Joys of Adventuring

The morning sun broke through the dense canopy, casting shifting beams of light over the forest floor. Elliot and Dean moved in silence, the rustling leaves and distant calls of unseen creatures filling the air. Their journey toward Rosario had been far from dull; each step through the wilderness unveiled remnants of an age long past.

"Look at that," Elliot murmured, pointing toward a massive stone structure, half-buried beneath vines and roots. It was an archway, cracked but still standing, its carvings worn by time.

"Another ruin. We've been seeing a lot of these lately," Dean said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Makes you wonder who built them... and what really happened to them."

Elliot ran his fingers along the moss-covered stone. Faint, almost eroded symbols lined the surface. He traced one absentmindedly before scribbling notes into his book. 

As they walked, the remnants of another ruin emerged through the thick foliage, a crumbling stone pillar half-swallowed by the roots of an ancient tree.

"They were probably Veilbound and hunted down," Dean remarked casually, eyeing the weathered carvings.

Elliot frowned. "Veilbound?"

Dean hesitated for a fraction of a second before scratching the back of his head. "Oh. You probably don't know about them," he said, realizing he had let something slip.

Elliot's eyes lit up with curiosity. "No, I don't. But I do now." His steps quickened as he pressed forward. "So? Who were they? Hunted down by who?"

Dean exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a small smirk. "You really don't let things go, do you?"

Elliot grinned. "Not when someone dangles a mystery right in front of me."

Dean chuckled, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression before he turned his gaze back to the ruins. "Let's just say… people fear what they don't understand. And history doesn't always tell the whole truth."

As they walked, Dean explained, "To put it simply, When someone develops a unique ability, they're called Veilbound."

Elliot's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Are you one too?"

Dean hesitated for a fraction of a second before scoffing. "Of course not! You think Veilbound people are everywhere?"

The way he said it made Elliot narrow his eyes. It was too quick, too dismissive.

Veilbound were rare, so rare that most people only knew them through rumors and half-truths. The knowledge surrounding them was shrouded in mystery, distorted over generations. And yet, Dean spoke as if he knew more than he was letting on.

Elliot decided not to push, at least not yet. But he was definitely going to keep an eye on Dean.

As they walked, Dean broke the silence with an unexpected warning. "Listen, kid," he said, voice low but firm. "If you ever run into a Veilbound, do yourself a favor, stay out of their business. Doesn't concern you."

Elliot frowned. "Why? If they're just people with abilities—"

"They're not just people," Dean interrupted. His usual smirk was gone, replaced with something unreadable. "Some of them are dangerous. Some of them don't even think like normal people anymore. And the worst ones? They don't follow rules. Trust me, getting involved with them isn't worth it."

Elliot could tell there was more to it, but Dean had already picked up the pace, signaling the conversation was over. The message was clear: don't dig too deep.

Their journey continued, and with each passing mile, Dean drilled Elliot harder. The lessons grew more advanced, his strikes sharper, his movements more refined.

"Your grip is still too tight," Dean noted during one of their sparring sessions. He tapped Elliot's wrist with the blunt side of his dagger. "How many times have I said this already? You're not swinging an axe. Loosen up, let the blade do the work."

Elliot adjusted, exhaling slowly as he mirrored Dean's posture. They danced in the clearing, exchanging quick strikes, their blades catching the sunlight in brief flashes.

"Good," Dean muttered. "Now footwork—always more important than the blade."

He demonstrated a series of precise steps, his movements almost lazy but never wasteful. Elliot followed, stumbling at first but gradually finding the rhythm. Dean made him repeat it over and over, refining his balance, his weight shifts, his angles of attack.

By nightfall, Elliot's legs burned, and his arms ached, but the satisfaction in his chest drowned out the exhaustion. He was growing—faster, sharper, better.

And Dean, despite his carefree attitude, was proving to be one hell of a teacher.

Their break was short-lived as an eerie chittering echoed through the underbrush. Dean's eyes narrowed, his hand instinctively reaching for his dagger. Elliot followed suit, gripping his own weapon tightly.

From the shadows emerged a bizarre creature—its form rat-like, but twice the size of a wolf, with a hunched back and sharp, serrated claws that glinted in the sunlight. Its translucent, insectoid eyes locked onto them, its movements twitchy, unpredictable.

"That's a Zulfang," Dean muttered, shifting into a stance. "Fast little bastard. Eats through rock like butter."

Elliot swallowed, adjusting his grip. "And it's looking right at us."

