The air inside the rift was alive with tension. Every breath Stephen took carried a faint metallic tang — the scent of concentrated energy, mixed with something primal, something dangerous. The deeper he ventured, the thicker the mist grew, curling around the trees like ghostly serpents.
He moved carefully, just as his father had taught him — one hand gripping the hilt of his light sword, the other brushing against the runes carved into his bracelet to monitor the surrounding energy fluctuations.
[Detected: Minor Beast Presence — 60 meters ahead]
Stephen crouched low, pressing his back against a thick tree trunk. The bark pulsed faintly with blue light as if breathing alongside him. He strained his senses, feeling the faint rhythm of energy in the air — and then he saw it.
A Fangclaw Wolf, its fur matted with dark streaks of energy, prowled near a cluster of glowing stones. Its eyes glimmered crimson under the riftlight. F-rank, according to his father's notes — quick, vicious, but predictable if one could read its movements.
Stephen steadied his breathing.Alright… time to begin.
He tightened his grip on the sword and surged forward. The blade hummed softly, a pale streak of light cutting through the mist.
The wolf turned, baring its fangs. Its tail lashed once — and then it lunged.
Stephen sidestepped, swinging in a clean arc, just as his father had drilled into him countless times. The blade grazed the wolf's shoulder, leaving behind a shallow wound that oozed faint blue energy instead of blood.
But the creature was fast — far faster than he expected. Its claws slashed across his arm, tearing through his sleeve. Pain flared sharp and hot, and Stephen stumbled back, barely avoiding the next strike.
"Damn…" he hissed, gripping his bleeding arm. The wolf's growl deepened, its energy spiking. It was about to pounce again — and this time, he wasn't sure he'd dodge in time.
Then something inside him stirred.
A warmth — deep, resonant, ancient — flared within his soul sea. The faint shadow of the azure sparrow flickered once, then again, its tiny wings beating faster as if reacting to his fear.
In that instant, the air around him seemed to bend. The wolf's lunge slowed — or maybe his perception had sharpened. A faint light outlined the edges of the beast's movement, tracing the path of its attack before it even struck.
Stephen didn't think — he moved.
His sword came up in a reverse grip, guided by instinct, and the blade met flesh with a clean, ringing sound. A spray of glowing blue motes burst from the wolf's body as it collapsed, twitching once before going still.
Stephen stood there, chest heaving, sweat running down his neck. His arms trembled, both from exhaustion and from what he'd just felt.
That light. That strange pulse of instinct. It wasn't his.
He closed his eyes, sinking inward — and there, deep within his soul sea, he saw it: the sparrow, wings still glowing faintly. Its gaze — if it could be called that — turned toward him, and for a fleeting moment, he felt a wave of calm reassurance.
It was as though it had reached out to protect him.
Then the light faded, and the sparrow went still once more, its form returning to a dormant state.
Stephen exhaled shakily, lowering his sword. "You… helped me, didn't you?" he whispered softly.
At his feet, the Fangclaw Wolf's body began to disintegrate, scattering into faint particles of energy — until only a small, translucent crystal remained, pulsing faintly with blue light.
Stephen bent down and picked it up. The moment his fingers brushed the surface, his heart gave a sudden, sharp thud.
A yearning washed over him — a deep, instinctual pull from within his soul sea. The sparrow's presence flared once again, faint but undeniable, its wings trembling as if in anticipation.
It wanted the crystal.
He stared at it, realization dawning. "You… can absorb this?" he murmured under his breath.
For a long moment, he considered it. His instincts screamed that giving in here — in the middle of an active rift — was a bad idea. There were too many unknowns, too many lurking threats drawn by energy surges.
Finally, he exhaled and slipped the crystal carefully into his pack. "Not now. We'll do this back home."
The sparrow's glow dimmed again, but he could still feel that faint pulse of emotion — like a child reluctantly obeying but unwilling to let go.
Stephen straightened, wiping the sweat from his brow. His wounded arm still ached, but the pain felt distant now. Something had changed in him. He could feel it — his connection to the sparrow, the spark of its will now faintly entwined with his own.
He glanced once more toward the forest's depths, where faint growls echoed beyond the mist. His sword hummed faintly in response, the runes along its blade pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
He smiled faintly. "Guess this is what being a hunter really means."
And with that, Stephen pressed deeper into the rift — unaware that this single battle, this one brief awakening of the sparrow's will, had already begun to shape his destiny.