The early morning air tasted of iron and frost.
Ethan stood just beyond the Guild's southern gate, armed with a real sword for the first time. Not a dulled training blade, not a simulation. This one had weight and bite. The steel glinted faintly beneath the rising sun.
A black cloak hung from his shoulders—his Hunter's insignia stitched on the shoulder in silver thread. He was officially a Rank E hunter now.
But today, he wasn't part of a squad. This was a solo mission.
A small Rift had opened in the outskirts of Lowen Woods—a minor tear, expected to house only low-level creatures. Perfect for a beginner.
Yet Ethan's hand wouldn't stop shaking.
"First real hunt?" asked a voice behind him.
He turned. Juno leaned against a stone pillar, arms folded, dressed in her usual black. Her presence still commanded silence.
"I've fought worse already," Ethan muttered. "This should be easy."
"Don't get cocky," she warned. "It's not about how strong the beast is. It's about what the Rift hides."
Ethan nodded. "I'll be back before nightfall."
"If you're not," she said calmly, "I'll assume you're dead."
---
The woods whispered as he entered. Shafts of light broke through the branches, catching on floating Rift dust. The tear shimmered faintly in the distance—blue and unstable.
As he neared, Ethan unsheathed his sword and stepped into the Rift.
Instantly, the world changed.
A twisted reflection of the forest surrounded him—trees bent at unnatural angles, vines pulsing like veins. The air was thick with mana and rot. Something alive was watching him.
Ethan moved carefully, every muscle tense. Then he heard it.
A growl.
Not loud—but close.
He crouched, hiding behind a massive root. From the undergrowth, a beast stalked forward. A Razorhide—twice the size of a wolf, armored with black spikes down its spine. Its crimson eyes glowed with malice.
Ethan steadied his breath.
He remembered Juno's drills: patience, precision, pressure.
The Razorhide sniffed the air, then lunged.
Ethan rolled to the side just in time. Its claws raked the dirt where he'd been a moment before. He slashed upward—steel meeting flesh. Sparks flew as his blade skidded off its bony hide.
Too shallow.
The beast roared and charged again.
Ethan ducked, spun behind it, and drove his sword toward its unarmored side. The tip pierced flesh—blood spurted, hot and black.
The Razorhide yelped and twisted, slamming Ethan with its tail. He flew back, hit a tree, and gasped as pain lit up his spine.
Get up. Now.
The Beastmark on his wrist pulsed.
Power.
He reached for it—not fully, just enough to unlock a little of what lay within. His body surged with energy, the pain numbing, his grip tightening.
The beast charged again.
This time, Ethan met it head-on. He slid under its jaw and drove his blade into its neck. Blood poured as the creature thrashed—until finally, it collapsed.
Dead.
Ethan stood over it, panting. His sword dripped black.
His first kill.
---
As he exited the Rift, the woods returned to their normal state. The tear behind him shimmered once… then sealed.
He walked back toward the Guild gates under the falling dusk, body aching, boots heavy—but heart alive.
Juno was waiting, as always.
"You lived," she said simply.
"I won," he replied.
She raised a brow. "Barely."
Ethan allowed a tired smile. "Still counts."
She handed him a flask of water. He drank deeply.
"Any… visions?" she asked, more quietly.
Ethan hesitated. "No. But I felt it."
"The Beastmark?"
He nodded. "It helped me… just enough. But it's still wild. Hungry."
Juno's eyes darkened. "Then we train harder."
---