PREVIOUSLY-
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.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-
"OI... OI, kid!"
The shout cracked through the ringing in Theobald's ears like a whip through fog.
He groaned, eyelids sluggish and sticky. Blood matted his lashes. Everything was tinted red—his vision smeared as if the world had been dipped in rust.
"Haaah... haaah…" Breath dragged through his chest like gravel in a sack. Each inhale scorched. He turned his head, eyes flicking to the blur of movement and fractured horizon around him.
"I told you to trigger the damn Levitation Runes! Can't you even handle that much?!" Gorvax's voice tore through the dust-thick air, edged with fury and panic. Somewhere high above, wings beat against the wind with the sound of oil-slick sails—whuff-whuff-whump—circling again.
Theo coughed. Something iron and warm rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down.
"Yeah..." he muttered hoarsely, gripping the haft of his spear with trembling fingers. "I heard you."
He jammed the tip into the dirt, its edge scraping rock, and pushed himself up with the grace of a dying stag. His legs shuddered under him. One knee nearly buckled.
"Mr. Gorvax…" His voice cracked, thin and raw.
"What now?"
The old hunter's tone had dropped into something more brittle—less bark, more breath.
"I..." Theo stared toward the sky. His lips were split. Blood beaded down his chin. "I want to tame it. That vulture. The big one. I'll tame it."
He raised one boot, then slammed it down—crack!—snapping the spearhead clean off. The blade skittered away across the bloodied stones like a discarded tooth.
There was silence. Then—
"You foooooool!" Gorvax shrieked. "That's not a bird, that's a sky-born ghoul! It'll flense you open!"
But Theo didn't flinch. He turned his cheek, smiled through the blood and dirt. "Help me... mentor."
Above them, the vulture banked, sunlight sliding across its burnished wings. Its plumage flared orange, like molten copper stretched thin.
It dived.
"Hsskt!"
The cry pierced the air—a harsh, guttural rasp like rusted shears dragged across bone.
Wind slammed downward as the beast's talons scraped the length of Theo's spear shaft—thffkkk!—ripping splinters free. One claw caught the leather wrap, tearing it loose in a flurry of frayed strips.
Theo didn't dodge.
He held his ground.
Eyes locked on that creature's burning gaze.
The bird charged once more—wings flared, talons outstretched, its eyes twin embers locked on Theobald's chest.
Wind howled in its wake.
At the last possible heartbeat—just as its claws reached for his throat—Theobald twisted at the hips, spine snapping like a coiled spring.
"Kkkrk!"
The beast shrieked, a garbled croak of fury and surprise as the pole connected with its breastbone. The impact echoed—THWACK—like a branch snapping underfoot.
Feathers scattered. The vulture was hurled skyward, thrown into a clumsy spiral.
"One point."
Theo's voice was breathless, but his grin split across a blood-slick face.
Across the clearing, Gorvax didn't share his mirth. He stood with arms folded tight, eyes following the vulture's wide arc above.
"It's not over yet."
His tone was grave, clinical.
"That's a bearded vulture. Young, still growing—but already unnatural. At this age its wingspan should be maybe two meters... two point three at most."
The wind shifted. The sky dimmed—shadows stretching longer across the ground.
"But this one?" Gorvax's brow twitched. "It spans three."
RUMBLE.
A tremor buzzed through the stone beneath Theobald's feet.
CRACK.
A spiderweb of fractures split the earth.
THUD.
He dropped.
As if an invisible hand had slammed him down, Theobald was pinned to the rock—cheek grinding against gravel, lungs crushed under a weight he couldn't see. The ground groaned beneath him, stones grinding like old teeth.
His spear shaft rolled from his grasp, clattering away into the dust.
Gorvax pointed upward with two fingers, sharp as a command. "It's famous for this. Gravity magic."
The bird wheeled high above them now, wings spread wide like a tattered banner. Light shimmered strangely around it—distorting the air beneath, pulling downward with unseen force.
"It's the only bird known to live on a ninety percent bone diet," Gorvax continued, his voice dry as flint. "It hauls marrow-rich carcasses into the sky, then drops them on rocks to crack them open—same way it's trying to crack you."
Theo's lips trembled. Not from fear. From effort.
