The southern continent of Gaia stretched vast and imposing, a sprawling landmass where human civilization had established itself with remarkable tenacity. Unlike other regions where various races competed for dominance, here humanity reigned supreme, organizing themselves into powerful political entities that commanded respect and fear in equal measure.
Dominating this landscape was the Houdatar Empire, the unquestioned hegemon among human nations. Its borders extended from the eastern coastal regions where white-capped waves crashed against rocky shores, across fertile central plains where crops grew in abundance, to the western mountains whose peaks disappeared into perpetual cloud cover. The imperial banner—a golden sunburst against deep crimson—flew from fortresses and trading posts across nearly two-thirds of the continent's habitable land.
To the northwest, the Escofer Kingdom maintained a proud independence, its mountainous terrain and fierce warrior tradition allowing it to resist imperial expansion. The kingdom's cities, carved into mountain sides and perched on strategic plateaus, were architectural marvels designed as much for defense as for habitation. Their flag—a silver wolf on midnight blue—represented the kingdom's tenacity and pack mentality, values deeply embedded in their cultural identity.
The northeastern territory belonged to the Qzenia Kingdom, a realm of rolling hills and dense forests whose economy thrived on rare magical herbs and expertly crafted enchanted items. Their civilization had developed in harmony with the natural landscape rather than dominating it, resulting in cities that seemed to grow from the earth itself, buildings seamlessly integrating with ancient trees and natural rock formations. The kingdom's emblem—a golden tree against emerald green—reflected their reverence for the natural world and the magical bounty it provided.
Between these political powers lay various disputed territories, minor city-states, and the vast unclaimed wilderness that defied human control. Most notorious among these was The Groove Canopy, classified by imperial cartographers as "no man's land"—a designation that significantly understated its dangers. Those familiar with the ancient forest spoke of it in hushed tones, their voices dropping to whispers when describing the horrors that dwelled beneath its impossibly tall trees.
What outsiders failed to understand was the true nature of The Groove Canopy. It wasn't merely a dangerous forest—it was an ecosystem designed for competition, a crucible where monstrous entities evolved through constant conflict. The jungle operated by rules foreign to human understanding, with even the most innocent-appearing flora harboring deadly adaptations. Travelers told stories of flowers that released paralytic spores, vines that hunted with predatory intelligence, and fungi that could hijack a victim's nervous system, leaving them conscious but unable to resist as they were slowly digested.
Only the outer rings had been partially mapped by brave or foolhardy explorers, and even these "safer" regions claimed dozens of lives each year. The deeper one ventured, the more primal and incomprehensible the dangers became. At the heart of this verdant hell, unknown to all but a select few, dwelled Yddra—the living fragment of Yggdrasil—orchestrating the forest's savage symphony from her hidden sanctuary.
And yet, despite these established boundaries and understood dangers, something was changing across the southern continent. A subtle shift that few recognized but many felt—a tension in the air, a sense of foreboding that manifested as restless sleep and inexplicable anxiety. The demonic incursions along the borders had increased in both frequency and intensity, forcing the Houdatar Empire to divert more resources to defense while simultaneously maintaining the appearance of unassailable strength.
It was in this context that Saintess Wystra continued her ceremonial tour, traveling southward toward her final destination—Akshabar City, the Evernight City that crowned the empire's southern frontier. Perched at the edge of the Glacial Borderlands, this remarkable metropolis endured in perpetual twilight, the sun's rays diffused by the constant icy mist that rolled down from the frozen wastes. Buildings of dark stone absorbed what little heat they could, their architecture characterized by narrow windows, thick walls, and deeply recessed doorways designed to minimize heat loss.
This was the city that had once been the seat of House Vorigan, where Wystra's family had ruled with wisdom and strength for generations before their mysterious disappearance. Now governed by House Akshar, the city maintained its strategic importance while erasing all visible traces of its former masters—a historical revision enforced with methodical thoroughness by imperial mandate.
As Wystra's entourage approached the city she once called home, her thoughts remained fixed on the blood call that continued to pulse through her essence—the unmistakable signal that she was no longer the sole survivor of her bloodline. Somewhere, against all odds, another Vorigan lived. And judging by the strength of the call, they were not merely surviving—they were awakening to their heritage.
---
Ryan stretched his arms over his head, feeling the pleasant burn of muscles used efficiently as he exited the Adventurers Guild building. The morning sun cast long shadows across Koladar's eastern district, the streets gradually filling with merchants setting up their stalls and craftspeople opening their workshops. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from a nearby bakery, mingling with the less pleasant odors of a city coming to life—horse manure, tannery chemicals, and the indefinable musk of too many humans living in close proximity.
