It was late into the morning, the golden light of the rising sun filtering through the dense canopy above. The river beside them carved its path through the forest, its gentle murmur providing a soothing backdrop as they followed its meandering course. Elara moved with an ease born of familiarity, her sharp eyes scanning the undergrowth as she pointed out clusters of edible plants. She identified wild carrots nestled among the grasses, their feathery tops swaying in the breeze, and clusters of berries glistening like tiny jewels in the dappled sunlight. A crooked apple tree caught their attention, its fruit still green and unripe but promising for the future.

Their conversation was sporadic, careful to keep their voices low. The stillness of the forest seemed alive with the possibility of danger, every rustle of leaves or distant bird call a reminder that they weren’t alone in these woods. Even so, the quiet exchanges brought a sense of camaraderie, a fragile connection in a world that often felt hostile.

Del shared light-hearted stories from his youth—carefully chosen for their vagueness to keep his origins obscured. He described building a rope swing over a river and plunging into the water when the branch gave way, or hunting for bird eggs on precarious ledges. Misty’s antics also featured heavily, her knack for mischief earning a genuine laugh from Elara.

She reciprocated with tales of her own childhood, painting vivid pictures of life among the Hometree’s soaring branches. “I’d wake to birdsong,” she said, her voice tinged with wistfulness. “And we’d race along the high walkways, chasing each other in endless games of tag. It felt like we could reach the clouds.”

Her stories shifted to her early lessons with the bow, and though she downplayed her skill, the fondness in her tone told a different story. “I’m not that good,” she insisted with a small smile, “but I can hit a target when it matters.”

Most captivating, however, was her account of discovering her affinity for magic. Her eyes seemed to brighten as she spoke, a spark of wonder mingling with a touch of reverence. “The first time I felt mana flow through me,” she began, her voice soft, as though she were sharing a treasured secret, “it was like... waking up to a world I hadn’t known existed. Colours seemed brighter, sounds sharper. I could feel everything—the trees, the earth, even the air around me—like they were all alive, all connected.”

Del listened intently, caught in the vividness of her description. “Was it frightening?” he asked, trying to imagine the sensation she described.

“Terrifying,” she admitted with a faint laugh. “But also exhilarating. There’s a rawness to it, like standing at the edge of a cliff and feeling the wind urging you to jump.” She paused, her gaze distant as though recalling a memory. “My mentor, Aldara, told me that mana isn’t something you control, not really. You guide it, coax it, like trying to redirect a river without damming it.”

She shifted her weight slightly, avoiding a loose rock almost subconsciously. “I remember the first real lesson she gave me. We were in a grove deep within the Hometree’s roots, where the magic of the forest was strongest. Aldara placed a single leaf in my hands and told me to make it move without touching it.”

“What happened?” Del asked, captivated by the story.

“I failed,” she said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Over and over again. I stared at that stupid leaf until my eyes ached. I tried everything—concentration, frustration, even shouting at it. Nothing worked. Aldara just sat there watching, her face unreadable. It wasn’t until I stopped trying to force it—when I finally just... felt the mana—that the leaf stirred.”

She gestured with her hand, as if the memory of the motion lingered in her muscles. “It wasn’t much. Just a tiny flutter, like a breeze had passed through. But Aldara smiled for the first time that day, and I knew I’d done it.”

“Sounds like a moment you don’t forget,” Del said, picturing the scene as she described it.

Her smile softened. “I don’t think I could if I tried. From that day on, everything changed. Magic became a part of me, not something separate or mysterious. It was as natural as breathing.” She tilted her head, her gaze meeting his. “It’s strange, though. For all the potential magic can give, it also demands respect. Aldara always warned me about losing myself in it, about forgetting the balance. ‘The mana doesn’t care about you,’ she’d say. ‘It flows with or without your will.’”

