"This turned out better than I hoped," she said softly, voice carrying that rare lightness that only came in moments like these.
"The rhino was stubborn, but the meat... perfect tenderness after hours over the fire."
David swallowed another mouthful, eyes closing briefly in appreciation before opening again to meet hers, filled with warmth.
"Better than perfect. Seriously, Mom—the way you season it, the meat just falls apart.
If the upper districts ever tasted your cooking, they'd be fighting to steal you away. This is restaurant-level. No, better. You'd put them all out of business."
Anna let out a low, genuine laugh—the kind that crinkled the corners of her eyes and made the room feel brighter, warmer. "A restaurant?
With what? Our two bowls and one pot?" She shook her head, amusement dancing in her gaze.
"And who'd hunt while I cooked? You'd scare off the customers swinging that spear around like you own the place."
David grinned, leaning forward slightly, spoon gesturing as he spoke. "I'd be the guard.
Bring in beasts twice the size of this rhino. You'd cook masterpieces, I'd keep the peace. We'd be rich before the year ends. No more scraping for coins, no more dangerous hunts."
"Rich?" She arched a brow, voice teasing but soft. "You'd probably spend it all on some fancy blade before the first month passed."
They fell into easy banter then, words flowing back and forth like they had so many times before—light, playful, full of the quiet joy that came from knowing the other person completely.
Anna spoke of small memories: the time they had cooked a similar stew after her first big hunt, how he had eaten three bowls and fallen asleep with a full belly for the first time in weeks. David countered with stories of stalls he had seen in the market districts, exaggerating their prices and flavors to make her laugh again.
For those moments, the weight of William's threat, the uncertainty of the coming journey, the harshness of their world—it all faded into the background.
It was just them, mother and son, sharing a meal, laughter echoing softly in the small space that was theirs alone.
When the bowls were scraped clean and the fire burned low, Anna stood to clear them away, her movements relaxed, the tension from days past eased by the simple happiness of the evening.
"Early start tomorrow," she said, voice gentle as she banked the lamp. "Get some rest. We'll need it."
David nodded, settling onto his mat as the room grew dark and quiet. Anna lay down nearby, her breathing evening out soon after, deep and steady.
But sleep did not come easily for David.
His mind turned inward, to the inheritance that had changed everything.
The second ability—Void Travel. The name felt too grand, too distant, like something belonging to ancient legends rather than him. It was more personal than that—a flicker through nothingness, a single step that crossed distances in the blink of an eye.
Void Step, he decided silently, testing the name in his thoughts. Shorter. Cleaner. Like stepping through a shadow only I can see.
He pondered its uses, possibilities unfolding in his mind like dark petals. Short bursts to dodge strikes? Crossing gaps in battle instantly? Escaping traps or ambushing prey?
The potential excited him, power humming just beneath his skin, waiting to be shaped.
But the day's emotions, the warmth of the meal, the sound of Anna's quiet breathing nearby—it all pulled at him, heavy and comforting.
His thoughts drifted, Void Step fading into the background as exhaustion finally claimed him.
Sleep came sudden and deep.
Morning light crept in slowly, gray and cool, painting the room in soft shadows.
David stirred, reaching out instinctively for the familiar presence beside him.
Empty.
The mat was cool.
He sat up quickly, heart skipping a familiar beat.
"Mom?"
No answer.
Then the air trembled—a low, rhythmic vibration rolling through the walls, growing stronger with each pulse.
He knew that sound.
Iron Spine Strike.
David rose swiftly, tunic pulled on as he moved toward the door with silent urgency. The vibrations grew stronger with every step, a cadence that made the air feel thick, charged.
He stepped outside into the chill of pre-dawn, the sky still clinging to deep indigo, stars fading reluctantly.
There she was.
Anna stood alone in the narrow alley behind their home, spear gripped in both hands like an extension of her soul. Her body flowed through the forms with a grace that bordered on violence—feet planted wide for balance, spine straightening like forged iron, hips coiling with explosive tension before unleashing the strike.