"Already finished for the day, Newbie?" a cheerful voice called out, the slight feline lilt unmistakable even before Ryan turned to see Melia, the cat-girl receptionist, leaning against the guild's entrance. Her tawny fur caught the early light, giving her a golden aura that complemented her perpetually sunny disposition. Triangular ears flicked atop her head, swiveling to track sounds from passersby while maintaining her focus on Ryan.
"Just getting started," he responded with a casual wave. "Picked up a hunting contract in the western woods. Should be back by midday."
Melia's whiskers twitched with amusement. "Another basic job? You know, for someone who aced the entrance evaluation, you're certainly taking your time climbing the ranks."
Ryan shrugged, the gesture deliberately noncommittal. "No rush. I'm still learning the local terrain."
This earned him an eye-roll from the receptionist, her vertical pupils narrowing to slits. "Suit yourself. But when you're ready for something more challenging, let me know. I've got a few C-rank contracts that would be perfect for someone with your... hidden talents."
The knowing look that accompanied her words confirmed what Ryan had suspected since his first day at the guild—Melia was far more perceptive than her bubbly demeanor suggested. During his registration three weeks ago, she had been the only one to react when he deliberately suppressed his aura during the mandatory evaluation.
The memory of that day remained vivid. He had entered the guild hall to find it bustling with activity—adventurers crowded around the mission board, negotiated rates at the reception desk, or simply lounged at tables swapping stories and information. The space itself was surprisingly well-maintained for an establishment catering to professional combatants, with high vaulted ceilings supported by thick wooden beams, walls decorated with trophies from memorable hunts, and a polished stone floor that showed only minimal scuffing from the constant traffic.
Melia had spotted him immediately, waving him over to her station with enthusiasm that seemed excessive for a simple registration. "Welcome to Koladar's branch of the Adventurers Guild!" she had exclaimed, her voice carrying a slight purr that became more pronounced when she was excited. "First time? You have that look—slightly lost but trying not to show it."
Her assessment had been accurate enough to make him smile, which she'd taken as confirmation. "Don't worry, I've got you covered. I'm Melia, Senior Receptionist for new registrations and talent assessment. Let's get you set up!"
The process had been surprisingly bureaucratic for what was essentially a mercenary organization. Forms in triplicate, liability waivers, tax documentation, and a mandatory physical examination conducted by a bored-looking guild physician who checked for communicable diseases and basic physical fitness. Throughout it all, Melia had maintained a running commentary on guild structure, regional mission peculiarities, and the unwritten social hierarchies that dictated life within the organization.
"The ranking system is standardized across all guilds worldwide," she had explained, pointing to a chart behind her desk. "F through A ranks cover the mortal spectrum, with F being the entry level where everyone starts. Then it's E, D, C, B, A, S, SS, and EX for the true elites. Beyond that, well..." She had lowered her voice dramatically. "Those who reach demigod status typically leave the guild for greater things, though we maintain respectful relationships with our alumni."
When the time had come for his power assessment, he had deliberately underperformed, restricting his display to basic swordsmanship and foundational magic—enough to register as competent but not remarkable. Yet as he had reined in his true capabilities, he had caught Melia's eyes widening slightly, her ears flicking forward in sudden attention. She had recovered quickly, but that momentary reaction told him she had sensed something beyond his carefully constructed facade.
Despite this, she had processed his registration as a standard F-rank adventurer, explaining that regardless of apparent talent, all newcomers began at the bottom of the hierarchy. "You'll need to earn your promotions through mission completions and formal rank tests," she had said with a wink. "Though between us, I suspect you won't be F-rank for long."
Now, three weeks later, he had settled into a comfortable routine. Every few days, he would take on simple hunting contracts—eliminating troublesome wildlife near farms, gathering ingredients from mildly dangerous plants, or clearing small bandit camps that threatened trade routes. Tasks well beneath his capabilities but perfect for maintaining his cover while allowing him to observe the five hunters who continued their methodical search for the last Vorigan.
"I appreciate the offer," he told Melia, bringing his thoughts back to the present. "Maybe next week."
She tilted her head, a distinctly feline gesture of curiosity. "You know, you're the strangest adventurer I've registered in years. Most newcomers are desperate to climb ranks, take on bigger contracts, make names for themselves. But you..." Her tail swished thoughtfully. "It's almost like you're hiding."
"Maybe I just enjoy the simple life," he countered with a smile that revealed nothing.
"Mmm-hmm." Her skepticism was plain, but she didn't press further. "Well, good hunting today. Watch out for those dire wolves—they're cleverer than they look."
Ryan nodded and turned away, allowing himself a small smile once his back was to her. Melia's perceptiveness made her both a potentially valuable ally and a complication. For now, he would maintain their friendly but distant rapport, neither encouraging nor discouraging her interest in his unusual behavior.
