Unseen

Zephyr pushed through the underbrush, branches clawing at his skin, his breath shallow and quick. The scent of blood still lingered in his nostrils—Yan's blood. His hands, wrapped in torn cloth to stem the bleeding, twitched as he remembered the knife slicing across the boy's throat, the way life drained from his eyes.

That helpless gurgling. The twitching.

He shook his head violently. Focus.

The forest was dense, ancient trees standing like silent sentinels, their canopies blotting out the sky. The faint glow of moonlight filtered through gaps in the foliage, casting patches of silver on the forest floor. Every rustle of leaves felt like a predator stalking him. The occasional cry of an unseen beast in the distance made his heart leap.

He knew the road leading to the next city—Hoshin Bay—was somewhere to his right, but he dared not travel openly along it. If someone was after him—and he knew they were—it would be the first place they looked. He had to stay hidden, but he also couldn't afford to lose his way. The journey could take several days, and he had neither food nor a clear plan. Survival was his immediate goal, but his mind wandered toward the future.

Magic. Mana.

He heard about mages before, their control over the elements was like bending the world to their will. Scarface had once spoken in hushed tones about a scene he had seen in his younger years of a Tier 3 fire mage who had reduced an entire gang to smoldering ash alone. Power like that… it was the only way to survive in this world. And Zephyr was nothing without power.

But how did one start? Was it truly something only nobles could wield? He had heard whispers that noble houses guarded their magical pathways like treasures. Did commoners like him even have a chance? Could someone like him grasp it?

Or would he be crushed before he ever had the chance to try?

Zephyr stopped. His muscles tensed. There it was—distant but distinct—the call of some forest beast. Not the mundane sounds of birds or small animals. This was deeper, guttural, a creature not meant to be trifled with. He held his breath, ears straining.

The sound receded. Still, he waited, heart thudding.

Eventually, he crept forward, quieter than before. The danger was everywhere—in the forest, in the city, within himself. But his resolve hardened with every step. He needed power.

Magic would be his first goal. He would find a way.

But first, he needed to survive.

Further back along Zephyr's trail, a figure crouched low, fingers brushing the earth. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. A scent—faint but clear—clung to the leaves and soil.

Black Mask grinned beneath his mask.

Got you.

He moved like a predator, weaving through the foliage with inhuman grace. His boots barely disturbed the forest floor. His dark garb blended seamlessly with the shadows. His pathway—Verdant Stalker—was an extension of his very being. Nature magic bent to his instincts, heightening his senses and allowing him to meld with his surroundings.

He had always been different within the Sho clan. While others had the affinity for frost magic, he was tested to have an affinity for nature magic. Rare. Very rare. But without a pathway, in the backwater of Taisora, he could only forge one himself.

A pathfinder. Just like his ancestor. Flailing about in the dark trying to find his own truth. And he did.

At least he found his own path to Tier 1. The path of the Verdant Stalker.

His combat ability was subpar—he was the first to admit it. A Tier 1 Verdant Stalker would struggle against most Tier 1's from other paths. But tracking? Reconnaissance? No one matched him. Especially in a forest. He took pride in this.

Za'an Sho had trusted him with the clan's secrets, relying on his eyes and ears. That trust had elevated him above his meager tier. But now, Za'an was dead—Black Mask did not know that yet. His mission was still simple: retrieve the revived body.

The boy's trail was fresh, but something made him pause. A second scent—faintly interwoven with Zephyr's—smoke, metal, blood. A caravan. And further beyond… men. Bandits. Knights.

He clicked his tongue quietly. Complications.

Behind him, crashing sounds echoed through the forest. He sighed without turning.

The Tier 2 Malefic Frost apprentice stumbled into view, his breath labored, irritation plain on his face.

"Damn you, Black Mask," the apprentice muttered. "You leave me in the dust every time."

Black Mask didn't respond immediately. He examined the tracks before him.

"He veered toward a caravan ambush," he finally said.

The apprentice's eyes narrowed. "So? We move in. I'll handle any resistance."

Black Mask glanced at him—evaluating. This one was strong, yes. Tier 2 in the family's Frost Daemon pathway. He had some talent in the frost path. But his arrogance was a weakness. He viewed himself above anyone else.

"You're not here to cause a scene," Black Mask said softly. "We retrieve the boy. Quietly."

The apprentice sneered. "You rely too much on crawling around like an insect. Power solves everything."

