The Mist-Woods lived up to their name. A heavy, silver-grey vapor clung to the twisted roots of the Iron-Oaks, muffling the sound of footsteps and making the forest feel like a cathedral of ghosts.
"Stay within the perimeter!" Instructor Grog shouted, his voice echoing unnaturally. "The ward-stones keep the High-Tier beasts out. Your task is simple: bring back the core of a Gloom-Rat or a Thorn-Hog. Anything higher, and you run. Do you hear me? You run."
The students moved in pairs, clutching their spirit beasts. Julian, whose face was still bruised from the Cinder-Pit, stayed close to the instructors, his Flare-Hawk nervously twitching its wings.
Kael walked alone. Varg was no longer a blob; it had thinned itself out, wrapping around Kael's forearms like living, grey gauntlets. It hummed against his skin, vibrating every time a creature moved in the undergrowth.
Low-level trash, the Viking soul grumbled. Rats and hogs are for kitchen maids.
Kael didn't want a core from a rat. He wanted to test the "Templates" from his dream. He wanted to see if Varg could handle the weight of a true kill.
He slipped away from the main group, moving with the silent, toe-to-heel stride of a raider. He crossed the line of glowing ward-stones without a second thought. The air grew colder. The mana in the air felt thicker, tasting of pine resin and old rot.
Crunch.
Kael froze. Thirty yards ahead, standing over the carcass of a deer, was a Shadow-Stalker. It looked like a panther made of smoke, six feet long, with bone-white quills running down its spine. A Mid-Tier predator.
Varg rippled violently on Kael's arms.
Fear? Kael wondered. No. Hunger.
The Stalker turned. Its eyes were pits of burning violet light. It didn't growl; it hissed, a sound like steam escaping a pipe. It sensed a child. An easy meal.
"Varg," Kael whispered. "Remember the Ice-Bear of Jotunheim. The one that took my eye in the winter of the Great Frost. Its claws didn't just cut; they crushed."
The grey matter on his arms began to boil. It expanded, growing thick and heavy. Instead of a blade, Varg formed into a massive, three-clawed gauntlet over Kael's right hand. The claws weren't sharp—they were jagged, hooked, and looked like they were made of frozen iron.
The Shadow-Stalker leaped. It was a blur of darkness.
Kael didn't dodge. He pivoted, throwing his weight into a low shoulder-check. The Stalker slammed into him, but Kael was a rock. As the beast slid past, Kael swung the Varg-claw.
The hook caught the Stalker's flank.
Rip.
The beast let out a high-pitched shriek as the "Iron-Bear" claw tore through its smoky hide, pulling physical essence out of its shifting form. The Stalker tried to vanish into the shadows, but Varg wouldn't let go. The Shifter began to pulse, literally drinking the violet mana from the wound.
"My turn," Kael said.
He lunged forward, grabbing the Stalker by its throat with his bare hand. The beast's quills stabbed into his arm, drawing blood, but Kael didn't even blink. He slammed the creature into a tree trunk, the impact cracking the wood.
The Stalker's eyes widened. It saw something behind the boy's face—a towering ghost with a braided mohawk and an axe that could split the world.
Kael raised the Varg-claw and brought it down with the force of a falling mountain.
Ten minutes later, Kael walked back across the ward-stone line. His tunic was torn, and blood dripped from his fingertips.
He bumped into Julian and his group, who were proudly holding a small, limp Gloom-Rat.
"Look at him!" Julian mocked, though he stayed five feet away. "The 'Wolf' went into the bushes and got mauled by a briar patch! Where's your core, peasant? Did your puddle get scared of a squirrel?"
Kael didn't say a word. He reached into his pocket and tossed something onto the dirt at Julian's feet.
It was a fist-sized, violet crystal, pulsing with dark energy. A Mid-Tier Stalker Core.
The laughter died instantly. Julian's Flare-Hawk let out a terrified whimper and hid its head under its wing. Even Instructor Grog, who had been watching from a distance, dropped his flask of ale.
"That... that's a Stalker core," Grog stammered, rushing over. "Kael, how? Those things hunt in the Deep-Woods. They kill Silver-Rank adventurers!"
Kael wiped the blood from his brow. Varg flowed back into a simple, quiet blob on his shoulder, looking perfectly innocent.
"It was in my way," Kael said simply.
He walked past the stunned crowd, heading toward the wagons. He didn't care about the core or the fame. He cared about the fact that for a split second, when the Stalker died, he had felt a spark of his old strength return.
But there was something else. Inside the violet core, he had seen a symbol. A crown with three points. Harald's crest.
This world wasn't just a place of magic. It was a graveyard for the things Skane had lost. And he was going to dig them all up.