PREVIOUSLY-
A blur erupted from the gloom behind him.
"Behind you!" Skaleg shouted—too late.
Sig's world spun. Claws raked across his back, shredding leather and skin in one savage arc.
"Aagh!" he cried out, stumbling forward as blood spilled freely.
He caught himself, breath ragged, pain sharp.
'The plan failed...
Time for Plan B.'
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-**-*
Sigmund skidded back, his fingers curling around the hilt of the longsword strapped to his back. His vision blurred for a heartbeat, crimson streaks falling from his shoulder. But his grip was steady.
The clearing was quiet now — eerily so. Mist threaded through the undergrowth, slinking between pine trunks like silver veins. To his left, an upward slope cut sharp against the horizon, littered with jagged roots and patches of slick moss.
Then — nothing. No movement. No sound.
He muttered low, "It's gone invisible again."
The faintest shimmer of disturbed light rippled near a boulder ahead. Sig turned on instinct, stepping sideways, eyes narrowed.
"Focus," came Skaleg's voice, distorted through the purple hologram that floated faintly above his shoulder like a half-formed spirit.
"I know," Sig hissed. "Don't need a damn lecture right now."
Skaleg chuckled dryly. "You'd be dead without my lectures."
A whisper of air, a shift of shadow—
Sig moved.
He ducked just as the leopard leapt, claws slashing empty space where his throat had been. The beast materialized mid-pounce: a ripple of sleek fur, sinewed muscle, and piercing green eyes that flashed like ghostfire. Its coat shimmered with faint traces of mist and starlight — born not just of this forest, but something deeper.
The green-eyed clouded leopard landed with unnatural grace, vanishing once more.
'Right. Shadow movement. Vacuum paws. Strength far beyond its size.'
And worst of all — the intelligence in those eyes.
Sig reached into his pouch and pulled out a pale scrap of bark — long, narrow, its ridges glowing faintly blue under the sunlight. Pine from the weeping fang-tree. Pungent, volatile, and — more importantly — irresistible to this species.
"Come on," Sig muttered.
He flung the bark towards the base of a massive tree trunk in the clearing. It arced through the air and landed with a muted crackle.
Silence.
Then — a twitch.
The air shimmered. The leaves stirred. From behind a shrub, a low growl trembled through the ground.
He crouched and palmed the steel wires coiled at his belt. Dwarven make. Fine as hair but tough as tempered mithril. He had soaked them in mana a few hours before — they glinted faintly in the half-light.
The leopard emerged — fully visible now. Its fur was moon-kissed smoke, eyes locked on the pine bark. It crept forward, tail twitching, nostrils flaring.
Closer. Closer.
Sig's heart thudded. He didn't blink.
As the leopard brushed the bark with its whiskers, Sig threw the wires. They lashed through the air like serpents, wrapping around the beast's limbs, body, and neck — binding it not to the ground, but to the thick pine trunk beside it.
The leopard roared, thrashing — but the wires held, drawn tighter by Sig's pull and the looped runes glowing along the coils.
"Hold still!" Sig shouted, leaping forward.
He drew his blade but flipped it — gripping it in reverse. As the leopard lunged again, he struck with the flat of the sword, driving it against the tree and knocking the air from its lungs. Not enough to break bones — just enough to force submission.
It panted, wild-eyed, teeth bared. But it was slowing.
"Shhh..."
Sig crouched in front of the beast, breathing heavily.
The leopard snarled once more, then stilled.
Their eyes met.
No fear.
No rage.
Just a silent challenge.
"I'm not here to kill you," Sig said. "I need you."
Behind him, Skaleg's voice crackled faintly. "You're bleeding out. Hurry it up."
"I know."
From a scroll case at his belt, Sig drew a thin parchment. Silver glyphs danced across it. A beastbinder's pact — one of the rarest forms of contact magic. Normally, it required consent.
But in battle, if the beast was calmed — trust could form.
He tore the scroll.