The Zulfang lunged.

Dean sidestepped effortlessly, twisting his body with a controlled ease. Elliot, however, barely managed to duck in time as the beast's claws slashed where his head had been moments before.

"Watch your stance!" Dean barked. "You're too stiff! Read its movements!"

Elliot exhaled sharply, steadying himself. The Zulfang circled them, its claws clicking against the stone. This time, when it lunged, Elliot mimicked Dean's movements—shifting his weight, letting the momentum flow through his legs. The dagger in his hand slashed outward, nicking the beast's hide before it scurried back.

Dean grinned. "Better. Again."

The battle was short but exhilarating. By the time the creature fled into the underbrush, Elliot was panting, sweat dripping down his temple. His body ached, but he couldn't help the grin spreading across his face.

"You're learning," Dean said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Still sloppy, but better."

Elliot let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "Thanks, I guess."

The dense forest gradually gave way to something stranger, a sprawling mangrove swamp. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and salt, and the twisted roots of the trees formed natural bridges over shallow waters. Their path became trickier as they had to step carefully across the gnarled roots to avoid slipping into the murky pools below.

Elliot wiped his forehead. "This place feels... off. You sure we're going the right way?"

Dean smirked, plucking a round fruit from one of the trees. It was deep red with faint blue speckles. He tossed it to Elliot. "Here. Try it."

Elliot eyed it suspiciously. "You're not trying to poison me, are you?"

"If I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it already," Dean said, grinning. "It's called Kue. Sour as hell, but wakes you right up."

Elliot hesitated before taking a small bite. The moment the juice hit his tongue, his face contorted. "Agh! That's—!" He coughed, wiping his tongue with his sleeve.

Dean laughed. "Told you." Then, popping one in his mouth effortlessly, he added, "You'll get used to it."

Elliot swore he wouldn't.

The journey through the mangroves was slow, and the damp, unstable ground made things worse.

At one point, Elliot misjudged a step and suddenly sank knee-deep into thick, slimy mud. "Ah, come on!" he groaned, struggling to pull himself out.

Dean, standing safely on a root, smirked. "Careful, rookie. Some of these spots will eat you alive."

"You could help me, you know!"

Dean squatted down, pretending to consider it. Then, with a smirk, he extended a hand, only to shove Elliot deeper.

"You!" Elliot flailed, mud splattering everywhere.

Dean burst out laughing. "Relax, just keep your weight spread out."

Fwump!

The next second, Dean took a step back and immediately sank into a pit of quicksand.

Elliot blinked. Then he grinned. "Oh, this is perfect."

Dean flailed dramatically. "No...no...no...No. Don't you dare just stand there!"

"Hold on, hold on," Elliot said, cracking up as Dean slowly sank further. He grabbed a thick branch and held it out. "What was that about, keeping my weight spread?"

Dean shot him a glare before yanking himself out, coughing. He was completely covered in muck.

"You're dead," he muttered.

Elliot was still laughing when Dean tackled him into the mud.

After making it out of the mangroves, the landscape changed drastically. The dense swamp gave way to open plains, golden grass swaying in the wind. The air was dry, and scattered acacia trees dotted the horizon.

Elliot stretched. "Finally, solid ground. No more mud, no more..."

A deep grunt interrupted him.

They turned to see a herd of wild boars, easily a hundred of them, lounging nearby. Massive, tusked beasts lazily snorted as they foraged.

Dean cracked his neck. "Alright. Time to have some fun."

Elliot narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, fun?"

Before he could react, Dean grabbed him by the back of his cloak and threw him onto the nearest boar.

"WH—?! DEAN!"

The boar screeched in alarm, thrashing wildly.

"Ride it out, partner!" Dean shouted, laughing hysterically.

The entire herd exploded into chaos. The boars charged, not away, but straight at them.

"RUN!" Elliot screamed.

Dean turned, saw the stampede of massive beasts thundering toward them, and paled. "Oh...yeah. RUN!"

They bolted, zigzagging through the grasslands, barely staying ahead of the enraged beasts.

Elliot glared at Dean as they sprinted. "This is YOUR FAULT!"

Dean, grinning wildly, just laughed. "Worth it!"

The two of them ran for their lives, dodging tusks and leaping over rocks as the stampede chased them deep into the savanna.

Their partnership? Stronger than ever.

By the time they finally lost the stampeding boars, Elliot and Dean were both out of breath. Their clothes were torn and covered in dust and sweat, and their legs ached from running for what felt like miles.

