I leafed through the sketches and notes I had gathered over the past two years.
Tomorrow marked the day—the night the coyotes nearly tore me apart. Two years since then.
It wasn't the last time I came close to death, but it was the first of my journey—and the closest by far.
Some of the pages still smelled faintly of smoke; others were stained with mud and dried blood. Plants, animals, half-finished maps of forests where we'd survived cruel winters—places I might never see again.
A timeline of survival, scribbled in haste, smudged by rain and fear.
I paused at one drawing: a crude outline of a Space Kojote, as we called them. Beside the sketch, I had scribbled scraps of information I remembered from other encounters.
The wind pushed against the tent cloth, making the candle of rendered fat tremble. Outside, the prairie stretched endless and yellow, already touched by winter's breath.
"I think it's better to stay in the next forest…" I mumbled, letting myself fall back into the warm sleeping bag, opening my status screen for the first time in a while.
⸻
[Status]
Name: Larry Potter
Title: Faith Ambassador
– You remember the Chronicles of Rebirth to some extent.
– Your compatibility with Green Fire martial arts is heightened.
Age: 18 Years, 1 Month
Species: Scalari
Level: 2/3
Exp: 142 / 400
Mana: 820 / 832
Muscle Strength: 21
Muscle Agility: 22
Body Control: 18
Stamina: 25
Skills: [Green Fire Magic – Competency 8], [All-Mana Sensing – Competency 6], [Fist-Fighting Techniques – Competency 6]
⸻
Smiling at my progress, I snapped the candle out and lay on my side, closing my eyes.
The night passed quietly, save for the occasional cry of an owl circling above the prairie.
The air grew colder, seeping even through the thick layers of pelt and hide. Onyx lay curled at the entrance, his larger frame now blocking most of the draft. His breathing was slow and steady—a rhythm that soothed my restless dreams.
When dawn came, the sky was pale and clear, the frost on the grass sparkling faintly beneath the first rays of light.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, packed my notes and sketches into the leather satchel, and crawled out of the tent. The prairie stretched before me—endless, golden, and silent, save for a faint rumble in the distance.
The dim golden sun shone through a thin mist, making the grass glow.
Slowly, I packed up my tent and let it dry with a soft flame. Then I began my morning training—a customized version of the single drill Phillip had shown me, only now I worked the green flames into it.
I covered my whole body with fire, just enough that the clothes wouldn't burn. At first, it had been a thin layer; now, not even heavy rain came close to my skin when I used this technique.
By the time I finished, the sun had fully risen, and the mist had almost vanished with the wind.
Binding Onyx's pack on his back and throwing mine over my shoulders, we continued our journey.
Thanks to my new mana-sensing skill, I could feel every motion within a six-meter radius. I gazed at the far prairie—the golden-brown grass swaying gently in the wind—and the old white giants drifting lazily across the sky above.
Around midday, we rested at a large rock, warming ourselves under the autumn sun while the soft breeze played with the grass.
RUMBLE.
At first, I thought it was thunder. But then the ground beneath my hand quivered—slowly, rhythmically—and the sound rolled closer, deeper.
Onyx raised his head, ears twitching. With a grunt, he pushed himself up beside me. Together we climbed the nearest hill, the wind biting at our faces as it carried the scent of dust and beasts.
And then we saw them.
A herd—massive, endless—bison unlike any I had ever imagined. Their dark shapes moved in unison, tearing at the prairie grass, each step heavy enough to send a shiver through the soil.
The sight left me breathless.
I ran my hand along the leather tunic, over the scar on my chest. Two years had changed much—myself, Onyx, even the land we walked through. Endless landscapes had drifted past us, yawning in our back.
Onyx stood taller than me now, his shoulders broad and steady, his eyes fixed on the herd with the same quiet awe that filled me.
I rested my hand on his back, feeling the warmth beneath his fur, and for a moment, the world felt vast and unbroken.
And then—movement.
At first, just a flicker at the edge of my sight, a shadow twitching against the golden waves of grass. I blinked, rubbed the corner of my eye—thought it was a bird diving.
But no. The shape lingered. Low. Careful. Crouched.
It crept along the flank of the herd, nearly swallowed by the tall grass.
I froze. My chest tightened.
A person. Out here.
The silhouette was small against the sea of yellow—too small to be a bison, too tall and straight to be an animal.
The figure moved closer to the herd, crouched low, every step measured. A glint—metal, maybe—flashed for an instant in their hand before the grass swallowed them again.
I held my breath, crouching deeper behind the hilltop. Onyx flicked his tail, ears twitching, muscles tense as bowstrings.
"Onyx," I whispered, barely moving my lips.
His ears turned instantly, head angling the same way as mine. His nostrils flared, a low rumble building in his chest.
"Easy," I murmured, pressing a hand against his neck. "If we spook the herd now, we'll be the ones getting trampled."
The prairie was alive with sound—the chewing of hundreds of bison, the hiss of dry stalks in the wind, the distant thrum of hooves. I thought we were hidden well enough.
Then it happened.
The figure crouched near one of the smaller bison—no, a calf—and slowly raised something. Not a spear. Not a bow. The shape was wrong. Thinner. Straighter.
A crossbow.
"Shit," I muttered.
The string twanged—silent in the distance, but my heart still flinched at the sound. The bolt hit true. The calf stumbled, bellowed once—
—and then the world exploded into chaos.
The herd erupted like a living storm.
Hundreds of hooves tore at the earth, grass flattened in waves, the air thick with thunder and dust.
"Onyx! Back! Go, go!"
Onyx burst into a sprint, muscles coiling and releasing like a spring. The world blurred—the wind screamed—the stampede was right behind us, swallowing the plain.
I followed, feeling the trembling earth under my feet.
"To the midday stone!" I shouted, and Onyx shifted direction slightly, sprinting with hot, steaming breaths toward it. Turning my head, I saw the first bison cresting the hill behind us.
Gritting my teeth, I poured mana into my legs and leapt onto the rock beside Onyx and our gear.
"Phew!" I exhaled, sitting down as the majestic herd of moving mountains thundered past us.
When the last echoes faded, I laughed and patted Onyx's neck. We took our things and returned to the top of the hill—where the lone figure now knelt, processing the slain bison calf.
Then a loose stone shifted beneath Onyx's hoof. With a dull scrape, it rolled down the hill.
The figure froze mid-motion, hands still on the calf. The sound must have reached them even through the fading rumble of hooves. Shoulders tensed. Slowly, their head turned—up the slope, toward us.
The wind paused. The world held its breath.
And across the sea of golden grass, our eyes met