The weight of her mentor’s words lingered in the air, and Del found himself wondering what it would feel like to tap into something so immense and unyielding. ‘Could I learn to do the same?’ he thought, the idea filling him with both curiosity and doubt.

Elara broke the silence with a rueful laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble.”

“Not at all,” Del said, shaking his head. “It’s fascinating. I can’t imagine having that kind of connection to something so... intangible.”

She shrugged, her expression turning thoughtful. “It’s not so different from archery, really. Both require focus and trust—trust in yourself, trust in the flow. One just happens to have a bit more... spark.”

The subject held Del spellbound, and he couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting. ‘Who knows what may or may not be possible, Del,’ he wondered, his mind lingering on the idea.

Before he could ask more, Misty emerged from the undergrowth ahead, her tail swishing purposefully. Del felt her presence brush against his mind, a flicker of awareness rather than words. The message was clear—there were people ahead. Not green. Not elf. Other.

He reached out to touch Elara’s arm, motioning for silence as he crouched low. She mirrored his movement, her expression sharp and alert. Together, they moved as silently as possible, following Misty’s lead as she guided them forward. The underbrush thickened, twigs and dry leaves threatening to betray their every step, but they pressed on, every sound deliberate and controlled.

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After about a hundred metres, the voices reached them—low and gruff, their words muffled by the gentle rustle of leaves and the constant babble of the river. Del caught fragments of tone—anger and tension—though the words were indistinct.

‘Watch, hide, be ready,’ he sent the thought to Misty, and she vanished like a shadow, melting into the undergrowth. He turned to Elara, leaning in close to whisper.

“I’ll go ahead. Stay hidden and keep the bow ready in case things go sideways.”

She nodded, her lips pressed into a tight line, and shifted into position behind the cover of a broad tree trunk. With that, Del stood and made his approach.

He didn’t try to mask his presence entirely, allowing the occasional twig to snap or stone to crunch beneath his boots—enough to signal his approach without alarming. As he stepped into a small clearing, two men came into view, their backs turned to him. They were engrossed in a heated argument, gesturing wildly over a body sprawled at their feet.

“Hey there,” Del called out, keeping his voice steady and friendly despite the tight coil of tension in his chest. His instincts screamed at him to tread carefully; the corpse was a warning that this encounter could turn deadly.

‘Stay sharp, Del. Find out what’s going on before jumping to conclusions,’ he reminded himself.

The men whirled to face him, their expressions a mixture of shock and irritation. It was clear they hadn’t heard his approach, too consumed by their dispute to notice the world around them.

The men were tall—one perhaps six foot, the other taller, his broad shoulders giving him a menacing presence. Their weather-worn faces told stories of long, hard lives. Ripped clothing and dented armour hinted at rough encounters, and their grim expressions suggested they were far from strangers to violence. Despite their ragged appearance, there was a sharpness in their eyes, an alertness that spoke of experience. Del’s own dishevelled state likely matched theirs, but it was the weapons that caught his attention. The larger man carried a pair of chipped swords at his belt, while the smaller one wore a bandolier of throwing knives crisscrossed over his chest like a badge of honour.

With a thought, Del called up the system to identify them.

‘Identify.’

Human Rogue

Level: 2

Scout and ambush hunter

Strengths: Stealth

Weaknesses: Unknown

Attacks: Knife

Skill: Unknown

Lore: Rogues use stealth to sneak up on and gain an advantage in attacking an enemy. They are also experts at trap detection along with breaking and entering.

Human Brigand

Level: 2

Brawler, fighter

Strengths: Strength, stamina

Weaknesses: Unknown

Attacks: Scimitar, knife

Skill: Unknown

Lore: Brigands tend to gather in small to medium groups, living by ambushing and robbing unwary travellers.

The information blinked away as quickly as it appeared, and Del gripped his weapons tighter. Whatever hopes he’d had for a peaceful conversation evaporated when their hands went to their weapons. Without hesitation, the brigand charged forward, his scimitar gleaming in the dappled sunlight. The rogue followed a step behind but stumbled suddenly, a vine snapping taut around his boot. He fell heavily, cursing as he clawed at the ground to free himself.

