Luken woke to the faint scrape of his own small hands against the hut's rough wall his clone was already outside, stacking kindling in the chill predawn air.
The mental link hummed like a second heartbeat: left pile is drier; mist is thin today. He blinked at the low ceiling beams, the straw mattress prickling his back, and felt the dual pull of two bodies in one mind.
Luken Holt, that was him now, the original soul in this small frame, a stranger named Noah who had arrived in this world only two days prior, inheriting the memories of a boy who had lived eight seasons in Rock Valley.
The clone he called Shade, a name whispered only in thought, to keep it secret.
He sat up slowly, careful not to wake Karen in the next room. Her breathing was steady, the soft rhythm of someone who rose before dawn out of habit. Daren's side of the bed was empty; the axe was gone from its peg. Luken slipped into his rough-spun tunic, the fabric still damp from yesterday's mist, and padded outside.
Shade dissolved the moment Luken stepped into the gray light, folding back into a shimmer that sank into his chest. The feedback was a warm pulse, like swallowing sunlight. No one saw. Good.
Secrets were currency in this world, and this one could buy exile or worse.
Karen was at the hearth, stirring porridge that smelled of ash and faint herbs. "Eat quick, Luken. Your father is at the lower field. He wants you before the sun climbs."
Luken nodded, spooning the thin gruel.
It tasted of earth and survival. Shade's absence left a hollow echo in his senses, but the link lingered: memories of damp bark under phantom fingers, the sharp scent of resin. He finished fast, grabbed a woven basket for kindling, and headed out.
The village stirred like a beast shaking off sleep. Smoke curled from chimneys, threading the mist that clung to the valley floor. Rock Valley sprawled in the shadow of jagged cliffs, a cluster of stone-and-thatch huts ringed by dark soil veined with faint luminescence, the Universal Key, pulsing slow and steady.
Luken felt it underfoot, a living current that answered his heartbeat if he listened right. In the two days since his arrival, Noah's modern knowledge had fused uneasily with the boy's ingrained instincts, making every sensation both familiar and alien.
Daren was at the woodpile, axe rising and falling in rhythmic arcs. Each strike sent chips flying, and with every third blow, the blade glowed faintly, Key channeled into edge and weight. Luken watched from the fence, basket dangling.
"Late," Daren grunted without looking up. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the chill.
"Mother held me."
Daren set the axe aside, wiped his hands on a rag. "Wood is split. Now we train."
They moved to the clearing behind the hut, a patch of packed earth ringed by twisted oaks. Luken's small hands trembled faintly, not fear, but anticipation. Shade stirred within, eager.
Daren knelt, pressed a palm to the soil. "Feel it."
Luken closed his eyes. The Key rose like tide: through roots, through air, through blood. He breathed in cycle, inhale four counts, hold four, exhale four. Shade's memory layered over his: the same rhythm practiced in secret last night, hidden in the loft.
"Good," Daren said. "Stronger than yesterday. Most whelps your age barely taste it."
Luken opened his eyes. "I remember you said there are two paths."
Daren nodded, standing. "Warriors and Mages. We are warriors, move the Key through body, through tool. Mages shape it outside, fire, wind, illusions. Riskier. One misstep and the flow turns on you." He drew his hunting knife, let Key thread along the blade until it lengthened into a short sword of light. "See? Muscle guides. Mind commands."
He swung slow arcs, demonstrating footwork. Luken mirrored, tiny frame straining. Inside, Shade practiced the same forms in mental echo, every pivot, every breath shared. When Daren called a break, Luken's legs burned, but the Core in his gut thrummed brighter.
"Rest," Daren said. "Then market. Need salt."
Luken slipped away while Daren reloaded the wood cart. Behind the hen coop, mist thick enough to hide him, he focused inward. Shade, arise.
The air shimmered. Shade stepped from his shadow, solid and breathing, eyes the same storm-gray. They grinned in unison.
You chop, I scout, Shade thought.
Luken nodded. Shade melted into the treeline, silent as fog. Luken returned to Daren, basket swinging innocently.
The market square bustled near Chief Hall, a broad circle of packed dirt where villagers bartered under watchful cliffs. Smoke from cookfires mixed with the tang of blood, hunters had brought in a Mist Crawler carcass, its jagged limbs splayed for butchering. Children darted between.
