The early morning air carried a faint chill, dew still clinging to the grass as Ronan tightened the strap of his satchel and carefully placed several Recovery Potions and Aether Recovery Potions into his Storage Ring. The soft metallic hum of the ring sealing shut echoed faintly in his ears, louder than it should have been. His heartbeat refused to settle, drumming against his ribs in uneven bursts—anticipation tangled tightly with unease.
He exhaled slowly, then broke into a jog toward the academy entrance.
Ms. Amara was already there.
She stood with her usual composed stillness, hands folded behind her back, her posture straight as a drawn blade. Her gaze swept across the surroundings with sharp precision, as if measuring every movement, every shift in the air. Even the faint rustle of leaves seemed to pause under her watch.
"Good morning, Ma'am," Ronan said, bowing slightly. He kept his voice steady, though his fingers curled faintly at his sides.
Ms. Amara turned toward him. The stern edge of her expression softened—just a fraction. "Good morning, Ronan." There was a quiet approval in her tone, subtle but unmistakable.
Before he could respond, a deep voice cut in from behind him, rough and edged with scepticism.
"Oh, so this is the brat you've been talking about?"
Ronan's shoulders tensed. He turned quickly.
Mr. Alden stood there, arms crossed, his presence as imposing as ever. His gaze was sharp, assessing—cutting through Ronan as though weighing his worth in a single glance.
"Good morning, Sir," Ronan said, lowering his head slightly. The words came out softer this time, almost restrained.
Alden didn't respond immediately. His eyes shifted to Ms. Amara. "Amara, are you sure about this?" His tone dipped into something heavier, more critical. "You're really taking this brat?"
The word lingered.
Ronan's grip tightened imperceptibly. His shoulders dipped a fraction as his gaze flickered downward. He had trained under Alden long enough to recognize that tone—it wasn't casual. It was judgment.
And it stung more than he expected.
Ms. Amara's eyes narrowed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Don't you teach him swordsmanship?" she replied lightly, though the edge beneath her words was unmistakable.
Alden raised a brow but didn't argue. Instead, he lifted his hand and tapped his storage ring.
Light flared.
A low, resonant hum filled the air as a medium-sized flying ship materialised before them. The wood of its hull gleamed with a polished sheen, intricate runes carved along its surface pulsing faintly with Aether. The air around it shimmered as it hovered a few feet above the ground, steady and powerful.
"Fine," Alden muttered, stepping forward. "The ship's here. Let's get this over with."
Ronan didn't move.
His breath caught.
The ship… it was real.
Up close, the runes seemed alive—threads of Aether weaving through them like veins. The faint hum vibrated through his chest, and for a moment, everything else faded. This wasn't something he had only heard about anymore.
"You coming, or should I leave without you?" Alden barked.
Ronan jolted, heat rising to his face. "Y-Yes, Sir!"
He hurried aboard, his boots thudding softly against the wooden deck. His eyes darted everywhere—over the glowing glyphs, the curved railings, the faint aura that seemed to wrap around the vessel like a protective shell.
Ms. Amara stepped on behind him, her movements calm, measured.
The ship rose.
Wind rushed past them, tugging at Ronan's clothes, threading through his hair. The academy shrank beneath them, the world unfolding in a vast expanse of green and silver. Forests stretched endlessly, rivers winding like shimmering threads through the land. Distant villages flickered into view—tiny, fragile against the immensity of it all.
Ronan moved to the railing without thinking, his hands gripping it as he leaned forward.
The world felt… limitless.
For a moment, the tension in his chest loosened.
"Enjoying the view, kid?"
Alden's voice cut through the wind.
Ronan nodded, a small smile breaking through despite himself. "It's… incredible."
Ms. Amara leaned beside him, resting her arm against the railing. A faint smirk touched her lips. "You'll see far more than this if you keep up." Her gaze shifted, sharp again. "But don't lose yourself in it. We're heading to a magical beast den. That kind of distraction gets people killed."
The words settled heavily.
Ronan straightened, the smile fading as focus returned. "Yes, Ma'am."
She reached into her storage ring and pulled out a worn book, handing it to him. The pages smelled faintly of old parchment and ink.
"Ronan," she said, her tone firm now, "you'll be hunting Rank 1 and Rank 2 flame-type monsters—if we find them. Don't underestimate them. Even the lowest ranks can match Adept One to Six."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"You're still at Novice Four."
The weight of that difference pressed against him.
Ronan swallowed, then nodded. "I'll do my best, Ma'am."
The ship continued forward, slicing through the sky.
Hours passed.
The air changed first.
