Ingrid settled into a hidden vantage point, the rough bark of the oak digging into her back as she nestled amongst the dense leaves. Her keen eyes, sharpened by years of hunting alongside her father, scanned the clearing below.
The Eldhartur grazed, its moss-like fur shimmering in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. It was a Beast of beauty, its movements graceful and fluid. Each deliberate step, each arch of its neck as it sniffed at the tender shoots, and each subtle twitch of its ears, ever alert to the whispers of the forest, spoke of a wildness that was both captivating and dangerous.
---
"Remember, girl," Olaf's image materialized beside her, his weathered hand deftly demonstrating the intricate knot of a snare, "a successful hunt is not about brute force, but about understanding the ways of the prey. Learn their habits, anticipate their movements, and strike with the precision of a viper."
Young Ingrid, a mirror image of her father with her steely grey eyes and determined brow, watched intently, her small hands mirroring his movements. The rope in his calloused hands twisted and turned, a rope transforming into a simple slipknot with a practiced flick of his wrist.
He patiently untied and tied new knots. Taking his time to show both the flow and movement of the rope to create each knot. Ingrid drank in the movements as she had for so many years already.
"The Eldhartur," Olaf continued, his voice softening with a hint of amusement, "may be a beast, but it still retains the instincts of a deer. It will flee at the slightest sound, disappearing into the undergrowth like a phantom. Your snares must be hidden with the cunning of a spider, your approach silent as the falling snow."
Ingrid, eagerly mimicked his movements, her small fingers clumsily fumbling with one of the more complex knots. Olaf chuckled, his rough hand gently guiding hers, correcting her mistakes.
"Patience, little warrior," he said, his voice a comforting warmth against the backdrop of the forest, "only dead warriors rush."
---
The memory faded, leaving a pang of sorrow in Ingrid's heart. Grief, a constant companion these past few days, threatened to overwhelm her, but she pushed it down. The pain of her loss was a fire within her, a blazing fire.
Ingrid took a deep, calming breath, she was no longer a child learning the basics of survival; she was a Warrior now. Her Megin, a vibrant crimson-gold energy coursing through her veins, hummed with anticipation, eager to be unleashed.
As twilight cast long shadows across the forest floor, Ingrid descended from her vantage point. The forest was a symphony of whispers, the rustling of leaves, the chirping of crickets, and the distant hoot of an owl. But Ingrid moved through it like a proper Warrior, her footsteps barely disturbing the fallen leaves, her every sense attuned to the subtle signs of life around her.
The first rays of dusk painted the sky with hues of orange and gold as the Eldhartur emerged from the forest's embrace. It moved with an otherworldly grace, its reddish eyes scanning the surroundings with a predatory gleam, its elongated fangs a stark reminder of its beastly nature.
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Ingrid's heart hammered in her chest, a primal rhythm mirroring the thrum of her Megin. It still surprised her at how hard it was to hold herself back now. The crimson-gold light now pulled her towards making the first move.
Instead, she watched as the Eldhartur, oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the foliage, cautiously approached the trap she had meticulously laid.
With a single, confident step, the beast triggered the snare. The vine tightened around its leg, jerking it partly into the air. The Eldhartur's head twisted around, its eyes widening in alarm as it struggled against the unseen restraint.
Ingrid didn't hesitate. With a swift swing of her axe, she struck the tree, the sound echoing through the now silent forest like a thunderclap. The startled Eldhartur lunged forward, only to be yanked back by the snare, its antlers becoming entangled in a second, expertly placed trap.
In a flash, Ingrid was upon it. The Eldhartur thrashed and bucked, its powerful muscles straining against the constraints, but Ingrid was relentless. Her axe, a gleaming piece of polished metal, moved with the speed and precision of a striking serpent. She delivered a swift, decisive blow to the creature's neck, severing its spine.
The Eldhartur collapsed, its lifeblood staining the forest floor crimson. The red cap materialized from Ingrid's hand, its gaping maw eagerly consuming the beast's essence. Ingrid watched the gruesome display with a detached curiosity, a chilling emptiness replacing the expected surge of power.
The hunt had been a success, executed with the precision and skill her father had instilled in her. Yet, it brought no joy, no sense of accomplishment. The Wyrd flowed into her, strengthening her Megin, but that was all.
That feeling stayed with her as she cleaned up the traps and obscured her tracks. In some ways it felt too easy. After all the time she had trained, it should have been.
Yet, after the fight with the bear, and the fear of the attack on her town. It just didn't feel the same.
When she returned to the road it looked like just another path in the town now. The apprehension was numbed by the ease of the fights. Both the wolves and the Eldhartur helped her understand the difference.
She was a user of Megin now, and that gave her safety in itself. Most of the Beasts and creatures that normal people feared just weren't a threat to her if she was prepared.
A sudden pulse Wyrd flicked inside of her Heart. The Cap was releasing a burst of Wyrd from eating the deer, and seemed like it would continue for a while. It was so much more than she already got.
The ever-present annoyance at her deal with the Fae faded by a degree when she felt it. It had promised that she would receive far more than normal, and, so far, it was being proved true.
Taking a deep breath, she sat down on the cleared ground from the day before and fell into herself. The pulsing beat of her heart wrapped by the True Heart Technique stood out. The lines of Megin spreading within her body were longer than she expected.
It took months to grow the patterns on the veins and vessels flowing from the Heart. They were subjected to the purity of Megin within you, since Wyrd took up a lot of space. Megin was more compressed and refined.
But, her body didn't show a flicker of Wyrd within her body, outside her heart. Which could only mean her Technique was converting the Wyrd so fast it didn't have a chance to flow within her.
For a moment she smiled, honestly smiled to herself at this achievement. Her father had commented more than once, that the speed of refinement was the real block on growth. Yet, for her at least, that block seemed to be missing.
She practiced the series of breaths that increased her blood's flow. The slight surge of power breaking through the previously numbed state. Then, she felt something different and frowned.
Around the edge of her heart was a faint blue-gold glow. Which she had never heard of before, but when she increased the breaths it intensified in response.
Pushing her awareness down until the blue-gold light was all she could feel. She reached for it within herself, and a rush of heat brushed across her body.
Opening her eyes, she looked around in growing disbelief. Dancing embers littered the area around her, along with blue-gold sparks.