Years spun by in Lumar, weaving a tapestry of quiet rhythms and deepening bonds. Eli, now fifteen, had grown into a young man with a profound sense of belonging. The awkwardness of his early days had faded, replaced by a quiet confidence born of purpose. He had become the village's shadow, its warning before danger, its most capable hunter. In the forests that embraced Lumar's borders, he moved like a ghost, each step silent as falling snow. What Aeliana had once taught him, instinct had perfected.
His bond with Elder Maeve deepened into one of mutual respect and unspoken understanding. Maeve recognized the untamed force that pulsed beneath Eli's skin, and dedicated herself to guiding it. Though she never pressed him about the origin of his Essence, an energy far beyond any Heartstone she had ever seen, hinting at a depth acquired by choice rather than chance, she patiently taught him to wield it with intention.
"Essence isn't just power, Eli," she would say, her gnarled fingers glowing faintly with the light of her Earth Shaker Essence as they traced symbols in the dust. "It's connection. It is alive, a part of you now. It wants to serve, but you must learn how to listen."
Her lessons were not drills of brute force but meditations of patience. She taught him to breathe, to listen, to touch the current of the Hind's spirit within himself. Progress was slow, but one day, as they sat beside the river, Eli felt the current surge. He focused on his hands, envisioning the sharp curve of an antler. A shimmer rippled through the air, and from nothingness, two sleek, bone-white daggers materialized in his grip. They felt alive, extensions of his will, weightless yet unyielding. Shaped like stylized antlers, they gleamed with an otherworldly sheen. He named them the Whisperwind Blades.
Maeve's eyes widened. For once, awe broke through her composed face. "To manifest Essence into form… that is no small feat. You must wield this gift with wisdom, Eli."
From that moment, the Whisperwind Blades became part of him. He trained tirelessly, his agility fusing with the daggers until he fought like a shadow's edge, silent and precise. He could summon or dismiss them in a thought, slipping easily between the weight of steel and the weightlessness of silence.
Life in Lumar moved with gentle rhythms. Children like Lena, with her long braids, and the ever-boisterous Joric, now a broad-shouldered youth, looked up to Eli as their protector. He taught them the safe trails, the taste of herbs, and sometimes conjured harmless swirls of wind that made Lena laugh until she could no longer stand.
"Eli, Lena," Joric said one day, puffing out his chest, "when we're eighteen, let's register as adventurers. We'll be as strong as the Great Thirteen!"
"You can't even catch a frog," Lena shot back. "Eli does all the hunting for you."
"That's because Eli already has an Essence," Joric argued, grinning wide. "One day, I'll get mine, and then he'll kneel before me."
"You wish," Lena muttered.
Eli only smiled, listening to their endless banter. For seven years, this had been his life. He had found what Aeliana promised him long ago. He had found a family.
But the forest whispered warnings.
One morning, Joric came running. "Eli! A Lost-Prowler's tracks near Old Falls! The hunters are worried it'll spook the deer before the autumn hunt!"
Eli nodded, already feeling the subtle disruption in the air. "I'll go. Tell Elder Maeve." His voice was steady, carrying the calm weight of the woods. Hours later, when he returned, the forest was quiet again, the danger diverted. He never returned with trophies. The villagers preferred to believe the threats had simply wandered off.
Seasons passed. The village thrived in trade, selling herbs and polished Crystal Drops to caravans from Ashfall. Eli often walked with the patrols guarding the traders, slipping silently through the shadows to keep beasts at bay. But he never entered Ashfall itself. The city, the nobles, the guilds, those belonged to another world. Lumar was his world.
Until the shadows came.
It was an autumn evening, the air too still, the woods too quiet. Perched high in an oak, Eli felt it first, a dissonant vibration, like a sickness in the Aether. It was the same stench of corruption he had felt years ago at the site of his family's slaughter.
His blades appeared in his hands, bone-white in the starlight, and he moved. The hum thickened with each step until he broke into the clearing. Then the nightmare unfolded.
Figures in formless, dark robes glided into the village, their movements too precise, too fluid. Not raiders, but something colder. Behind them crept horrors twisted beyond nature: Beast-Kin. A wolf with limbs stretched grotesquely long and eyes burning crimson. A deer with warped antlers dripping ichor that hissed when it touched the earth. Their cries tore at the edges of reality.
The villagers staggered out of their homes, terrified. Elder Maeve's eyes hardened as she thrust up an earthen barrier with a sweep of her hand. "To the shelters!" she shouted. Her voice cut through the chaos.
Eli struck first. The Whisperwind Blades flashed, cutting into the twisted wolf. Its flesh resisted like stone, but his precision forced it back. He became a storm of steel and wind, deflecting monstrous claws and driving back the abominations. A cultist hissed when Eli's blades found them, their aura shimmering with dark power.
"He has an Essence," the distorted voice rasped. "The Prophet wants this one alive!"
Eli's stomach dropped. They were here for him.
All around, villagers fought with Crystal Drop axes and spears meant for boar, not nightmares. Maeve strained, her Tier Two Essence buckling against the onslaught. Joric was swatted aside by a towering bear-thing, while Lena froze in terror, clutching her doll as a cultist's hand reached for her.
"Lena! Joric!" Eli's cry tore from his soul. He surged forward, blades carving the air, and shoved Lena behind him as steel bit into the cultist's arm. The figure recoiled with a shriek.
But there were too many. Beast-Kin surged from the treeline. Black fire spread along the cabins. The air thickened with smoke and the stench of corruption. Maeve screamed his name. "Eli! Go! Save yourself!" Her barrier rose one last time, crumbling beneath the weight of the horde.
Eli froze, heart torn in two. He could stay and die with them, or flee and carry the fight beyond this night. Aeliana's words echoed in his memory: Your purpose awaits.
His gaze caught Lena again, her small form dragged into the shadows by cloaked hands. Other children too. Just as his own family had been stolen. His chest split with grief and rage.
Then he ran.
Wind wrapped him like a cloak as he dashed through the burning village, faster than claws, faster than fire. He cut through the trees, the forest guiding him, until the village's screams and the smoke were behind him. He did not look back. He could not.
When he finally stopped, his lungs burned and the night was silent once more. He was alone again. But this time, his heart carried not just a gift, but a vow. He would find the children. He would hunt the ones who bore the twisted, many-limbed symbol.
And when he found them, he would make them pay.
The road to the Hunter Guild, once only a story, had become his only path, lit by the red glow of everything he had lost.