The boar was massive.
It stood nearly as tall as Aether's waist, its dark fur matted and caked with mud. Its tusks were yellowed, scarred from countless fights. When it breathed, hot steam came from its nostrils.
Aether stood about thirty feet away, a makeshift spear in his hands. The tip was a piece of sharp metal he'd found buried in the forest months ago, lashed to a wooden shaft with plant fiber.
The boar charged.
There was no hesitation. No buildup. One second it was standing still, and the next it was moving at him full speed, its tusks lowered, ready to gore.
Aether sidestepped. It was pure instinct—his body moving before his mind could catch up. The boar's tusks whistled past his ear, missing by inches. Its body was so massive that it brought the smell of earth and blood with it as it rushed past.
He planted his feet and turned, bringing the spear up just as the boar skidded to a stop and wheeled around for another charge.
This time, Aether was ready.
As the boar came at him, he thrust the spear forward. The tip caught the beast's shoulder, drawing blood. The boar squealed—a high, furious sound—and twisted its body, trying to shake the spear free.
Aether held on, but the boar's strength was immense. It dragged him forward, his feet scraping in the dirt. He could feel the raw power in the animal, the desperate need to survive.
Just like him.
He pulled the spear back and thrust again, this time aiming for the creature's ribs. The boar squealed again, louder, angrier. Blood ran down its side now, mixing with the mud and dirt.
The creature was panicking. Its charges became more erratic. It was bleeding heavily now, weaker with each movement.
Aether watched it carefully. He wasn't being cruel. This was survival. The boar was food. Food meant he lived another few days. And living meant he could figure out what was happening to him, what he was becoming.
The boar made one final charge—slower than before, less coordinated. Aether sidestepped and drove the spear deep into its side. This time, the tip found something vital.
The boar collapsed.
It lay on the ground, breathing heavily, its eyes wide and confused. It didn't understand why its body wouldn't move. Why the pain was so intense.
Aether stood over it, breathing hard. He looked away as he made the final strike. It was quick. Merciful.
After it was done, he sat down beside the massive corpse and allowed himself to shake.
He wiped the spear clean on the boar's hide, watching the blood absorb into the dark fur. Then he began the long drag back through the forest. Two months had passed since that facility. Two months of learning to live with what he'd become.
Two months of being alone.
The Cave
Aether dragged the boar back to his cave as the sun began to set.
It was slow going. The boar was heavy—maybe as heavy as he was. He had to stop several times to rest, wrapping the rope around his waist and pulling with everything he had.
The cave was exactly as he'd left it. Dark. Cold. Smelling of smoke from his fires and the coppery scent of old blood from previous hunts.
He used his knife—a real one, not makeshift like the spear—to butcher the boar. It took hours. By the time he was done, his hands were bloody and raw. But he had meat that would last him days. Maybe a week, if he was careful.
He built a fire and cooked some of the meat over the flames. It was tough and stringy, but it was food. It was life.
As he ate, he thought about what he'd learned in the past two months.
His lightning was easier to control now. In the beginning, just touching the metal pipe to start a fire had nearly killed him. The power had exploded out of him, wild and uncontrolled. But he'd practiced. Every day, sometimes for hours, he'd worked on channeling the lightning through his body in smaller amounts.
Now, he could call small sparks to his fingers without much effort. He could hold them there, controlled, for as long as he wanted. Bigger lightning still took a toll—his body would ache for hours afterward—but he was improving.
He was also stronger. Faster. His muscles had developed in ways that shouldn't have been possible in just two months. When he'd first arrived at the cave, he'd barely been able to lift a heavy stone. Now, he could throw rocks that would crack trees.
And his body felt different. Lighter. Like gravity didn't pull on him quite as hard as it did on other people.
He'd tried to understand it. Tried to remember what those research papers had said about the Overlaw. But the details were fuzzy. All he knew was that he was changing. Becoming something other than human.
Something dangerous.
The thought didn't scare him anymore. It used to, back in those first weeks when he'd first arrived at the cave and realized what he could do. He'd been terrified of what he was becoming. Terrified of losing himself.
But terror faded eventually. Loneliness replaced it.
The memories of his parents haunted him less these days. Not because he'd forgotten them. Because he'd learned to push them aside. To focus on surviving instead of feeling.
Sometimes, late at night when he couldn't sleep, he'd remember his mother's last words. "I'm sorry." His father's scream as the light consumed him.
Those memories would wake him up, sweating and shaking. But by morning, he'd buried them deep again. Survival first. Grief later.
If there was a later.
Aether finished his meal and lay down on the pile of leaves and branches he'd arranged as a bed. The cave was cold. It was always cold. But he'd gotten used to it. His body ran warmer now anyway. The lightning inside him burned, even when he wasn't using it.
Sleep came quickly.
The Visitors
The next day, Aether was carrying a haunch of boar meat back to the cave when he saw them.
Shadows. Moving between the trees.
His first instinct was to run. But something made him hesitate. These weren't random travelers. The way they moved was too organized. Too purposeful.
He crouched behind a thick tree trunk and watched.