The spear thrust forward in devastating bursts, the tip blurring into streaks of silver death, each impact tearing the air with sharp cracks that echoed off the walls.
Shockwaves rippled outward visibly, kicking up small clouds of dust at her feet, making nearby hanging laundry flutter as if caught in a sudden gust.
Iron Spine Strike—high mortal grade.
In the unforgiving hierarchy of this world, martial techniques were divided into four great realms: Common, Mortal, Spirit, and Earth.
Each realm was further split into low, mid, and high sub-grades, creating a ladder that most cultivators spent lifetimes climbing.
Common techniques were the scraps fed to the masses—basic, functional, easily learned but limited in power. Mortal grade marked those who had begun to truly walk the path, techniques earned through blood, study, or ruthless opportunism.
High mortal? That was the domain of predators, the kind of power that made others step aside.
Anna's had come stained in blood.
David remembered the fragments she had shared over the years—quiet words on darker nights, when memories weighed too heavy to keep buried.
Deep in the wilds, far beyond the safety of the base walls, she had encountered a lone cultivator. Arrogant. Well-equipped. Carrying himself with the confidence of someone from the second level, a jade slip tucked in his storage pouch like a trophy. He had seen a solitary woman hunter and assumed weakness.
He had paid for that assumption with his life.
When the dust settled and the silence returned, the jade slip was hers. Iron Spine Strike—vastly superior to the mid-mortal technique she had relied on before.
She never lingered on the details—the desperation of that fight, the moment the spear found its mark—but David saw the shadow of it in her eyes sometimes, a quiet weight she carried alone.
Now, watching her move through the forms, he understood why the technique fit her like it had been forged for her alone.
Every motion originated from her spine—unyielding, unbreakable, a pillar of defiance against a world that had tried to crush her spirit countless times.
The spear became an extension of that iron will, air splitting with each thrust, the ground quivering faintly beneath her bare feet as if acknowledging her dominance.
Sweat poured down her skin in steady rivulets, darkening her simple tunic until it clung like a second layer, strands of dark hair plastered to her neck and forehead.
She was utterly drenched, breathing deep and controlled, completely lost in the relentless pursuit of perfection, each repetition sharpening her edge for the dangers ahead.
Yet there was something else—a faint, erratic crackle dancing around the spear tip with certain thrusts, like static gathering before a storm. Lightning intent. She had comprehended its seed years ago, born from a near-death clash with a Thunderhorn Beast whose horns channeled the fury of heavens.
The insight had saved her that day, a spark of destructive purity awakening within her soul. But without a proper technique to channel it, the intent remained wild—flaring
unpredictably, slipping through her grasp like smoke, frustrating potential that sparked and faded without purpose.
She drove through the final form, body twisting in perfect coil before unleashing a thrust that tore the air with a sharp, resounding crack—the shockwave kicking up a small whirlwind of dust around her.
Only then did she straighten, spear planted firmly into the ground, chest rising and falling in measured rhythm.
Her eyes found him standing in the doorway.
For a heartbeat, the hunter's mask slipped—sweat-streaked, hair wild, utterly human in her exhaustion and quiet satisfaction.
Then composure returned, though a small, proud curve touched her lips.
"Morning," she said, voice slightly rough from exertion, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Couldn't sleep much.
Figured I'd burn off the restlessness."
David stepped closer, the complicated warmth rising in his chest as he took in the sight of her—fierce, drenched, radiant in the growing light.
"Injuries all gone?" she asked, eyes scanning him with that familiar mix of relief and lingering worry, confirming what her senses already told her.
He nodded. "Feels brand new."
"Good." She leaned the spear against the wall, rolling her shoulders to ease the lingering tension, sweat still glistening on her skin.
A faint, unconscious spark of lightning danced across her fingertips before vanishing. "Ready the gears and traps. I'll take a short bath to wash this off."
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