"Ha… ha… Haha…"
A chuckle rasped out of him—weak at first, then steadier. It was the laugh of someone who shouldn't be able to laugh. The laugh of someone who refuses to stay down.
A leg twitched. Then the other.
With a low growl and a defiant snarl, Theobald stood.
The ground cratered beneath his boots from the strain. His spine bent like a drawn bow, his muscles screamed, and blood poured from his nose—but he stood.
Through gritted teeth, he hissed, "Come on then… Break me."
Overhead, the vulture turned.
And dove.
Theo squared his stance the moment the vulture dipped into range.
STAB! SWISH!
A blur of motion. The pole danced in his hands—sharp, deliberate thrusts aimed at intercepting the incoming dive. But the bird wasn't just fast—it was graceful, weaving through the flurry like silk on wind.
"KRRRAAAA!"
The shriek tore through the clearing as its curved beak shot toward Theo's throat.
BITE! CRACK!
The vulture's momentum halted mid-lunge. It reeled back, flapping wildly. Lodged in its hooked beak was a splintered chunk of wood.
Theo huffed through gritted teeth, stumbling back a step. His arms burned.
At the last possible second, he had drawn the small axe from his waist and turned the wooden haft toward the incoming maw—jamming it between beak and flesh, inches from being torn open.
The bird staggered in the air.
"Not done." Theo muttered.
He pivoted and swung the axe's wooden tip toward the treetops. The blade hit true.
THWACK!
The vulture jerked as the blow connected with its flank. Feathers burst into the air like dandelion seeds as it crashed into a thick tree branch.
LUNGE!
Theo didn't wait. He ran forward, leapt—
CUT!
A clean stroke with his axe—the branch snapped beneath the creature.
GRAB!
His hand curled tight around the vulture's neck just as it tumbled downward.
The two crashed together in a mess of broken bark and disturbed leaves. The beast thrashed, wings slapping against his sides. Its beak lunged again for his arm, snapping shut with the strength of a bear trap.
Theo grunted—and jammed the axe handle back into its beak.
"Look here," he huffed, pressing his forehead to the bird's beak. Sweat streamed down his temple. "You assaulted me first. This is self-defense."
The bird blinked. Slowly, its writhing slowed.
Breathing heavily, Theo loosened his grip—then released entirely, rising to a kneel before the creature.
The vulture didn't flee.
Its beady orange eyes fixed on him, unblinking, curious.
"Join me," Theo said softly. "I'm a cook."
The vulture tilted its head.
Theo gestured to the broken bones strewn around the clearing—the remains of animals it had dropped or devoured.
"I mean it. You'll get bones. All kinds. Every day." He smiled, despite the pain shooting through his ribs. "Deer, boar, maybe even something you've never tried."
The vulture craned its neck lower, studying him. The wind rustled through the trees again.
"Krr?"
A softer sound. Almost puzzled.
"Yes," Theo said, raising his bloodied arm, the flesh ragged where talons had grazed it. "I swear. On my own bones."
He reached into the leather pouch at his belt and pulled out a small scroll, its surface lined with faint silver runes.
"This," he said, unrolling it, "is a taming scroll. I could bind you."
The vulture's feathers flared slightly, instinct prickling.
Theo walked to the nearby waterfall, its spray cold against his face, and—without hesitation—tore the scroll into pieces.
The wind caught the shreds, scattering them across the pool like dead leaves.
"I don't need a pet," Theo said. His voice was steady now. "I need a friend. A partner."
He walked back to the creature and slowly stretched out his hand.
It hovered in silence.
The vulture stared at him. Then it stepped forward.
TAP.
Its wing brushed his palm.
GLOW.
From the point of contact, a warm golden light spread between them. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat, wrapping both boy and beast in its radiance.
The light faded.
Theo let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. His legs gave out, and he slumped back onto the grass.
The vulture stepped beside him, wings folding neatly, its bulk casting a long shadow over his body like a protective shroud.
Above the canopy, the winds changed course.
A new bond had been forged—not by domination, but by respect.
"What's your name?" Theo smiled at the vulture.
"Krr.." The vulture screeched.
"Oh, it's 'Rook'?" Theo pointed to the beast.