In an instant, light poured from the paper, engulfing him and the leopard. The wires fell away, dissolved by the spell. The leopard froze, its body relaxing only slightly before a pulse of light rippled through its spine.
A breath — and the forest vanished.
---------------
They stood in a different space now — a vast, grey dreamscape. The trees were still there, but misty, like memories. Above them was a sky of broken stars and drifting light. Time did not pass here.
Sigmund looked down. The beast stood on all fours before him, calm now. Its fur shimmered less, as if muted by the rules of this place.
Then it raised its head — and spoke.
"You fought with honor."
Its voice was not human — it was a deep, resonant echo that vibrated in Sig's bones. Not malevolent. Not kind. Simply… present.
Sig exhaled. "And you fought like a storm."
They stared at each other.
Behind them, the ghost of the pine tree swayed in wind that did not blow.
Sig took a step forward. "Will you listen?"
The leopard tilted its head.
"I don't want to tame you," Sig said. "I want to walk beside you. Lend you my strength, and borrow yours."
Silence again.
Then — a slow nod from the great cat.
"Then enter," the beast said. "And let our spirits speak."
Together, they stepped forward, into the starlit mist.
SOMEWHERE ELSE-
Theobald pushed through the undergrowth, careful not to make too much noise. The foliage thinned with every step—mostly low shrubs, stunted ferns, and the occasional pine clawing toward the overcast sky. The scent of moss and wet bark hung heavy in the air. Somewhere ahead, the unmistakable roar of crashing water echoed across the valley.
BRUSH.
RUSTLE.
He broke through a curtain of brambles and stepped into a clearing. Before him stood a towering waterfall, pouring in a thunderous white curtain over jagged slate. Mist danced across the clearing like slow-moving spirits, curling around rocks and clinging to Theo's boots.
Then came a voice—loud, confident, and gruff.
"Hey, kid!"
Theo spun on instinct, hand flicking toward his belt. But there was no attacker. Instead, a shimmering figure hovered above the moss-covered ground—a hologram shaped like a humanoid wolf, fur a deep violet sheen, broad-shouldered and imposing. The figure scratched behind one pointed ear before fixing sharp, intelligent eyes on him.
"I am Gorvax, your mentor for now," it declared with theatrical pride, puffing out its chest.
Theo blinked. The name was familiar—too familiar.
"I know who you are," he muttered, eyeing the heavy war axe slung across Gorvax's back. The spectral figure swung it down in a smooth, vertical arc before resting on it like a walking stick.
"You probably think a brute like me isn't suited to a wiry kid like you," Gorvax grinned, flashing sharp canines. "But trust me, Master Vincent doesn't make careless decisions."
Theo crossed his arms. "You mean Vayren stuck you with me."
The hologram stiffened, ears twitching, like a scolded child caught sneaking sweets.
"Whatever," he huffed, "You'll find out the whole truth if you manage to survive this."
Theo didn't answer. Instead, he scanned the clearing with narrowed eyes—every tree, every crag, every potential path or danger. His thoughts turned inward, already calculating.
"What's your goal?" Gorvax asked, suddenly serious.
"Goal?" Theo repeated, pausing. He closed his eyes for a moment. "To find Young Master Raphael and rejoin the others."
Gorvax groaned and slapped his forehead with a heavy, spectral hand. "What a pathetic goal."
Theo flushed. "What?"
"Alright," Gorvax sighed, "What's the first step to finding them?"
Theo frowned, then perched on a flat rock. "I need to figure out where I am… and where they are."
"Good," Gorvax nodded. "And how would you do that?"
Theo rested his chin in his palm. "I…"
"You get somewhere high and look around!" Gorvax barked, nearly rattling the leaves on nearby trees. "Climbing, kid. It's called climbing. Sheesh, common sense really isn't common anymore."
Theo huffed, cheeks reddening. "I was going to say that."
"Sure you were." Gorvax smirked. "Anyway—enough chitchat. Let's get to work."