Daren traded pelts with Goran the smith, a mountain of a man with arms like oak trunks. "Iron Reach tithes rise," Goran rumbled. "King Eldric wants fifty Tier 1 carcasses before winter. Siege at Obsidian Pass."
Daren's jaw tightened. "We will hunt."
Luken lingered nearby, ears open. Elder Mira, the healer, tended a child's scraped knee with glowing hands, Mage-path, subtle and rare in Rock Valley. "Veylwood Clans raid closer," she murmured to a neighbor. "Took three from Greystone last moon."
Kael Rovan appeared then, twelve seasons and already tall, his father's sharp eyes in a boy's face. He carried a bundle of arrows fletched with raven feathers. Spotting Luken, he waved.
"Luken! I heard you sensed the Key early. True?"
Luken shrugged, shy. "Father teaches."
Kael grinned. "Mine too. Come, sparring after chores?"
Luken hesitated, then nodded. Daren was deep in barter; Shade was ranging the forest. Safe enough.
They slipped behind Chief Hall to the training yard, a stretch of dirt marked with wooden dummies. Kael drew a practice blade, Key flickering along its edge. "Warriors first," he said. "Show me."
Luken channeled what Daren taught, breath, focus, flow. His small knife glowed faintly. They circled, wood clacking on wood. Kael was faster, stronger, but Luken felt Shade's parallel practice: every parry learned twice, muscle memory doubling. Kael laughed after a solid hit. "You are quick for a runt."
Luken rubbed his arm, grinning despite the sting. "You hit like a Cliff Predator."
"Tier 2," Kael said proudly. "Father took one last hunt. Armor like stone, claws drip acid. Mist Crawlers are Tier 1, fast but dumb. Then there are Rares, Tier 3. Core Drinkers. Pray we never see one."
Shade's thought cut in: found Glowroot cluster, cliff base. Also tracks, big. Tier 2 maybe.
Luken masked his flinch. "What is the Great Hunt?" he asked aloud. Kael's face sobered. "Before winter. Whole village into Deep Mist. Stock carcasses, prove loyalty to King Eldric. Father leads. I am too young, thirteen next season." He punched Luken's shoulder lightly. "You have got years. Lucky."
They sparred until Daren's whistle called Luken home. Shade dissolved mid-stride in the woods, feedback rushing back: Glowroot tucked in Luken's pouch, tracks memorized.
Afternoon brought chores, mending nets with Karen, hauling water. Luken's mind split: body here, thoughts with Shade ranging farther. The clone climbed a low cliff, fingers finding holds Luken had never touched. At the crest, Shade sat, legs dangling over the valley.
Cultivate, Luken thought.
Shade breathed the cycle. Key flooded in, richer up high. Luken felt it double, his own Core swelling as Shade's efforts fed back. A warm bloom in the chest, like coffee on a cold morning.
We grow twice as fast, Shade observed.
But strain twice as hard, Luken cautioned. Already, faint dizziness.
Evening fell. Daren sharpened tools by firelight, face grim. "Assembly tomorrow. Great Hunt." Karen's hands stilled on her mending. "Last one took my brother."
Daren touched her shoulder. "I will return."
Luken lay on his straw mat that night, waiting for the hut to settle into silence. Karen's breathing deepened; Daren's snores rumbled low. Only then did he summon Shade.
The clone materialized in the corner's shadow, kneeling beside the mat. Moonlight filtered through gaps in the wall, striping them both in silver.
First, summon and dissolve, Luken thought.
Shade nodded. Luken focused: return. Shade folded into light, sinking back. The pull was gentle, like exhaling. Arise. Shade reformed instantly, no strain.
Again. Faster this time. Dissolve. Arise. Ten repetitions, until it felt as natural as blinking.
Now two, Luken pushed. He reached deeper into the Core, inviting a second presence.
A second hand emerged, pale, trembling, then a shoulder. But the Key faltered; his vision blurred, a sharp ache blooming behind his eyes. The half-formed clone wavered and collapsed inward, feedback like a slap.
Luken gasped, clutching his chest. Not yet. Energy is the limit. Shade tilted his head. Pain? Test it.
