PREVIOUSLY-
The air shimmered as Imperial Princess Seraphyne stepped through the archway, regal and cold. Behind him followed the Imperial Prince Lucan, Renold and Miriel.
Leon took a breath, then glanced back at his party, steadying his nerves.
"Let's go."
Together, the boys stepped forward toward the portal's glow.
-*-*--*-*-*-*-*-
As the boys approached the portal's shimmering edge, a firm hand shot out, halting them in their tracks.
They turned sharply to the side. A tall upperclassman stood before them, dressed in the sharp green-trimmed uniform. His expression was unreadable, but there was a crispness to his bearing that made them straighten instinctively.
"Please deposit all valuables, weapons, and artifacts here," he said, gesturing toward four wooden compartments suspended in the air. They hovered with a faint hum, each softly glowing with arcane runes etched into their surfaces.
The group exchanged glances before complying. One by one, they stepped forward and placed their belongings inside—belts unbuckled, sheaths removed, trinkets gently set down. The boxes closed with soft clicks, sealing their contents with a shimmer of light.
"ID," the upperclassman said curtly, lifting his notepad without looking up.
"ID?" Leon blinked. "What's that?"
The upperclassman glanced at him, tone flat. "Your system window."
"Oh." The realization hit them all at once.
In perfect synchronization, the boys let out a long, sheepish sigh.
"Here," Raphael said, summoning his window with a flick of his hand. One after another, the others followed suit, their translucent interfaces blinking to life before them.
The upperclassman scribbled a few notes, his eyes flicking between their windows and the parchment. Then, with a curt nod, he motioned to a nearby rack.
"Pick a weapon. No enchantments, no runes. Standard issue."
The weapons were arranged with care—longswords and spears lined beside axes, bows, wands, and even throwing darts. Each gleamed faintly under the torchlight.
Raphael approached first, brows furrowed in concentration. He selected a trio of daggers, a short sword, and a well-balanced spear. He tested the grip of each before nodding to himself.
Leon took his time, studying the selection. After a pause, he reached for a heavy claymore, nearly as tall as he was, and gave it a few testing swings. Satisfied, he slung it over his back.
"You're not taking anything else?" Raphael asked, brows raised.
Leon grinned. "Nah. I only need my sword."
Theo stepped forward a bit hesitantly. He chose a plain spear, strapping it carefully to his back, then reached for a small axe, securing it at his waist with a leather loop. He looked up at Raphael for reassurance.
"Is this okay, young master Raphael?"
Raphael gave him a quick thumbs-up. "Looks solid."
"Umm…" Sigmund stepped forward, scratching the back of his neck. "Do you have any steel wire?"
The upperclassman paused mid-turn, caught off-guard. "Steel wire?"
"Yeah. Steel wire."
The older boy blinked. "I… don't think so. Sorry."
"Wait!"
A voice rang out from behind them.
They turned to see a boy with tousled grey hair jogging toward them, his grey eyes locked onto Sig with familiarity.
"Hey, Mark!" the boy called, catching his breath as he reached them. From his satchel, he produced a small coil of fine steel wire. "Will this do?"
Mark examined it closely, running it between his fingers with care. "Yeah. This works. Thanks, William."
He handed it to Sigmund with a nod before jogging back to his post. Sig, in turn, gave a small, appreciative bow.
Sigmund then moved to the rack and selected a longsword—plain, functional, and perfectly balanced. He gave it a few quick swings before falling in with the group again.
"All ready?" he asked.
Raphael tightened the strap on his spear and gave a firm nod. "Yeah. Set."
"Yup!" Theo replied, flashing a bright smile.
"All ready!" Leon added, puffing his chest with a grin full of confidence.
The portal ahead pulsed with faint energy, its surface rippling like water in a breeze. Whatever waited beyond it, they were stepping through as one.
The portal swallowed them in a single breath—light twisting, gravity folding, sound warping.
And then—
Silence.
Raphael hit the ground hard, sand puffing beneath him as he rolled to a stop. A dull ache throbbed in his shoulder, and dry needles crunched beneath his palms as he pushed himself up.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
The portal was gone.
Around him, the forest towered—ancient and unfamiliar. The trees were enormous, their trunks thick and knotted, rising high above until their canopies formed a shadowy dome. Patches of sky peeked through, pale and distant. The air was dry but cool, and the wind carried the scent of pine, dust, and old stone.
"Leon?" he called out, voice cracking slightly.
Nothing.