‘Good girl,’ Del thought, silently praising Elara’s quick work.

The brigand closed the distance fast, his blade already swinging for Del. He drew his sword to meet the strike, the harsh clang of metal reverberating up his arm. The shock of the impact nearly jarred the blade from his grip, but he held firm. The man was strong—too strong for Del to match blow for blow.

They traded strikes in a deadly dance, Del’s knife darting toward the brigand’s ribs only to be deflected by the worn bracer on his forearm. The scimitar swung wide, slicing the air near Del’s face as he ducked low and lunged for the man’s unguarded side. The brigand twisted at the last moment, Del’s blade skittering off the leather under-armour hidden beneath his shirt.

From the corner of his eye, Del caught movement. The rogue had freed himself and was scrambling to his feet, only to stagger as an arrow struck him square in the shoulder. He let out a strangled cry, reaching for the shaft, but another arrow zipped through the air, embedding itself in his thigh. His knees buckled, and he fell again, writhing on the forest floor. As he tried to stand, a final shaft buried itself into his chest and he rose no more.

The brigand roared, his anger seemingly fuelled by his companion’s plight. He pressed his attack, wielding his scimitar with brutal efficiency. Del dodged and parried, his heart pounding as he struggled to keep up. Sweat dripped down his temple, stinging his eyes, and his breathing grew ragged with the effort. The brigand drew a curved knife with his off hand, the glint of its serrated edge sending a chill down Del’s spine.

The forest around them seemed to blur, the sounds of birds and the river fading beneath the clash of steel and the laboured rhythm of Del’s breath. The brigand lunged suddenly, his blades flashing in a deadly arc. Del stepped back, narrowly avoiding the scimitar, but the knife found its mark, slicing a shallow gash along his flank. Pain flared, sharp and hot, as the coppery scent of blood filled the air.

Stumbling, Del pressed his free hand against the wound as he circled warily. The brigand grinned, sensing an advantage, and advanced with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Del’s heel caught on a root, and he realised too late that he’d been backing toward a tree—a plan he had hoped to control, now a trap of his own making. The brigand raised his scimitar for a killing blow, his lips curling into a snarl. Before he could strike, a blur of ginger fur launched from the branches above.

Misty landed on the man’s neck with the ferocity of a storm, claws digging into his flesh as her teeth found purchase on his ear. The brigand bellowed in pain, dropping his knife to grab at the screeching, biting ball of fury. Del didn’t hesitate. While the brigand was distracted, he lunged forward, driving his sword toward the man’s chest. The blade struck something hard beneath the shirt—a hidden metal plate—but still hit hard enough to make the brigand stagger back, his roar of pain echoing through the trees.

Misty was thrown off with a violent shake, landing nimbly a few feet away. She crouched low, her tail lashing as she prepared for another attack. The brigand regained his footing, his scimitar raised high as he advanced on Del again, his face twisted in rage.

Del lifted his knife to block the next strike, but the force of it sent the blade flying from his hand. Now down to just his sword, he braced himself as the brigand came at him with renewed fury. Misty darted in again, this time leaping across the man’s shoulder and tearing a chunk of his ear clean off before vaulting to safety. Blood spattered the ground, and the brigand howled, clutching at the ragged wound.

An arrow struck him in the arm, then another in his chest. He staggered, his movements slowing as the life drained from him. Del seized the moment, stepping in to slash a deep line across his exposed arm. The scimitar clattered to the ground, and the brigand sank to his knees, a final arrow sprouting from his throat with a sickening thunk.

The brigand’s eyes widened in shock, the fight leaving him as he toppled forward and lay still.

[You have killed Human Brigand. Experience gained.]

[You have killed Human Rogue. Experience gained.]