Luken picked up a splintered stick from the floor. He pressed the sharp end into Shade's palm. The clone winced; Luken sensed the sting echo in his own hand, hot and precise, but it remained a distant awareness, not true pain. Shared sensation. Exactly.
Deeper. Shade pricked harder, drawing a bead of blood. Luken sensed the prick sharply, the wound appearing on his own palm in mirror. But when Shade wiped it away, Luken's healed simultaneously.
Injury transfers. Healing too. But only sensation, not the full pain.
They experimented in whispers of thought. Shade pinched his arm until bruises bloomed, Luken sensed the throb as a muted pressure. Dissolved and reformed: bruises gone, sensation a fading memory.
Death? Shade asked.
Unknown. Later.
Luken lay back. Meditate while I sleep.
Shade settled cross-legged in the loft's deepest shadow, breathing the cycle. Luken drifted off, the Key's pulse lulling him. In dreams, he felt Shade's efforts: slow, steady influx, Core expanding like roots in fertile soil.
Hours later, footsteps creaked on the floorboards. Daren's silhouette in the doorway, checking as he did most nights.
Shade sensed it through the link. Incoming.
In a blink, he dissolved, light folding inward without sound. The feedback was a soft warmth as Daren peered in, grunted satisfaction at the sleeping child, and retreated.
Luken's eyes snapped open in the dark, heart racing. Close. Shade reformed once Daren's door latched. He suspects nothing.
Good. More tests tomorrow, distance, duration. When no one watches.
Outside, mist thickened. Somewhere, a Mist Crawler howled. Luken felt the village's pulse, fear, resolve, the Key binding them all.
Dawn brought the toll of the great bell from Chief Hall, its deep clang echoing off the cliffs and summoning the villagers to the market square. Families hurried from huts, faces etched with unease, gathering in a dense crowd under the gray sky.
At the hall's steps stood three soldiers of King Eldric, clad in iron-plated leather emblazoned with the sigil of Iron Reach, a forged anvil wreathed in flame.
Their captain, a scarred veteran named Thorne, unrolled a parchment and read aloud in a commanding voice. "By decree of King Eldric, Rock Valley shall deliver fifty Tier 1 carcasses before winter's onset. The siege at Obsidian Pass demands sustenance for the legions. Failure will forfeit your protection under the crown."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Daren clenched his fists. "We bleed for your wars while Veylwood raids our borders unchecked," he called out. "Where is the king's aid?"
Thorne's eyes narrowed. "Mind your tongue, woodsman. The king unites the realm against greater threats. Your tithe is your duty."
Goran the smith stepped forward, voice booming. "Duty? We starve while Iron Reach feasts. Last hunt claimed five lives for thirty carcasses. Now fifty? You push us to extinction."
Tension crackled like Key in a storm. Villagers pressed closer, voices rising in anger. A soldier's hand drifted to his sword hilt.
Then the crowd parted. Chief Harlan Rovan strode into the square, a broad-shouldered man in his prime with a mane of iron-gray hair and eyes like forged steel.
At his side, hunters dragged a massive corpse, a Tier 3 Rare, a Core Drinker, its serpentine body scaled in obsidian plates, fangs dripping residual acid that hissed against the dirt. The beast's core had been excised, leaving a hollow cavity pulsing faintly with stolen Key.
Silence fell. Chief Rovan raised the core aloft, its glow illuminating his stern face. "Behold what prowls our mists unchecked while we quarrel. This Core Drinker slain at dawn's edge, drawn by the king's distant battles thinning the Deep Mist. We hunt not just for tithe, but survival. The Great Hunt proceeds. Iron Reach will have its due, and Rock Valley will endure."
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, Thorne bowing stiffly. "The king acknowledges your chief's prowess. Deliver, and aid may follow."
Hunters cheered grimly. Daren signed the roster. Kael stood beside his father, eyes bright with excluded envy.
Luken watched from the crowd's edge, Shade hidden in the rafters above. He goes with one body, Shade thought. We can give him eyes in the Deep Mist.
Luken's small fists clenched. Not yet. First, we learn the valley's threads and our own.
The Key hummed beneath his feet, alive and waiting. Somewhere in the mist, beasts stirred. War loomed. And in his chest, a second heartbeat answered.
This time, he would not crash alone.