The vulture nodded.
"Wait!" Gorvax interrupted, he was watching the exchange the whole time. With a huge smile, "You can understand him?"
Theo scratched his head, "Yes, is it unusual?"
"It's rare but this bird here is a high vulture it seems," Gorvax leaned towards Rook.
"Kraa!" Rook nodded.
"High vulture?" Theo perched his chin on his palm.
"A clan of vultures who can become candidates for becoming 'King'." Gorvax circled around Rook, "In other terms he is a member of a royal family of vultures and now has made a partner pact with you."
Theo wrapped his arms around Rook,
"Thank you for becoming my partner,"
Rook gave an embarrassed chirp,
"Krr."
SOMEWHERE ELSE-
Raphael turned in a slow circle, boots grinding softly against the narrow trail of red laterite soil beneath him. The path wound along a steep hillside, one edge crumbling into a sheer drop that overlooked a distant valley cloaked in swirling green mist. On the other side, the slope rose sharply, more roots than earth, with gnarled trees jutting from the incline like skeletal fingers, their twisted trunks clinging to the eroded bank. The air was damp and heavy, thick with the scent of moss and loam, and the only sound was the hush of the mist far below.
"Be careful. Keep scanning your surroundings with mana," came the voice beside him.
A flickering hologram hovered at his side, no larger than a crow. The figure was lean, its black armour segmented like an insect's exoskeleton. Two translucent wings buzzed lazily behind its back, reminiscent of a hornet's. Its feet ended in clawed talons, tapping the air as it floated. The helm was narrow and unnerving, with vertical slits running down the faceplate like prison bars, giving the impression of something caged—yet watching.
"Yes, Drelgor," Raphael replied lazily, his voice carrying the dry flatness of someone half-awake, half-annoyed.
"Huh?" Drelgor cocked his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. His eyes swept the uneven earth beside them—the moss-stained wall where tree roots clawed down like veins.
He paused. "Raphael—"
"What?" Raphael turned, his boot crunching a dry patch of gravel.
"Are you actually paying attention to your surroundings?"
"Yes," Raphael said, exhaling through his nose. "Perfectly."
Drelgor smirked. "Is that so?"
STEP.
STEP.
CRACK.
FWISH!
The soil shifted.
In a blur of brown and green, a serpent launched from the crevice at knee-height. Its body glistened with damp scales, fangs gleaming as it twisted in midair.
"Hiss!"
It coiled with whip-fast precision around Raphael's forearm, its tail tightening like a noose.
"Shit!"
There was no room for hesitation. In the same motion, Raphael drew his dagger and stabbed it directly into his own arm—right where the serpent's head clung.
SPLAT!
A wet burst of blood sprayed from the wound. The serpent's neck twitched violently, and its grip slackened. Raphael yanked the blade free and flung the body down.
THUMP! The snake landed in the dirt, motionless.
Drelgor approached, hands behind his back. His expression was amused—more curious than concerned. "Didn't I tell you to pay attention?"
Raphael didn't answer. He tore a strip from his now blood-soaked sleeve and wrapped it tightly around his arm. The white fabric quickly turned crimson.
Drelgor crouched beside the dead snake, nudging it with the tip of his gauntlet.
Drelgor crouched beside the fallen serpent. "Malpolon monspessulanus," he muttered. "Montpellier viper. Not deadly, but stubborn and mean-spirited. Lucky it only wrapped your arm."
Raphael stared down at it—olive hide marbled with streaks of dusky brown, its triangular head still twitching.
"I didn't know that," Raphael replied, still tightening the cloth.
"No, but you assumed the worst." Drelgor looked up at him. "And you acted without flinching. That's good."
"I feared it may poison me," Raphael said, his tone as even as ever.
Drelgor straightened, giving him a nod. "Next time, trust your senses before you get bitten. And learn to listen when someone talks to you."
Raphael stared at the dead serpent. "Next time, I'll stab it in its head instead."
Drelgor resigned from his search "That's good."
He turned to the mossy wall from where the snake had appeared,
"Another shock will follow soon."
Drelgor's voice was calm, almost lazy.
Raphael flinched, instinctively pulling the spear from his back.