"Never!" Elliot panted, hands on his knees. "Never do that again."

Dean, still grinning despite his exhaustion, stretched his arms. "No promises."

They walked for another hour until they stumbled upon the sweet sound of running water. Pushing through the tall grass, they found a clear, slow-moving stream cutting through the savanna. The water glistened under the fading sunlight, reflecting shades of gold and orange.

Elliot dropped to his knees at the water's edge and immediately splashed his face. "Oh, finally. Something good happens."

Dean followed, dunking his entire head in before shaking off the water like a wet dog.

"Ugh! Stop that!" Elliot shielded himself as water droplets flew in all directions.

Dean smirked. "What? Gotta cool off after all that cardio."

After filling their flasks and rinsing off the dirt, they started setting up camp. Elliot gathered firewood while Dean cleared a small area near the stream. As the sky darkened, they lit a fire, the warmth of the flames a welcome contrast to the cool night breeze.

Elliot sat cross-legged, chewing on some dried rations, while Dean leaned back on his hands, staring at the stars.

"You know," Elliot said between bites, "I was expecting adventure, but not this kind of adventure."

Dean chuckled. "Welcome to the real world, rookie. Unscripted and unpredictable."

The fire crackled between them, the night filled with the distant sounds of nocturnal creatures. For the first time since their journey began, there was a moment of quiet.

Elliot glanced at Dean. "So... what's the plan? Are we still heading to Rosario?"

Dean nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. But first..." He flicked a small rock at Elliot, making him flinch. "Training starts at sunrise. You need to build up that endurance."

Elliot groaned, already regretting asking. "Can I at least sleep first?"

Dean smirked. "Better sleep well. Tomorrow's gonna be rough."

With that, they lay back, staring at the endless stretch of stars, the fire crackling softly between them.

As dawn approached, Dean nudged Elliot awake.

"Time for the usual training," he said, his tone as casual as ever.

Elliot groggily sat up, wiping the lingering sleep from his eyes before running a hand across his damp forehead. His muscles ached from the previous sessions, but despite the soreness weighing him down, the drive to improve burned stronger than his exhaustion.

Dean tossed a short, weighted branch at Elliot. "First, your grip. If you hold a dagger wrong, you'll either lose it or break your wrist trying to land a hit."

Elliot caught it, mimicking Dean's stance.

"Tighter than a handshake, looser than a chokehold," Dean instructed. "Grip too tight, and you lose speed. Too loose, and you lose control."

He had Elliot practice gripping and releasing, shifting between different holds—forward grip for slashing, reverse grip for quick counterattacks. Each movement had to be instinctive.

"Now the wrists," Dean continued, demonstrating sharp flicks with his dagger. "All your attacks start from here. If you're stiff, you'll be slow. If you're slow, you'll be dead."

Elliot mirrored him, slicing the air, adjusting with each correction. His wrist ached, but he kept going.

"Alright, the usual footwork. A dagger fight isn't about strength, it's about positioning."

Dean moved smoothly across the clearing, his feet light, never fully planted. He circled an imaginary opponent, stepping in and out, weight shifting effortlessly.

"Your legs are your real weapon," Dean explained. "A blade is useless if you can't close the distance—or get away when you need to."

After what felt like hours of footwork, Dean suddenly lunged at him without warning. Elliot barely managed to step back in time.

"Too slow," Dean smirked. "You need to read body language. A fight isn't just about what you do, it's about predicting what the other guy will do."

Elliot's breaths were heavy, but he nodded. He kept his eyes on Dean's movements, watching for the subtle shifts in his stance, the way his shoulders tensed before a strike, the way his feet positioned for an attack.

"Good," Dean noted when Elliot dodged an unexpected feint. "You're getting there."

Nightfall came, and Elliot's body was screaming for rest. His arms shook, and his legs felt like lead, but the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed.

Dean noticed.

"Alright," he said, tossing him a waterskin. "You're not completely useless anymore."

Elliot took it as a compliment. He was learning, sharpening. And tomorrow, he would be even better.

That night, while resting, Elliot heard rustling in the bushes. He stiffened, gripping his dagger. "Dean… something's there."

Dean, lying lazily on a rock, didn't even open his eyes. "Relax."

"But..."

A branch snapped. Elliot spun around. "I think it's..."

A rabbit.

Elliot exhaled sharply. Dean burst into laughter.

"You looked like you saw a ghost!"

"Shut up."

"Good reflexes, though!"

Elliot glared. "I hate you."

"You love me."