He turned in a slow circle. The sandy path he had landed on was narrow, winding along a sloping hill that dropped off sharply to one side, revealing a distant valley shrouded in green mist. The other side rose steeply, more roots than soil, gnarled trees jutting from the incline.
"Theo? Sigmund?" he called again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
His pulse quickened. He checked his gear—daggers, sword, spear. All intact. That was something.
He took a breath and tried to think. Stay calm. Reorient. Survive first, reunite later.
Elsewhere—fifty paces down the slope, Theo had landed in a thicket, tangled in underbrush. He winced as he pulled himself free, brushing dirt from his tunic and plucking twigs from his hair.
"Ugh..." He rubbed his knee, then looked around, wide-eyed. "Guys?"
Only the rustle of leaves responded. Birds trilled high above, and far off, something howled faintly—thin and sharp like it didn't belong here.
Theo gripped the haft of his spear tighter and stood still for a moment, heart thudding in his ears. "Okay. Okay. This is fine. They're probably nearby. I just… fell further."
He stepped onto a sandy path and took a tentative breath. "Right foot. Then left. Don't panic."
Sigmund landed on his feet, barely. The moment his boots touched earth, he stumbled back against a mossy trunk and scanned the woods like prey.
Everything was quiet—but not in a peaceful way. It was the silence before something moved.
"Perfect," he muttered, pulling the steel wire from his pouch and quickly coiling it in his fingers, just in case.
The forest here was steeper, the road barely visible under fallen leaves and sand. Sig knelt, pressing a hand to the trail. It was dry, but someone had walked here recently. Not human, though—clawed.
He exhaled slowly. "Guess it's one of those tests."
Leon had, somehow, landed flat on his back in the middle of the trail, staring straight up at a canopy of shifting green.
"Ow," he groaned. He sat up, brushing sand from his cheek and looking around with a growing scowl.
"...Where the hell is everyone?"
No response, of course.
He stood, slinging the claymore back onto his shoulder. "Fine. I'll just find them myself. They probably need me anyway."
He began walking, the forest whispering around him. A dry wind rolled down the path, scattering sand and brittle leaves like whispers in a language just beyond recognition.
Each of them stood alone now, surrounded by towering trees, crumbling ledges, and a sense of quiet dread. The Hill Forest stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of sandy roads and steep slopes woven into the side of a forgotten mountain.
What was supposed to be a team entry had become a solitary trial.
And the forest was watching.
As Sigmund crouched low over the clawed prints, he traced the edge of one mark with a finger, noting the depth and spacing. It wasn't fresh, but it wasn't old either.
He muttered to himself, "Three claws... weight shifted forward. Could be stalking something—"
"That's not how it's done."
The voice was sudden—soft, raspy, and far too close. It brushed against his ear like a cold breeze, sending a chill down his spine.
Sig's breath caught.
His hand moved without thought, resting on the hilt of his longsword. He rose slowly, heart pounding in his chest like a wardrum. His eyes darted behind him, scanning the trees.
Empty.
"Here."
This time the voice drifted from the left, heavier somehow—weighted with exhaustion, like someone speaking through centuries of sleep.
Sig turned with careful precision, adjusting his stance. His fingers tightened slightly around the hilt. He didn't draw, not yet—but he was ready to.
And then he saw it.
A figure, glowing faintly the size of his palm, emerged from behind a leaning tree trunk. Not stepped—floated. Its outline wavered slightly, as if resisting full definition, like fog catching moonlight.
The robes were a deep, decaying violet, the edges frayed and drifting as if underwater. Its hood hung low over its face, but the darkness within wasn't empty. A skull stared out at him, bleached bone locked in eternal silence. From its hollow sockets, twin embers burned—a lazy, unnatural purple, as if the flames were bored of existing but too stubborn to die.
It raised a hand. Not threatening—more like a patient correction from a tired teacher.
"You're reading the surface. A waste of time." The figure's voice rasped like dry parchment torn slowly. "If you truly wish to follow… then learn to listen to the earth."
Sigmund didn't move.
He didn't blink.
His body was still in a defensive coil, but his mind—his mind was racing.
"What are you?" he asked, trying to keep the tension out of his voice and failing.
The figure didn't answer.
Instead, it slowly turned and drifted deeper into the forest, its form flickering between real and unreal with every foot of distance.
"I am your mentor, Skaleg…" It exhaled.
Sig stared at the figure for a while.
'Blessed systems sure are different.'
He cleared his throat.
"What am I doing wrong?"
Skaleg turned to him, the tattered edge of his purple robe fluttering slightly as he hovered above the clawed footprint. His voice rasped with a hint of approval.