"What's coming?"
The insectile figure shrugged. Perched on a root, he rested his chin lazily against a taloned hand.
"Dunno." His helmet tilted with a faint hum of wings.
BOOM!
A thunderous crack split the air.
CRASH!
Stone and moss exploded outward.
FALL!
From the side of the slope, a moss-covered boulder erupted—no, not a boulder.
A bull, muscles rippling like coiled rope, surged forward from the hollow cave. Its horns curled like scythes, stained red at the tips.
"Not again!" Raphael yelped.
Before he could react, the beast rammed into him with brute force. His feet left the ground.
WHOOSH!
The world turned sideways.
Air rushed past his ears.
STAB!
His spear slammed into the cliffside, jarring his shoulder.
HANG!
He dangled by the shaft, fingers burning, boot scraping stone.
Above him, the red bull snorted steam and scraped a hoof.
Drelgor leaned forward slightly, antennae twitching.
"Haha. You are a quick thinker, boy." He clicked his claws together, amused.
He pointed upwards, from where they were pushed off by the bull.
"That's an 'Aaxte', a red bull with shape shifting and fire abilities,"
SOMEWHERE, SOMEWHERE ELSE —
Leaves whispered as Leon's claymore brushed past them, its edge catching the greenery like a plow through tall grass.
"Let me write this in my diary," Leon muttered, reaching for his coat pocket.
His fingers met nothing.
"Huh?" He patted again. Once. Twice.
A flicker of purple light shimmered beside him.
A hologram leaned over his shoulder — tall, broad, sheathed in heavy iron. A greatsword rested lazily across its back, the horned helm hiding any expression.
"Threxil?" Leon asked, blinking.
"Missing something?" the hologram rumbled.
"My diary," Leon murmured, voice trailing. "It was a gift from Vayren."
He paused. Then his eyes widened as memory struck him like a falling branch.
"Ah!" His fist smacked his palm.
"It's an artifact! I must've left it at the academy — in the vault cubicles!"
His face froze.
"OH SHIT!" He slapped his forehead hard.
Threxil tilted his helm. "What now?"
Leon exhaled slowly, fingers trembling as they dragged down his face.
"Ralph's glasses… he left them there too."
"Does he have bad eyesight?" Threxil asked, puzzled.
Leon took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
"No," he said quietly.
"But those glasses keep him grounded."
Threxil leaned in. "How?"
Leon's eyes slowly drifted toward the sky.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"But once he takes them off…"
He paused, voice dropping to a whisper.
"The sociopath inside him wakes up."
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
"Sociopath?" Threxil burst into laughter, clutching his spectral stomach.
"Haha! That's cute."
Leon didn't respond. His gaze was still fixed upward, lips slightly parted.
There was no smile. Just a quiet gravity.
"You haven't seen it, Threxil."
BACK TO RAPHAEL-
Drelgor glanced back at Raphael, his wings twitching slightly.
"Use your aura and knives to climb in a different direction," he said, folding his arms.
"Let's avoid it for now."
A soft click answered him.
"Tsch."
Drelgor's eyes narrowed.
He turned—Raphael was staring up the cliff, unmoving, his eyes like twin panes of frosted glass.
"It challenged me."
His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful.
He drew a dagger — thin, curved, gleaming with a faint crimson aura — and pressed it gently into the stone wall.
"If I don't slit its throat and wash my hands in its blood…"
He paused, smiling ever so faintly.
"…you're free to cut mine off."
Then he moved.
With sudden, fluid precision, he hurled his body upward — no wasted motion, no grunt, no fear.
STAB. STAB. STAB. STAB.
Each dagger dug in with surgical rhythm.
CLIMB.
In seconds, he vaulted over the ledge and stood straight, brushing the dust off his shoulders like loose threads.
"It's an Aaxte," he said, his tone clinical.
"It can't leave its Basque Cave."
Drelgor tilted his head.
"So?"
Raphael's eyes gleamed. Cold. Focused.
He drew his spear and twirled it once with relaxed fingers, like a baton in a surgeon's hand.
"It means it invited me inside."
Without another word, he sheathed his knives, spun the spear once more, and stepped into the darkness of the cave — calm as a man entering his study.