Morning light filtered through the western forest, casting long streaks of gold across the moss-covered earth. Mist clung to the ground, thin as breath, curling around roots and stones as four figures moved quietly between the trees. Every step pressed into damp soil. Every sound — a shift of armor, the creak of leather — echoed louder than it should have.
The air was heavy. Too heavy.
Rogan led the way. His new longsword hung at his side, steady and confident — the weight of it familiar now, like an extension of his arm. Each movement he made was deliberate. His breathing matched his steps, calm and controlled. The last few weeks of Hunnt's brutal training had forged something different in him. The nervous young man who once chipped his sword with every swing was gone. In his place stood a hunter who moved with quiet intent.
Behind him, Lyssara walked with her twin blades drawn, her eyes darting through the trees. Her movements were sharp, efficient, her footwork barely disturbing the forest floor. But beneath her calm exterior, her heart was racing. This wasn't a training dummy or a spar with Rogan — this was a real hunt, and somewhere ahead of them, something massive was waiting.
Will followed a few paces behind, bow in hand, his eyes scanning the treetops. The faint sound of birds had faded the deeper they went, replaced by an unsettling silence. He felt it in his gut — that same silence before a storm.
"You feel that?" he whispered. "It's too quiet."
Lyssara nodded without looking back. "Yeah. Everything's hiding."
Willa brought up the rear, her shield already raised, her expression firm. "Then we're close," she said. Her tone was steady, but her hand gripped the handle of her shield tightly. Despite the fear curling in her chest, she stood tall.
The four of them slowed their pace as the forest around them darkened. The mist thickened, turning the air cold and heavy. Rogan stopped first, holding a hand up for the others to halt. He turned slightly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Stay sharp. We're being watched."
A low rumble vibrated through the ground — not loud, but deep enough that they felt it in their bones. Willa adjusted her stance. Will drew an arrow. Lyssara crouched slightly, blades ready.
Then the forest exploded.
A massive shadow crashed through the trees ahead, splintering bark and scattering leaves like shards of glass. The Gorvann emerged — towering, broad-shouldered, its arms thick as tree trunks and its body covered in hardened, black scales. Its glowing amber eyes fixed on the hunters with predatory intelligence.
It stood for a moment, chest heaving, and then let out a roar so powerful it shook loose the branches above.
Rogan didn't flinch. "Positions!"
The team scattered. Willa took point, planting her shield into the ground just as the Gorvann lunged forward. The creature's fist slammed against her shield with an impact that sent dirt flying, but she held firm, her boots digging into the earth.
"Move!" she shouted, her arms trembling from the force.
Will darted to the side, loosing an arrow that struck the Gorvann's shoulder. It barely flinched, the arrow shattering on contact. "That hide's too thick!" he yelled.
Lyssara circled left, her twin blades gleaming as she darted in low, slicing at its legs. Sparks jumped from the steel — shallow cuts, not deep enough. "Damn it, even the joints are tough!"
The Gorvann swung its arm, catching the air where Lyssara had been moments before. She flipped backward, landing lightly on her feet, the wind of the swing brushing her cheek.
Rogan stepped forward, exhaling through his nose. His grip tightened. His mind went silent.
Overhead Slash.
Right Slash.
Left Slash.
Thrust.
Each motion flowed perfectly into the next — no hesitation, no wasted strength. His sword connected against the Gorvann's side, the rhythmic hum of steel against scale echoing through the clearing. Sparks flashed, and the beast reeled slightly under the controlled pressure of each strike.
Hunnt's voice echoed faintly in Rogan's mind:
When the sword hums with your heartbeat — that's your gauge talking.
Rogan's sword was singing.
"Keep it up!" Will shouted, firing again. This time he adjusted his aim, striking just below the Gorvann's neck where the scales thinned slightly. The arrow pierced deeper. Not enough to wound — but enough to get the monster's attention.
The Gorvann roared, slamming both fists into the ground. The shockwave knocked Willa backward, her shield scraping along the dirt. Lyssara stumbled, landing in a crouch. Will barely managed to roll aside, clutching his bow.
"Now!" Rogan yelled. He rushed forward, blade flashing in a blur. Spirit I — diagonal cut; Spirit II — rising slash; Spirit III — spinning cross-cut; Spirit Roundslash — a perfect circular finisher that rang like a bell through the forest.
The Gorvann staggered backward, its thick chest heaving. For the first time, its movements seemed uncertain.
Willa pushed herself up, breathing heavily. "We've got its attention," she said. "Now don't lose it."
The Gorvann's glowing eyes shifted to her, and it charged again, faster than before. She braced herself, planting her shield just as the beast's claws raked across the metal surface. The impact drove her back several meters, but she held firm, her knees digging into the dirt.
"Hold!" Rogan shouted.
Lyssara took her chance, dashing forward to strike again. She targeted the legs, but instead of wild slashes, she waited — watched — studying its movements, its breathing. She noticed how its knees bent inward when it turned. The scales there were thinner.
"There!" she shouted, slicing through the joint with precision. A thin line of dark blood splashed onto the ground.
The Gorvann howled in rage.
Will fired again, arrows flying in rapid succession. Power Shot. Power Shot. Each one landing near the exposed wound Lyssara had opened. The creature swung wildly, smashing its arms into the ground, trying to crush them.
"Stay mobile!" Will yelled. "Keep it guessing!"
Rogan exhaled, feeling his Spirit Gauge pulsing through his arms. He could sense the rhythm — the breathing, the flow — and with each movement, his strikes grew faster, stronger. His blade cut through the air, humming with energy, Spirit Level rising from white to yellow to red.
He dashed in, his longsword glowing faintly with the motion, and unleashed another Spirit Roundslash that hit the Gorvann square across its chest. The monster staggered again, its breathing ragged.
Lyssara jumped in to follow up, slashing across its ribs, her strikes finding softer spots now that she'd mapped its weaknesses. Willa rushed forward beside her, her shield slamming into the beast's thigh to knock it off balance.
For the first time, the four of them moved like a single unit — one rhythm, one flow.
Rogan's sword sang. Lyssara's blades danced. Will's arrows whistled through the air in precise bursts. Willa's shield clashed like a drumbeat holding their rhythm together.
The Gorvann tried to counterattack, swinging its massive arms to break their formation, but every strike was met — a parry, a dodge, a counter. The forest echoed with the sound of battle, a symphony of steel and fury.
Finally, with a roar of frustration, the Gorvann slammed its fists down and leapt backward, retreating deeper into the woods. The ground shook as it disappeared into the shadows, its growl fading into the distance.
Silence fell once again.
The four hunters stood still for a long moment, breathing hard. The smell of earth and sweat hung heavy in the air.
Rogan lowered his sword, the blade gleaming faintly in the fading light. "It's gone."
Lyssara wiped blood from her cheek. "For now."
Will let out a long breath, collapsing onto a rock. "You call that training?"
Willa smiled faintly, leaning on her shield. "We survived. That's what matters."
From the treeline, Hunnt and the mentors watched quietly. Kael crossed his arms, smirking. "They didn't kill it… but they didn't break either."
Hunnt nodded. "That's enough for the first day. They've learned what I wanted them to — fear and control in the same breath."
Seren looked at him. "So what's next?"
Hunnt's eyes followed the four young hunters as they regrouped, exhaustion in their faces but fire in their eyes. "Tomorrow," he said softly, "we teach them what it really means to fight as one."