Black Mask's eyes flashed with a glint, but he kept his composure. "Power without wisdom leads to death."

The apprentice scoffed but said no more.

Together, they moving forward, Black Mask's senses stretching to the limit.

Zephyr didn't know how far he had gone. Only that he had been on the move all night. Hungry. Tired. The planet's twin suns were starting to peek over the horizon, mezmerizing him, when he heard sounds of fighting.

Crouched in the bushes, his eyes locked on the scene before him. A merchant caravan had been set upon by a band of brigands. The clash was brutal—steel against steel, cries of pain cutting through the forest air. They must have been getting ready to disband camp and set off for the day when they were suddenly set upon.

The guards held their ground, their leader—a grizzled knight—matched the strength of the bandit chief, their blades ringing out in rapid succession.

Zephyr watched, heart pounding. He had heard tales of Knights—people who followed a different path. The one of body enhancement. Having the strength of multiple adult men. But seeing it in person was another matter entirely. Their movements blurred with speed, their strikes cracked like thunder. The sheer force was terrifying. Especially the guard. He moved like a mad bull.

The bandits faltered—their morale gone—as the knight's sword cleaved through their ranks with precision. They had no choice but to scatter. The survivors fled into the forest, leaving behind the bodies of their dead. The caravan guards tended to their wounded, their relief evident.

Zephyr's mind raced.

This is my chance.

Better to travel with a group. And I can cover more ground by moving with people who travel these roads frequently.

He waited in the undergrowth, ears straining for any sign that the bandits might double back. But it was over. Their ragged cries faded into the distance, swallowed by the forest. The clamor of battle had given way to the hushed murmurs of the caravan guards tending to the wounded.

He rose slowly from his hiding place, palms open and raised above his head. His steps were measured, cautious.

The guards spotted him instantly.

A spear was leveled at his chest as he stepped closer. The tip gleamed, crusted with fresh blood. The grizzled knight who had led the defense stepped forward. His armor bore the marks of the recent skirmish—scratches, dents, and splashes of red. His face was hard, weathered by experience.

Zephyr froze. The weight of the knight's gaze pressed down on him like a physical force.

"Who are you?" The knight's voice was gravelly, rough with command. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword—ready.

Zephyr met his eyes, forcing his voice to remain steady. "A traveler… robbed on the road. I was making for Hoshin Bay. I hid when I heard the fighting." He lied smoothly.

The knight said nothing, but his eyes flickered with suspicion. He took in Zephyr's appearance—a young boy, clothes dirtied, torn from the forest. Fresh cuts on his hands. Blood crusted on his palm. A faint foul smell drifting from him.

"You're alone?" the knight pressed.

Zephyr nodded. "My companions… They're dead."

It was close enough to the truth.

The knight's gaze lingered on him for a long moment, measuring. Calculating. Zephyr's chest tightened, but he held his ground. He knew what the man was thinking. A lone traveler emerging from the forest after an ambush? It reeked of deceit.

"I can pay," Zephyr added, his voice low but firm. "Double the usual fare."

The knight's eyes narrowed. He didn't speak, but the tension in his shoulders lessened slightly. Money. It could silence doubts. Men like this bled for it.

"Show me," the knight said.

Zephyr carefully reached into his pouch, pulling out the silver coins he had swiped before his flight. More than enough. The knight's eyes flicked to the money, then back to Zephyr.

"Fine." He lowered his hand from his sword. The guards relaxed—though not completely.

Grabbing a handful from Zephyr, he said, "You ride in the rear. Keep your head down. If you bring trouble, I'll cut you down myself."

Zephyr dipped his head in gratitude, though his heart was still racing. He had passed the first test, but he knew he was not in the clear.

The caravan was already preparing to move. Bodies of the dead had been stripped of valuables and dragged off the road, left for the scavengers. The wounded were bandaged hastily, and the horses, though spooked, were urged forward. There was no time for mourning. Survival came first.

Zephyr was given a place beside a young guard—probably around his age, or slightly older. The young man glanced at him once, but said nothing. The caravan began its slow march forward, wheels creaking over uneven ground.

Zephyr exhaled slowly, his muscles loosening for the first time since he fled Taisora. He was safer—for now.

But as he glanced back at the treeline, an uneasy sensation settled over him. He felt a gaze on him for the briefest of moments.

Someone was watching me!