"I like your attitude."
He gestured with one skeletal finger to the sky.
"Look around you. What do you see?"
Sig glanced up. Towering trees, thick canopy, tangled underbrush—quiet, still, and heavy with the scent of damp bark.
"A dense forest," he answered slowly.
"Good." Skaleg nodded once. "Dense forests don't favor sprinters. They favor climbers. Stalkers. Creatures that kill in silence."
He pointed back to the print. "A paw this size belongs to something big—but not just strong. Smart. Built for ambush."
Skaleg tapped the third claw mark with one bony knuckle.
"See that? It's angled slightly. Not for traction. That's a climbing claw—forepaw only. Specialized."
He turned his glowing eye sockets on Sig, waiting.
"Well?"
Sig frowned, crouched closer. His eyes narrowed as he replayed old lectures in his head, snippets from bestiaries, memories of books.
"Not a panther…" he murmured. "Too much definition in the toes."
His gaze sharpened.
"Clouded Leopard?" he said, more a question than a statement.
A smile crept into Skaleg's voice, even if his skull didn't move.
"Very good."
Sig blinked. "Seriously?"
"Seriously," Skaleg said. "Neofelis nebulosa. A master of the trees. Hunts in mist. Jaws built like a saber-tooth's. And when it leaves claw prints like this, it means you're already inside its hunting ground."
Sig straightened, a new unease prickling down his spine.
"So it's watching?"
"No," Skaleg said simply,
Sig looked at him.
"If it wanted you dead," Skaleg said, floating backward into the trees, "you wouldn't be standing here talking to a ghost."
Sig nodded in approval.
"Now," Skaleg said, hovering above the print, his bony hand outstretched. "Inject your mana into it."
"Mana?" Sig frowned, confused. His brow furrowed slightly, as if trying to remember a lesson half-forgotten.
"Mana," Skaleg repeated, drier this time—as though the word itself bored him.
Sig hesitated, then extended his hand. A thin, translucent wisp of energy slid from his fingertips, curling into the clawed imprint on the forest floor. The print shimmered faintly, like breath fogging glass.
Skaleg leaned closer, his hollow sockets glowing with faint purple light. "Do you feel anything else?"
Sig shook his head slowly, brows pinched. "What do you mean?"
"There are many types of mana, boy," Skaleg said, his tone drifting between patient and smug. He pointed lazily to a tree nearby. "Nature leaves its fingerprints. So do beasts. Stretch your mana out. Touch the trees, the stones, the moss. Learn their taste. Then compare it to this."
Sig's face tensed in concentration. He sat cross-legged, hands to the ground, and let his mana seep out like roots in water.
'This one… the moss. Soft, old, damp...'
'This? Pebble. Dense, still, hollow of flow.'
'Tree… broad and slow, like a sleeping bear.'
'Leaf... light, rustling.'
Minutes passed. His expression twisted with strain—and then froze.
'This… this one's different. It's sharper. Coiled. Like it's ready to spring.'
His eyes lit up. He looked to Skaleg, half-whispering, half-shouting, "This? Yes! This is it!"
"Shhh!" Skaleg hissed, clacking his jaw shut and floating lower. He pressed a skeletal finger where lips would've been. "You want it to know we're following it?"
Sig lowered his head, sheepish.
But Skaleg gave a crooked smile, pleased. "Good. You're learning." He turned his head toward the trail. "Now trace it. Quietly."
Slowly, the duo followed the trail of mana.
"How did you learn this much?" Sig asked curious.
"Our master," Skaleg looked to the sky, "Vincent Duskrane, allowed me on his adventure to the vampire and elven duchy once,"
Sig caught a rustle behind the grass and hurried towards it cautiously,
"He was known as something like Van Helsing in the Vampire duchy but he used the alias Thranduil in the Elven forest. You may not know but once-"
He stopped to see Sig near the bush, his words did not reach him.
"Well," Skaleg chuckled to himself, "You will find yourself one day."
A note from Coffeepen3
Author's Note:
Some readers may recognize certain names in this story — here's a quick rundown for clarity:
Clouded leopard- a real and elusive wild cat found in Southeast Asia. Known for its stealth and beautiful markings, it often symbolizes grace and hidden strength.— not a reference to any existing fictional character.
Abraham Van Helsing is a tribute to the legendary vampire hunter from Bram Stoker's Dracula.
Thranduil comes from Tolkien's The Hobbit, where he is the proud and enigmatic Elvenking of Mirkwood.
These references aren't required knowledge to enjoy the story — just small nods for those who like digging beneath the surface.