I. The Mist and the Fang
The first lesson Ethan learned about the kingdom of Eldoria was that beauty was a mask for danger. The air on the borders of the Whispering Forest smelled of fresh pine and damp earth, but the thick mist that licked Ethan's worn leather boots was not water vapor; it was the icy breath of the frontier.
Ethan was not from here. He was not a hunter, nor an explorer, and his only possession of value was the silent determination burning in his chest. He had come to Eldoria seeking answers that only adventure could offer. He wore a hunting knife strapped to his thigh, more out of optimism than skill.
The silence was broken by the crunch of branches.
It was a Stone Fang, a solitary, grotesque beast that resembled a giant wolf, but with obsidian claws and tough, bark-like hide. It was too large to be a common threat; its presence so close to the settlement of Ashstone was a bad omen.
Terror paralyzed Ethan for an instant, but the determination that had dragged him to Eldoria prevailed. If I'm going to die here, he thought, it won't be without a fight.
He drew the knife. His training was minimal, based on common sense: stab where the skin was soft. The Stone Fang didn't bother to growl; it lunged, a gray blur in the mist.
Ethan rolled aside, feeling the beast's hot, foul breath graze his ear. He dropped to his knees and, in a desperate act of pure survival, plunged the knife into the monster's flank. The metal scraped against the bark hide, only penetrating a few centimeters before the Stone Fang writhed with a howl of fury.
The beast struck him with a front paw, sending Ethan flying against an old oak. The impact stole his breath, and he felt a sharp pain in his ribs. The knife had slipped away.
The Stone Fang returned, red eyes fixed on its helpless prey. Ethan closed his eyes, not in surrender, but to concentrate. He had no physical strength, no magic, but in that moment of mortal danger, something stirred within his mind. It was a cold, precise sensation, as if his very survival had granted him a new plane of consciousness.
On the edge of his mental vision, a fleeting indicator appeared and vanished.
[Survival Skill: Iron Determination - Unlocked]
II. The Frost Canticle
Just as the Stone Fang opened its maw for the final blow, a torrent of blue and white light erupted in the forest.
It was not a shot; it was a canticle. The words, spoken in a cold, melifluous voice that resonated with the power of glaciers, transformed into action. Six spears of pure ice, sharper than any steel forged in Eldoria, emerged from the mist.
The precision was absolute. The spears impacted the Stone Fang not on its hide, but at the joints: shoulder, hip, and jaw. The monster instantly collapsed, its body frozen from within, icy vapor rising from its wounds.
A figure emerged from the mist, shrouded in a navy blue robe with silver embroidery. She was a young woman, barely a few years older than Ethan, with braided silver hair and amethyst-colored eyes that regarded the world with a mix of distant curiosity and near-total boredom. She held a simple ashwood staff.
She approached the fallen monster, touched it with the tip of her staff, and observed the dissipating vapor. Her expression was that of someone who had just disposed of an annoying insect.
"A Stone Fang. So close to Ashstone," she murmured, her voice as cold as the ice she conjured. "The corruption spreads too fast."
Only then did she deign to look at Ethan, still gasping and leaning against the oak.
"You. Outsider. Are you an idiot, or suicidal? You tried to fight a Triple Fang beast with a butter knife."
Ethan straightened up, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs. The humiliation was strong, but the gratitude for surviving was stronger.
"I was... looking for my knife."
"I see. A great strategist," the mage said, a slight hint of amusement in her amethyst eyes. "Why were you in this area? There are no trade routes here."
"I have a path to find," Ethan said.
The mage raised an eyebrow. "A path. Fascinating. Most men I meet only have one route."
"And who are you?"
"Lyra. Mage of the Inner Circle of the Crystal Tower," she replied, not with arrogance, but as a statement of fact. Lyra was the prodigy, the record-breaker, and her mere mention was a passport to respect in Eldoria. "And I was here to eliminate that thing before it caused trouble. Now I'll have to return to the Tower with this report."
III. The Mage's Eye and the Beginning
Lyra sat on a rock, pulled a parchment and a quill from her robe, and began taking notes with impressive efficiency. She ignored Ethan, but he couldn't ignore her. Her power was incredible, her arrogance, deserved.
Ethan approached the Stone Fang. He wanted to retrieve his knife, but he stopped. Looking at the monster's frozen body, he didn't feel nausea, but an analytical curiosity.
In his mind, the fleeting indicator became clearer.
[Combat Experience (Base) acquired: +5]
[The Host's growth has been activated.]
[Skill Unlocked: Corruption Resistance (Minor).]
The mental voice was not robotic like in the other story; it was more subtle, like the vibration of a taut string.
"What are you looking at?" Lyra asked, without looking up from the parchment.
"Its claws. And its hide. There's something unnatural about them. It's not just a large wolf," Ethan replied. He was using his new consciousness, analyzing the world on a deeper level.
Lyra looked up and stared at him. It was the first time she seemed to truly see him, not just as an obstacle. She stood up and walked toward him, stopping a few centimeters away.
"You are right. The corruption from the Darklands is manifesting in new forms. The mages believe there is a source, a conspiracy pushing the beasts toward the heart of Eldoria. And that is why I am here: to find that source."
Lyra looked at him with those amethyst eyes, evaluating his determination, his humanity, his barely perceptible growth.
"You are not a warrior, but you fought. You have no magic, but you survived a monster that should have broken you in half. You have nerve, outsider. And that is the one thing that cannot be taught."
She rolled up the parchment and tucked it into her robe.
"My path leads south, to the ancient Ruins of Sylos. I need a flesh-and-blood scout, someone willing to die for the answers. Someone who isn't afraid of what they might find."
Lyra extended a hand to him.
"Ethan. I give you a choice. You can return to Ashstone with your tail between your legs, or you can come with me. You might find the answers you seek, or you might find something much greater."
Ethan didn't hesitate. The pain in his ribs was a reminder. The icy sensation of his rising power was a motor. He gripped the mage's hand. Her touch, though cold, was firm.
"I'll go with you, Lyra. Show me the path of adventure."
The mage nodded, a slight and almost imperceptible hint of a smile appearing on her lips. Ethan's path had begun, and the first woman to join his destiny was already at his side. The Stone Fang faded into the mist like a simple memory.
IV. The Next Destination
The Ruins of Sylos awaited.