"Work?" Theo raised an eyebrow.
"Prepping," Gorvax growled, arms folded. "You're climbing that waterfall, unless you've grown wings since breakfast."
Theo stared up at the roaring column of water, sighed like a doomed pup, and nodded.
Sometime later…
Theo stood at the base of the waterfall, the mist soaking his hair and clothes. Several wooden pitons were strapped across his waist. Their wood was reinforced with etched glyphs that shimmered faintly in the mist.
"Cast levitation runes onto your soles," Gorvax instructed, tone now flat and focused.
Theo crouched slightly and pressed two fingers to each boot. A pair of white rings flared to life beneath them, humming softly.
WHAM!
CRACK.
He drove the butt of his spear into a fissure in the stone, splintering it further. A shallow crack spidered outward. Wasting no time, he jammed a piton into the gap and stepped up, using the shaft of the spear as leverage.
"Infuse aura into the pitons from now on," Gorvax called out, arms crossed.
Theo nodded and reached inward—drawing a stream of crimson light that pulsed at his fingertips. He gripped the next piton, channeled the aura into it, then drove it into the wall with steady force. It glowed briefly before settling into a dull, stable gleam.
With each piton, the climb grew steeper—but his movements steadied. He learned to pace his breaths, not to look down, to feel the stone with each step and balance his weight across the footholds. The levitation runes took the edge off the climb, but the mountain still demanded effort, sweat, and focus.
A while later…
Theo pulled himself over the final ledge, panting, arms burning. The top of the waterfall stretched into a narrow ridge overlooking a vast expanse of forest and ridged valleys.
"Use your aura," Gorvax's voice crackled in through the mist, "Sharpen your eyes."
Theo closed his eyes, trying to focus on his eyes. Crimson energy pooled behind his eyelids. He focused not on the outer magic—but on the physical. He felt the minute muscles of his eyes, the slight adjustments of lens and iris. When he opened them again, the world had sharpened.
His vision cut through mist and distance like a falcon's. He swept the horizon—and then paused.
"There," he said, raising his hand and pointing across a wide chasm, to the foot of a serrated peak on the opposite range. A smear of disturbed earth, broken trees, and scraps of fabric fluttering in the wind.
"That's where I fell."
Gorvax nodded in approval, his spectral form flickering briefly in the light. "Good. Then your first step is clear."
Just as Theo took his first step along the narrow ledge, Gorvax's voice rasped in his ear—low, urgent.
"Above you. Now!"
Theo instinctively ducked, his hand flying to the spear strapped to his back.
CRACK.
The wind split open with a shriek.
Something massive slammed into him.
A flash of russet wings and a shadow like a cloak—the vulture hit him broadside, beak snapping toward his throat, talons clawing for purchase. It was enormous—its wingspan nearly three meters across, feathers bristling like knives, eyes burning a furious amber.
"A Gypaetus—!" Gorvax cursed.
Theo had no time to marvel. He tore the spear free just as a hooked talon scythed toward his ribs. Metal met claw. A screech rang out as the talons scraped along the shaft, throwing sparks into the air. The impact jolted down his arms. His footing slipped.
Then—nothing.
His heel caught moss. His balance tilted. The edge vanished beneath him.
He fell.
The wind howled past his ears. His heart slammed into his ribs. Rocks blurred by. The waterfall's mist swallowed him whole.
His mind screamed for anything to grab, to hold, to slow the fall—but the ledges were slick, the wall too sheer.
Gorvax's voice was faint now, like a ghost in the spray.
"Brace—! Redirect your fall—!"
Theo twisted midair, angling his body toward the slope. Pain exploded in his shoulder as he slammed into a jut of stone. He bounced, skidded, hit again—his back scraping along the wet rock like flint. The world became water, blood, stone, and breath.
Then: darkness.
But not silence.
Somewhere deep in the ringing fog of his mind, a faint heartbeat pulsed.
His own.
Still alive.
Just barely.