Chapter 7 - Falcon

The rain hammered down in a relentless torrent, turning the forest floor into a muddy quagmire. Ryan slogged through the western route to the academy sector, a dense, beast-haunted path safer than the bandit-infested main roads. Those were crawling with cutthroats who bribed officials to ignore their raids on commoners like him, sparing nobles. "Fucking rigged," he muttered, his voice drowned by the storm's roar. His sonar-like hearing and razor-sharp vision sliced through the chaos, catching every rustle and snap. His soaked clothes clung to his skin, the Void-forged leather armor underneath—cuirass, bracers, greaves—chafing but warm. A small canvas bag hung from his shoulder, packed with a waterskin, flint, and the last of his beef jerky. His bow, arrows, sword, and guild card were safe in his storage dimension, ready at a thought.The rainy season was brutal—thunder crashed, the sky black as night, the air biting his skin. A month from the academy by his estimate, he'd set out early to beat the worst of the storms. No luck. The forest offered no shelter, just trees and muck. He spotted a cave high on a rocky slope, scrambled up, boots slipping, and ducked inside. The air stank of damp stone and moss, the floor dry above the flood line. He dropped his bag, pulled out a strip of jerky, and chewed slowly, the salty bite grounding him. His archery was sharp—hens and small game dropped clean at twenty yards. His Slipstream sword form—deflect, parry, redirect—felt like part of him now. "Solid for a novice," he said, slumping against the cave wall. "But I haven't faced anyone real yet." Bandits and training dummies didn't count.The storm raged harder, wind screaming, thunder shaking the ground. Then—thwamp. A heavy thud rattled the cave, dust sifting from the ceiling. "What the hell?" Ryan hissed, hand twitching toward his storage for his sword. His sonar painted a shape outside: a massive bird, sprawled in the mud. An adult falcon—fast, stealthy, a powerhouse. Its feathers, nails, and eyes were worth a fortune for potions; a tamed one was a game-changer. Ryan knew its anatomy cold from his days at Graham's butcher shop, where he'd carved up a juvenile falcon, memorizing every bone and tendon. "Jackpot," he muttered, his vision cutting through the gloom.He waited, senses razor-edged. The rain masked most sounds, but nothing stirred. After a tense minute, he crept to the cave's mouth. The falcon was a wreck—three heavy arrows buried in its side, burn marks scorching its feathers. Not lightning; falcons laughed off natural storms. "Mage," Ryan said, his gut clenching. Someone had hunted it, brought it down with magic and brute force. Four eggs lay in the mud—three smashed, one intact. The egg was worth more than a year's wages. The corpse—feathers, nails, eyes—could set him up for life. He could store it all in his storage dimension, no weight, no limit. Slip into the Void, hide, exit at his shack—the only place he could reappear, since he could only exit in known locations. Then take a faster route to the academy, maybe a riskier road but quicker.His mind churned, greed clawing at him. The corpse was a goldmine, a chance to walk into the academy with coin to spare. But the mage—those burn marks screamed power, maybe too much for a kid with a sword and a bow. And his secret, tied to the storage dimension, was a ticking bomb. If anyone sniffed it out, he was done. "Greed gets you killed," he muttered, his voice tight, almost angry. He paced the cave, heart pounding, rain roaring outside. His hands shook—not from cold, but from the weight of the choice. "Fuck it," he said finally, his voice low, resolute. "I'm not leaving this behind." He darted out, snatched the intact egg, and stored it in his storage, its weight vanishing. Then he grabbed the falcon's corpse, its massive bulk awkward but manageable, and stored it too, the storage swallowing it whole. He didn't wait. He slipped into the Void, the world dissolving into a silent, weightless black.He exited in his shack, the familiar creak of the floorboards grounding him. The air was stale, the single window dark with rain. His heart was still racing, his breath shallow. "Shit, shit, shit," he whispered, pacing the small room, his boots tracking mud. He was tense—so tense his hands wouldn't stop shaking. Had the mages seen him? Were they tracking the falcon? His secret—the storage dimension's true power—was a blade hanging over him. One wrong move, and he was dead. He leaned against the wall, forcing himself to breathe. The egg and corpse were safe in storage, but the academy was still a month away. He'd take a faster route now, maybe a main road despite the bandits. Riskier, but quicker, and he needed distance from that cave. "Gotta move," he said, grabbing his bag, the weight of his gamble heavy in his chest. He stepped out into the storm, the shack's door slamming behind him, and set off, one muddy step at a time, survival and greed burning in equal measure.