As he made his way through Koladar's gradually awakening streets, Ryan's thoughts turned to his nightly activities. For the past three weeks, he had maintained careful surveillance on the five hunters, watching as they methodically combed through the city for any trace of Vorigan presence. Their thoroughness was impressive, their coordination flawless. They moved through Koladar like a well-oiled machine, each member perfectly complementing the others' abilities.
Ezra Dornath, the demigod commander, rarely left their headquarters, focusing instead on refining his tracking ritual with the blood orb. The ritual's effectiveness appeared to be improving—the orb's glow had intensified steadily over the past week, suggesting it was gradually homing in on Ryan's location. It was only a matter of time before it provided Ezra with a precise fix on his position.
The others operated in rotating pairs, methodically investigating different districts of the city. Their approach was subtle but thorough—Valerian manipulating memories to extract information without leaving traces, Lyra's perception weaving allowing them to operate in plain sight without attracting attention, Mira's emotional architecture smoothing their interactions with local officials and potential informants, and Thorne's echo speaking detecting psychic residues of significant events or strong emotions.
Tonight, Ryan had decided, would be the night to implement the next phase of his plan. He would begin leaving breadcrumbs—subtle clues that would pique their interest without immediately revealing his identity. The first such clue would be planted at the Grand Library, where he had spent those frustrating days searching for information about his family.
The western woods appeared on the horizon, a dark line against the morning sky. Ryan adjusted his pace, his mind already mapping out the sequence of events he would initiate that evening. The dire wolves mentioned in his contract would provide a brief diversion, an opportunity to maintain his cover while finalizing his strategy.
By nightfall, he would ensure that two of the hunters—likely Lyra and Mira, given their current patrol pattern—would "accidentally" encounter a mysterious figure at the library, someone asking questions about a vanished noble house that official records barely acknowledged. Not enough to confirm his identity, but sufficient to draw their attention, to make them wonder if perhaps their long hunt was nearing its conclusion.
A grim smile touched his lips as he reached the forest's edge. Let them come. Let them think they were closing in on their prey. They had no idea what waited for them at the end of this trail—not a frightened fugitive but a being whose power transcended their understanding.
But first, he had some dire wolves to hunt.
---
The sun had long since set by the time Ryan made his way to the Grand Library, its imposing facade illuminated by magical lanterns that cast pools of amber light onto the cobblestone square. The building itself was a testament to imperial architectural ambition—five stories of polished granite and marble, with sweeping arches and flying buttresses supporting a copper-domed roof that had weathered to a distinctive verdigris. Massive oak doors, reinforced with bands of enchanted iron, stood open during operating hours, guarded by a pair of bored-looking imperial soldiers who barely glanced at visitors entering or leaving.
Inside, the space opened into a vast atrium where a central desk was staffed by severe-looking librarians who monitored all activity with hawkish attention. Branching out from this hub were specialized wings dedicated to various categories of knowledge—historical records to the east, scientific treatises to the west, magical theory to the north, and literary works to the south. Spiral staircases at each corner provided access to the upper floors, where more specialized and restricted collections were housed.
Ryan had timed his arrival carefully. By monitoring the hunters' movements over the previous days, he had identified their patrol patterns and schedules. As expected, Lyra and Mira had entered the library approximately twenty minutes earlier, their perception-altered forms appearing as unremarkable scholars—one elderly, one middle-aged—though their essence remained unmistakable to his soul sense.
They had positioned themselves strategically in the historical records section, pretending to research ancient trade agreements while actually maintaining surveillance on everyone accessing that wing. Their presence confirmed Ryan's theory that the hunters had identified the library as a potential location of interest for anyone investigating the Vorigan clan.
Perfect.
Ryan approached the central desk, his form concealed beneath a hooded cloak that shadowed his features without appearing suspicious—a common enough attire for scholars wishing to avoid distractions. The heavy fabric muffled his movements, creating a soft swishing sound as he walked across the polished marble floor. He had deliberately suppressed his aura, projecting the magical signature of an unremarkable A-rank cultivator—significant enough to justify scholarly interest in restricted materials but not powerful enough to trigger the hunters' heightened alertness.
The librarian at the desk—a thin woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a tight bun and spectacles perched on a nose sharp enough to cut paper—regarded him with professional disinterest. "How may I assist you this evening?" Her voice was precisely as dry as one would expect from someone who had spent decades cataloging ancient tomes.
"I'm researching noble houses of the northern territories," Ryan replied, pitching his voice slightly higher than normal. "Particularly those from approximately two millennia ago."
The librarian's eyebrows rose fractionally—the first sign of interest she had displayed. "A specific region or house?"
"I'm particularly interested in houses that held territory near the Glacial Borderlands," he continued, noting from his peripheral awareness that both Lyra and Mira had subtly adjusted their positions to better observe his interaction. "Especially any that may have... disappeared under unusual circumstances."