There were three of them. All dressed in dark clothing. All carrying weapons. Swords, mostly. And something else—devices strapped to their wrists that glowed faintly with magical symbols.
Nexus Corp.
Aether's heart started pounding. Had they found Me? How? I Have been so careful. I Have stayed away from the city. covered my tracks. I have made sure no one knew where I was.
The three figures moved through the forest, scanning the trees, the ground, looking for signs.
Looking for him.
"Any tracks?" one of them called out.
"Nothing recent," another replied. "But we know he's in this area. The captain wouldn't send us here if there wasn't evidence."
"Two months is a long time. He could be dead. Exposure, starvation, an animal attack—"
"The captain doesn't think he's dead. And we follow the captain's orders."
They walked past his hiding spot, close enough that he could have touched them. Aether held his breath, not moving, barely daring to think.
They passed him.
For a moment, he thought they might actually miss him. Might walk right past and give up the search.
But then one of them stopped.
"Wait," the figure said. "Do you smell that?"
The other two stopped as well.
"Blood," the second figure said. "Fresh blood. And smoke. There's a cave nearby. He's close."
Aether's fingers twitched. Lightning crackled silently beneath his skin, waiting to be released.
The three figures turned, moving toward the cave. Toward his home. Toward his supplies.
Aether made a decision.
He stepped out from behind the tree.
"I'm here," he called out.
The three figures spun around, their hands immediately going to their weapons.
The one in front—older, with scars across his face—smiled coldly.
"Well, well. Look who's decided to make an appearance." He drew his sword. The blade was long, sharp, clearly enchanted with some kind of magic. It glowed faintly blue.
"You've been hard to find, kid," the second figure said. He was younger, broader, with the build of a born warrior. "The captain said you might give us trouble. But he also said you were just some useless kid who didn't know anything about magic."
The third one said nothing. He just watched Aether with cold, calculated eyes.
Aether's hands trembled. Not from fear. From rage.
"Why are you here?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"We know you're the vessel," the scarred one said. "The ritual worked. You survived. The captain wants you back. He wants to try the possession again. The Overlaw is very interested in you."
Aether felt something break inside his chest.
"My parents are dead," he said quietly. "Because of your ritual. Because of Nexus Corp."
The scarred one shrugged. "They were fuel. Nothing more. Now, come quietly, and we won't have to hurt you."
Lightning erupted from Aether's hands before he even realized he was calling it.
It wasn't the small, controlled sparks he'd been practicing with. It was raw power, uncontrolled, born from two months of rage and isolation and grief.
The lightning streaked toward the closest figure—the younger warrior—splitting into jagged tendrils that danced across the air.
The man barely had time to raise his sword before the bolt hit him. The impact threw him backward, his body smoking, his scream cutting through the forest.
He didn't get back up.
"You son of a bitch!" the scarred one shouted, charging forward with his sword raised.
Aether stepped to the side, but he misjudged. The sword caught him across the chest, tearing through his shirt and leaving a burning line of pain.
So they had enchanted blades. That meant regular lightning might not be enough.
Aether hissed and backed away, calling lightning again. This time, he tried something different. The bolt arced between the trees, wrapping around the wooden trunks before slamming toward the scarred man from an unexpected angle.
The scarred one was ready. He moved faster than a human should be able to move—reinforced by magic, enhanced somehow. He dodged the lightning bolt and came at Aether again, his sword flashing.
They fought in the forest clearing, moving between trees and rocks and scattered pieces of Aether's butchered boar. The scarred man was skilled. Professional. He'd probably trained his entire life to fight.
But Aether had two months of desperation on his side.
Every time the man got close, Aether released lightning. But the scarred one kept moving, kept dodging, kept pressing forward with his blade.
The third figure—the silent one—made a move to flank Aether. Aether felt him coming. Felt the shift in the air.
The silent one raised his wrist device. A thin chain of blue light materialized, snaking toward Aether's ankle with purpose.
Aether spun and sent a lightning bolt downward. The chain of light dispersed, scattering into harmless sparks. But the distraction cost him—the scarred man's sword came inches from his throat.
Aether dodged left, and lightning scorched a path across the earth between them, blackening the grass and leaving the smell of burned earth in the air.
Blood sprayed. The scarred man snarled and lunged again, his blade aimed at Aether's ribs.
Aether twisted away, feeling the bite of enchanted steel graze his shoulder. The wound burned with a strange fire—the blade wasn't just cutting flesh, it was interfering with something deeper.
The silent one attacked again. This time, he threw something—a small object that blazed with purple light. It arced toward Aether's face.
Aether threw his hand up, and lightning intercepted the projectile mid-flight. It exploded in a shower of sparks.
But the scarred man didn't wait. He pressed the advantage, driving Aether backward toward the cave entrance. Toward his supplies. Toward his last refuge.
They were trained. They were experienced. But they weren't prepared for someone who had nothing left to lose.
Aether was bleeding from multiple wounds now. His chest was on fire. His arms were shaking from the effort of channeling lightning while also dodging an enchanted blade and magical attacks from a third opponent.
He was losing.