the blade down onto the Urgor's throat. It screamed, thrashed once more, and went still.
Silence fell.
Eldros let the runes fade. The chains hissed into embers.
Cael dropped to his knees, panting.
Eldros approached, crouched beside him. "You were sloppy. But you committed. That's more than most novices do."
"I could've died," Cael muttered.
"Yes," Eldros said calmly. "And if you had, the forest would've fed well."
Cael laughed bitterly. "You're not much for comfort."
"Comfort doesn't forge warriors. Struggle does."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Eldros rose and turned to the beast. He retrieved a dark purple crystal from its chest—its core.
"Every Dire Beast has one. It holds their essence," Eldros said. "This is yours."
He tossed it to Cael.
"What do I do with it?"
"For now? Keep it. Later, you'll learn how to refine it."
They moved on. As they walked, Eldros finally began to explain.
"There are four paths of cultivation known to our lands. You already know the first. Bloodline Invocation. But it is rare and unstable."
Cael nodded. "What are the others?"
"Second," Eldros said, "is Soulkindling. This is the path you're beginning. It draws on inner resolve and mental fortitude. Cultivators temper their soul through meditation and battle."
"And the third?"
"The Elemental Harmonies. Those who choose this path must attune with natural forces—wind, fire, water, stone. They channel energies from ley-lines and ancient nodes."
"Sounds difficult."
"It is. But not as hard as the fourth."
Cael looked up.
"Scripture Binding," Eldros said. "It involves carving ancient techniques into one's bones and spirit. You must earn them from ruins or sects and survive the imprinting. Few do."
Cael whistled softly. "No wonder cultivators are feared."
"Feared and hunted. Remember that."
They paused by a creek. Eldros knelt and dipped his hands into the water.
Cael stared at his reflection. His eyes looked different now. Sharper. More aware.
"Eldros. Why are you helping me?"
The old man didn't answer right away. He flicked water from his fingers.
"Because your father saved my life," he said at last. "And because you're the last flame of something long thought extinguished."
Cael didn't press further.
But something shifted inside him.
A weight.
Not fear.
Purpose.
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