The trees towered over him like silent sentinels, their massive trunks cloaked in creeping green moss, bark scarred with the weight of time. Aether flickered faintly between their limbs, making the shadows stretch in strange ways. The forest wasn't just big—it was hulking, alive in a way the academy never was. The wind murmured like breath through leaves.
Zephyr stood at the treeline, the scythe balanced over his shoulder, and stared into the ancient wild.
And then he froze.
Wait.
He blinked.
His brows furrowed.
"…How do you even activate Hollow Art?".
He'd walked all this way with bandaged hands, sore muscles, and a vague, heroic idea of hunting something for his empty stomach. But now that he was here, staring at this ominous forest, a horrible realization dropped into his gut like a stone.
He had no idea how to activate his Hollow Art.