Something flickered across the librarian's features—a momentary tension quickly suppressed. "That's quite a specific interest," she noted, her tone carefully neutral. "May I ask the purpose of your research?"
"Academic primarily," Ryan replied smoothly. "I'm tracing patterns of political succession during the early imperial expansion. The northern territories show some... statistical anomalies that warrant closer examination."
The librarian studied him for a moment longer than strictly necessary before nodding curtly. "You'll want the Imperial Census Records and the Territorial Governance Archives. Eastern wing, third floor, sections fourteen through twenty-two. Sign here for access."
She pushed a heavy ledger across the desk, opening it to a blank page where visitors recorded their names and purposes. Ryan signed with a flourish, using an alias he had prepared specifically for this encounter—"Professor Arlin Tavarum, Imperial Historical Institute"—a fabricated identity that would withstand cursory investigation but eventually lead to a dead end, providing another breadcrumb for the hunters to follow.
With the formalities concluded, Ryan made his way toward the eastern wing, feeling Lyra and Mira's attention following him like a physical pressure against his back. Their interest was palpable, their suspicion radiating in waves that would have been undetectable to anyone without his refined senses.
He ascended the spiral staircase slowly, his movements deliberate, allowing them ample time to observe and potentially follow. Upon reaching the third floor, he navigated to the designated sections, a labyrinth of tall bookshelves packed with leather-bound volumes and scroll cases arranged in meticulous order. The air here carried the distinctive scent of aged paper, binding glue, and the subtle tang of preservation spells designed to protect fragile documents from the ravages of time.
Ryan positioned himself at a reading table situated to provide clear sight lines for anyone observing from the main aisle. He selected several volumes—Imperial Census Records from 1800-1900 years prior, Territorial Governance Archives covering the northern provinces, and a seemingly random assortment of historical texts that might plausibly relate to his stated research interests.
As he spread these materials across the table, he ensured that his movements were visible to his observers, occasionally muttering to himself as he flipped through pages or made notes on a small parchment pad. To all appearances, he was simply a dedicated scholar pursuing an obscure historical question.
After approximately forty minutes of this performance, Ryan allowed his frustration to become gradually more visible. His movements grew less methodical, his page-turning more aggressive. He began returning volumes to their shelves with increasing force, his body language communicating growing disappointment.
Finally, when he sensed that both observers had moved into optimal positions to overhear, he muttered just loudly enough to be audible: "Where is it? How is there no information about the clan? An entire noble house doesn't simply vanish without documentation..."
The reaction was immediate and exactly as predicted. Both women tensed, their auras flaring briefly before being hastily suppressed. The emotional spike was so pronounced that Ryan wondered if Thorne, with his echo speaking ability, might detect it even from their headquarters across the city.
Lyra leaned closer to Mira, their whispered exchange too faint for normal hearing but perfectly clear to Ryan's enhanced senses.
"Did you hear that?" Lyra's voice carried the barely contained excitement of a predator catching a promising scent.
"Indeed," Mira replied, her tone cooler but equally intense. "This bears closer examination. He's not being subtle about his interest."
"Trap? Or amateur?"
"Either way, worth tracking. I'll place the marker."
With subtle movements concealed by the shifting of her robes, Mira traced a pattern in the air, sending a minute pulse of energy toward Ryan. The tracking spell was masterfully crafted—a gossamer thread of magic so fine that even most experts would have missed it entirely. It attached itself to his cloak, nestling into the fabric like a tick burying into skin.
Had he been any other being, had he possessed anything less than his extraordinary senses, the spell would have remained completely undetected. As it was, he felt the magic settle against him with the faintest of touches—a whisper of pressure that confirmed his plan was proceeding exactly as intended.
Ryan continued his charade for another twenty minutes, showing no sign that he had detected the tracking spell. He gathered his notes, returned the remaining volumes to their shelves, and departed with the hurried steps of someone disappointed but not defeated.
As he exited the library, stepping into the cool night air, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The first piece was in place. The hunters had taken the bait, their attention now fixed on his false identity and apparent interest in vanished northern houses. From here, he would lead them down a carefully constructed path, each clue drawing them closer while revealing nothing of consequence.
His soul sense detected them following at a discreet distance, maintaining the perception alteration that made them appear as harmless scholars leaving after a long day of research. Their excitement was palpable, their focus absolute. They believed they were closing in on their quarry after weeks of fruitless searching.
"See you soon, my prey," Ryan whispered to himself as he turned down a side street, allowing the darkness to swallow him as he began the next phase of his game.
Behind him, unseen and unsuspected, the hunters continued their pursuit, unaware that they had ceased to be the predators and had instead become the prey.