The vibrant scent of greenery faded, replaced by something drier… heavier. When the ship slowed, Ronan felt it immediately—a strange stillness, as if the forest below was holding its breath.
They landed on a ridge overlooking the den.
The trees below were dense, their branches tangled tightly together, casting deep shadows that swallowed the light. Faint rustling echoed from within, uneven and distant.
Too deliberate to be the wind.
Ms. Amara stepped forward, her gaze narrowing as she studied the terrain. "Tailed Fox den," she said quietly. "They rarely move alone. If the report is correct, we're looking at four one-tailed foxes… and a two-tailed leading them."
Her voice lowered slightly.
"The moment a fox gains a second tail, it develops the fire attribute."
The air seemed to tighten.
Ronan clenched his fists, feeling the leather of his gloves creak softly. "I've dealt with one-tailed foxes before," he said. His voice held, but there was a faint edge beneath it. "But… not a two-tailed."
Ms. Amara turned to him, studying him carefully—measuring.
"This is your fight," she said at last. "Your training."
Her eyes flicked briefly to Alden. "If things go wrong, we step in."
Ronan nodded sharply. "Understood."
"Aaa…" Alden scoffed, though his gaze lingered on Ronan longer than usual. "He is my student, after all. Can't exactly let him die here, can I?"
The words were rough, almost dismissive—but something quieter sat beneath them.
Ms. Amara rolled her eyes before placing a firm hand on Ronan's shoulder. Her grip was steady, grounding. "Ignore him. Focus on your breathing. Your instincts will carry you further than doubt ever will."
Then, with a sideways glance at Alden, she added dryly, "Though you might want to reconsider your swordsmanship teacher. His teaching methods are… questionable."
Ronan huffed softly, a faint smile slipping through despite the tension. "There's no chance of that, Ma'am." His grip tightened around his daggers. "He reminds me of my old teacher. Sir Gideon."
Alden snorted but said nothing.
Ronan stepped forward.
The moment his boots crossed into the forest's edge, the air changed.
The smell hit him first—burnt fur… ash… something faintly metallic beneath it.
His heart began to pound again.
Slow. Heavy. Measured.
He drew both daggers.
The blades caught the faint light, a subtle crimson sheen flickering across their edges as Aether threaded through them. His breathing steadied, shoulders lowering as his stance shifted—lighter, more fluid.
Behind him, Ms. Amara tilted her head slightly. "Daggers?" she murmured.
Alden exhaled through his nose. "Saw him practising once. Asked him why."
Ronan didn't turn, but his voice carried back to them, quiet and steady. "Swords are strong." His fingers adjusted around the hilts. "But daggers…" A faint pause. "They're faster. Quieter."
A rustle.
Amber eyes flickered in the shadows ahead.
"They end things before the enemy realises what happened."
The first fox emerged.
Its fur bristled, muscles coiled tight beneath its frame. A low growl vibrated from its throat, sharp fangs catching the light.
Ronan didn't hesitate.
He moved.
The distance vanished in a single burst of motion—his body low, steps silent. The dagger flashed once—
—and the fox collapsed before the sound of the strike fully reached the air.
A second lunged.
Then a third.
Ronan's movements flowed—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Each strike landed clean, precise. Blood sprayed in brief arcs before the forest swallowed the sound again.
Four bodies fell in quick succession.
Ronan exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance—
—and something shifted behind him.
A pulse.
Aether.
Same signature.
No time to turn.
His arm snapped backwards—
The dagger sank deep.
A strangled cry tore through the air as the fox behind him collapsed, its body twitching before going still.
Silence followed.
"Did he just…?" Ms. Amara's voice was low, edged with disbelief.
Alden's eyes narrowed, a slow smile forming. "That…"
Amara turned sharply. "That's not possible. There are no perception skills at the Novice Tier."
Alden let out a quiet chuckle. "That's not a skill."
Her gaze sharpened. "Then what is it?"
He didn't look at her. His eyes remained fixed on Ronan. "Keen Eye."
Amara's expression tightened. "You're smiling like it's impressive." A pause. "You use it too."
"Mm." Alden's voice softened slightly. "Watch more."
Ronan didn't hear them.
His focus had already shifted.
The forest grew quiet again—but this time, it wasn't empty.
It was waiting.
A low, suffocating pressure crept into the air, heat rising subtly against his skin. The scent of burning intensified.
Then—
It stepped out.
Larger. Slower.
Two tails swayed behind it, flames licking faintly along their edges. Its fur shimmered with a fiery aura, each step leaving a faint distortion in the air.
Its eyes locked onto Ronan.
Challenge.
Ronan tightened his grip on his daggers.
His heartbeat steadied.
One breath.
Then another.
The world narrowed.