Chapter nine: Will

She stood in silence for a few long minutes, sweat beading down her face. Her sky-blue eyes faintly glowed as her concentration reached its peak.

Then—movement. Pairs of glowing eyes flickered from within the bushes. The distant sound of the sea drifted in on the wind, but all else around her was still and dead quiet.

She remembered seeing a scene like this once, in a documentary from her childhood.

"Apex predator."

One by one, wolves stepped into the clearing. They were smaller than the boar she'd fought before, but their numbers—twelve in all—made her uneasy. One stood apart from the rest, larger, its eyes sharper. A leader. It stayed back while the others crept forward.

With her back against the boulder, Gilly stepped away carefully, keeping her focus sharp.

"The more intention you put into your strike, the more precise it becomes," she reminded herself.

Drawing her sword slowly, she locked her gaze on the circling wolves. Every muscle in her body waited to spring.

Suddenly, three wolves lunged at her from different sides. Her mind snapped into focus—only one thought:

A strike that flows—one that can kill three in a single motion.

Her blade flashed in a rising vertical arc.

Blood sprayed as the first wolf collapsed, its belly split open. The second fell, throat cut clean. But the third made it through, claws tearing into her thigh.

Pain exploded in her nerves as she gritted her teeth, stabbing at the wolf until it let go, but there was no time to breathe—two more wolves leapt toward her, jaws wide.

She swung wildly, pouring every ounce of focus into the strike. Her sword gleamed faintly, matching the glow in her eyes. The blade swept wide and clean. The wolves hit the dirt in pieces.

Then—one last vertical slash to finish the one still latched to her leg.

She staggered, bleeding heavily, heart pounding—and grinned.

She wasn't afraid. She was excited.

Limping forward, sword raised again, the rest of the lesser wolves charged all at once. Teeth sank into her side, arms, legs. She fought on, slashing desperately, feeling their bodies drop—but her own body weakened. Breath heavy, wounds deep and many, she finally collapsed to one knee.

The remaining wolves fled. All that remained now was her... and the alpha.

The large wolf moved fast—blindingly fast. It rushed her in a flash. She barely dodged, rolling aside, but something warm trickled down her face. Touching it, she felt the deep twin lines slashed across her scalp—and worse.

Her ear was gone.

A chill spread in her chest.

"I'm going to die…" she whispered.

But the fear didn't come. Instead, a crooked smile pulled at her lips. Her wide eyes locked onto the wolf as time itself seemed to slow.

She rose—slowly, shakily—her senses sharper than ever in the face of death.

The beast rushed her again. This time, her blade moved with purpose. She deflected, but the force hurled her backward. Still—her mind was clear.

She understood now.

Intent was not enough. Precision mattered. Thought mattered. Strike with will—but strike right. Like her practice on the boulder, it wasn't just strength or instinct—it was calculation. Position. Timing.

Her mistakes clicked into place like puzzle pieces. She had swung without reason before. But no longer.

Like a student who stops guessing and finally reads the question.

She stretched her arm toward the boulder, closed her eyes. The wolf tensed, ready to pounce—aiming for her throat.

Gilly smiled, breathing slow and deep.

With everything she had left, she poured herself into a final vertical strike—her will, her focus, her intent, her aim.

The blade flashed down.

And darkness claimed her as she collapsed.Zin stood silently at the edge of the forest. Beside him, Ephini arrived with Valmor, their expressions grave. Pom lounged under the training shed nearby, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the shadowy treeline.

They all watched and waited.

It had been a full day since Gilly disappeared into the forest—and she had yet to return.

Zin's eyes narrowed, as if sensing something far off. Then, almost suddenly, a faint smile curled on his lips. He turned, moving to sit beside Pom without a word.

That small smile was all they needed.

The tension in their shoulders eased. If Zin, despite his oddities and instincts, smiled, it meant she was alive. Safe.

Zin was always unusual—bound by strange limitations. He had been forbidden to use his full power. Unlike his sister, he couldn't touch mana even if he tried. Sealed by the will of both his master and his grandmother, his strength lay dormant, restrained.

With a quiet sigh, Zin leaned back and closed his eyes, drifting into sleep as if Gilly's peril no longer concerned him. Now, there was nothing more they could do but wait.

---

Gilly opened her eyes to the pale glow of the moon hanging overhead. Her body throbbed, sore and heavy as lead. She tried to rise—but a sharp, searing pain forced her back down.

And yet... there was something strange.

Her wounds—gone. The stinging slashes, the torn flesh, the missing ear—restored as if nothing had ever happened. Whole again.

Slowly, she turned her head. The alpha wolf that had nearly killed her lay nearby, its skull split clean in half. Beyond it stood the massive boulder—scarred deeply with a groove that hadn't been there before. Fragments of the ancient stone were scattered across the dirt.

A soft smile crept onto her lips.

She had done it. Somehow, in that moment between life and death, she had broken past herself. She didn't yet fully grasp Pom's lesson... but she had taken the first real step.

Gilly crawled toward the boulder, fingers brushing over the scattered fragments. She plucked a few pieces, clutching them tight, and glanced back up at the moon before sleep pulled her under once again.

When she woke, her strength had returned. The ache dulled, her energy steadied. Carefully, she stood.

Her eyes fell on the fallen alpha wolf.

"A souvenir for Zin," she muttered, her voice hoarse but brightened by quiet pride.

With one clean strike, she severed its head and hoisted the gruesome prize. When she was sure everything she needed was gathered, she turned, jogging her way back toward the village—limping, but alive.

She had no idea how long it had been, but by her rough guess... nearly a full day. Twenty-five hours, maybe more.

As she neared the training grounds, the air buzzed with commotion. Dozens of armored figures milled about in clustered formations, muttering, sharpening blades, preparing for something urgent.

"Gilly... is that you?" Ephini's voice rang out across the yard.

Gilly raised her hand in a small, tired wave but said nothing.

Under the silver light of three full moons, her battered form became clear to the gathering crowd. Torn clothes. Streaks of dried blood. And in her grasp—the severed head of a Nightshade Wolf.

Gasps and murmurs spread like wildfire.

Pom stirred, snapping awake. Zin opened one eye, then slowly stood. Valmor was out, he'd been about to call for more search parties. But here she was.

Unharmed. Changed.

Zin stepped forward, gently resting a hand on her head.

"Good job," he said simply.

Her stomach growled loudly, making her duck her head in embarrassment.

Laughter broke from the crowd, lightening the heavy mood.

Pom watched her quietly. Something was different. Something deep. But he said nothing—she was exhausted, worn thin.

"Did you get it?" Zin asked softly.

Gilly opened her palm, revealing four rough chunks of the ancient boulder.

Ephini's eyes darkened, her brows drawing together.

"Is that... from that boulder?"

At once, a fresh ripple of whispers ran through the onlookers. Curious, nervous. That stone was no ordinary rock—and they knew it.

The crowd thickened.

Pom sighed, staying behind to gently disperse the onlookers, while Ephini waved Gilly and Zin forward.

"Come. To my office," Ephini said firmly. "In the library. Now."

And with that, they slipped away from the murmuring crowd into the quiet hall of secrets.