The echo of our battle still lingered in the ruined facility, the scent of burnt wood and decayed flesh clinging to the air like smoke. The huskbeast was dead—what remained of it smoldered in a crater formed by the last ward trap I had activated through the array interface. The other husks lay scattered, broken and lifeless, thanks to Father's blade and my spirits working in unison.
For a long while, I stood still, hand resting on the cool surface of the ancient console. I had poured every drop of thought and will into mastering its arcane systems—into manipulating wards, arrays, and the defensive mechanisms of the facility. The symbols no longer looked foreign to me. In that moment, they had become familiar, almost intuitive. As if I'd used them before. Maybe I had… in another life.
"Come, Igris," Father said, resting a hand on my shoulder. "We've lingered long enough. We should return to the hunt."
I nodded, though I cast one last glance at the heart of the facility—the pulsating array core. I'd downloaded as much data as I could to one of the old crystalline nodes I'd found. The logs were ancient, filled with battle tactics, energy theories, and failed experiments. I didn't fully understand most of it, not yet. But I would. This place… this place would be mine again one day.
I slipped the crystal into my satchel and followed Father out into the open. The ruined doorway hissed as the array recognized my presence and unsealed itself. Outside, the forest greeted us like a breath of fresh air—misty, quiet, and shrouded in the soft glow of morning light piercing through the canopy.
"You did well back there," Father said, stepping beside me. His long coat swayed in the wind, half burnt from the fight. "You've got a mind like a tactician. Calm in chaos."
"I had help," I admitted, patting the spirit stone where my companions slumbered. "They taught me to listen. And to feel the system, not just see it."
He smirked. "You're growing fast. Faster than I did. I won't be able to keep up forever."
"You're still stronger."
"For now." He chuckled, then knelt beside a patch of flattened grass. His fingers traced strange markings that looked like clawed footprints—barely visible, but deliberate. "These aren't husk prints. The necromancer's main party passed through here less than a day ago."
I leaned closer. The markings were subtle, woven into the natural patterns of the earth. Only someone trained could spot them. "Can we follow them?"
Father nodded. "They're not trying to be stealthy. Which tells me they either think we're no threat, or they want us to follow."
My fists tightened. "Let's give them a reason to regret that."
He gave me a look—half warning, half proud—and rose. With a flick of his hand, he summoned several tracking glyphs into the air. They shimmered with a faint blue glow before flying off in separate directions like intelligent fireflies.
"I set these to detect necromantic energy and decay signatures," he explained. "They'll form a directional triangle and show us the most active path forward."
A minute later, three of the glyphs began blinking in unison. We headed in that direction.
As we walked, I asked, "Why does this necromancer hate you?"
Father sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's a long story. Years ago, when I was still active with my party, we stopped an emerging cult that was trafficking in forbidden anima—raising echoes of creatures that should never return. One of their members was this necromancer. He was trying to craft hybrid husks using drake scales and human memories. I killed the drake they were after and burned its corpse."
"That's why the husks look like that?"
"Exactly. Unstable creatures. Part memory, part corpse, barely held together by corrupted anima." He paused, then added, "They hate being incomplete. I think that's what fuels them."
We trekked in silence for a while. The forest grew denser, but Father's blades and my spirits cleared the way. We encountered no resistance, only scattered signs of past passage—crushed foliage, unnatural claw marks, shattered animal bones.
Eventually, we reached a narrow canyon cut between two towering stone cliffs. A faint stench of decay hung in the air.
"They're close," Father whispered. "Just over this ridge."
He turned to me, his expression stern. "This is it, Igris. Your first real trial. We end this together."
I nodded. My pulse quickened, not from fear but anticipation. I could feel the void inside me hum. My magic, aura, and anima stirred beneath my skin like flames waiting to be released.
Before we crossed, Father did something I hadn't expected. He raised his hand and activated a ward—one that looked like a veil of protective threads, woven through runes and sigils.
"I call this the Shadow Cloak," he said. "It'll hide us from direct detection for a few minutes."
I stared at the beautiful, woven formation as it activated. "That's an array, right?"
"Yes—and no," he replied. "It's built from sigils, powered by aura, but controlled by runes and glyphs. That's what we call a hybrid circuit array. Strong, flexible, but short-lived."
I repeated the name silently. Hybrid circuit array.
We moved forward under the warded veil, shadows flickering unnaturally as we crept to the ridge.
From the ledge, I saw them. Dozens of husks camped near a ruined altar of bone and stone, the necromancer at the center. He wore robes made of stretched flesh, and his skeletal hands moved in ritualistic circles over a corpse of something I couldn't identify.
His voice echoed in a tongue I didn't understand.
"He's summoning something," I whispered.
"Not if we kill him first," Father growled.
We looked at each other—and without another word, we jumped into the fray.