The trio moved silently through the dimly lit forest, the faint glow of dawn just beginning to pierce the horizon. Arlen led the way, with Elara and the merchant, Marcus, trailing close behind. Fenri padded alongside Arlen, his massive form providing a reassuring presence in the uncertain morning light. The fire from the camp had long since disappeared behind them, and now their focus was on finding shelter before fatigue took hold.

Elara kept her gaze on Arlen, her thoughts a whirl of confusion and curiosity. She had seen warriors, knights, and even a few mages, but nothing like Arlen. The way he dispatched the cultists—no hesitation, no remorse. His movements had been swift and precise, as if death were a familiar companion. And that strange light she had seen when he drained the life from the leader… What was he?

Marcus, too, had been stealing glances at Arlen, though his demeanor was far more cautious. He clutched the small pouch he had retrieved from his wagon, stuffing it with various items—coins, jewels, scrolls, and even a few small trinkets. The pouch appeared to hold far more than its size should allow. Arlen had taken notice of it, his curiosity piqued.

“What’s with the pouch?” Arlen asked, his tone even, as he gestured toward Marcus’s small bag.

Marcus blinked, startled by the question, but quickly composed himself. “Oh, this?” He held the pouch up. “Just a storage bag. Low-grade, nothing special. Can’t hold too much, but it’s better than lugging a wagon around.”

Arlen glanced at the small, unimpressive bag. “Storage bag?”

Marcus nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “A bit of magical craftsmanship. It’s common enough for merchants, though the higher grades can hold a small house’s worth of goods. This one can’t handle anything too heavy or magical, but for coin, gems, and smaller items, it’s perfect.”

Arlen gave a small nod, pretending to be unfazed, but inwardly, the revelation stirred something. Another glimpse into the world’s workings. Magic for storage? His mind drifted to his own inventory system, wondering how it compared. He opted to keep that to himself for now.

As they walked, Elara and Marcus exchanged glances. The silence between them was thick with unspoken questions. Finally, Elara broke it.

“You never did explain,” she said, her voice cautious but firm. “What exactly are you? And why did you help us back there?”

Arlen slowed his pace slightly, his gaze fixed ahead. He had anticipated the question, but finding a suitable answer was more difficult than he expected. Revealing too much—especially the truth that he was from another world—was a risk. These people, though they seemed grateful, didn’t need to know everything.

“I’m… not sure what I am,” Arlen replied after a moment. “I woke up not too far from here, in the Ghostwood Forest. Since then, I’ve been trying to understand this place and myself.”

Elara raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by the vagueness of his answer. “And you helped us… why?”

Arlen paused for a moment, considering his next words. He couldn’t very well tell them about his growing indifference to the lives of others, or the strange sense of emptiness that seemed to follow him. That wouldn’t sit well with these two, who still clung to some semblance of morality.

“I was heading to Ithlul to gather information,” Arlen said simply, choosing his words carefully. “When I came across your camp, I saw an opportunity to help. It was that or walk away, and I wasn’t about to leave people to die at the hands of… whatever that was.”

Elara studied him, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to read his intentions. “You’re hiding something,” she said, though there was no accusation in her voice. “But I suppose we owe you our lives. That’s enough for now.”

Marcus, ever the more practical of the two, merely nodded. “Whatever your reasons, I’m grateful. We would have been dead if you hadn’t shown up.”

They continued in silence for a while longer, the only sound being the crunch of leaves beneath their feet. The fatigue of the night’s battle was beginning to settle in, and Arlen could feel the weight of it pulling at him. His body, while powerful in its shadowy form, still required rest—though it was different from when he had been human.

Elara’s steps were deliberate, her boots softly crunching against the dried leaves on the forest floor, while Marcus’s shoes scuffed with every other stride, clearly not built for long treks. Yet Arlen made no sound as he moved through the woods. His form, wreathed in shadow, glided as if he were part of the night itself.

It didn’t take long for Elara to notice the eerie silence surrounding him. She glanced at Arlen from the corner of her eye, observing how he seemed to pass over the forest floor without disturbing so much as a leaf or twig.

“You don’t make a sound,” she remarked quietly, her brow furrowed in thought. “It’s like you’re not even touching the ground.”

Arlen said nothing, merely glancing her way, his single eye catching the faint moonlight. Elara continued, her voice low but thoughtful. “You remind me of the assassins I’ve seen at the king’s castle. They follow him like shadows, barely noticed, moving without a trace. I used to visit the court from time to time with my father, and I’d always feel them near, even if I couldn’t see them. I hated it. But you… you’re even quieter.”

Arlen remained silent for a moment, considering her words. “I guess it comes with being what I am,” he finally said. His voice, like his movements, seemed to blend into the night, barely audible but undeniably present.

Elara nodded slowly, though the unease in her eyes lingered. Arlen couldn’t blame her. Even he hadn’t fully grasped the nature of his new existence. The silence, the lack of sensation when he walked—it was as if he were a part of the shadows, not just controlling them but becoming them.

Elara’s eyes flicked to Fenri, who padded silently beside Arlen, ever watchful. “Your wolf,” she began hesitantly, “there’s something… unnatural about him. I’ve never seen an animal like that before.”

Arlen glanced down at Fenri, who met his gaze with that same intelligence that had always unnerved him. “He’s bonded to me,” Arlen said, keeping his explanation vague. “I don’t fully understand it myself, but he’s… special.”

“Voidflame Wolf,” Marcus muttered under his breath, though not quietly enough for Arlen to miss.

Arlen’s brow furrowed. “What did you say?”

Marcus flinched, realizing he’d spoken aloud. “I, uh, I think that’s what your wolf is called,” he stammered. “It’s just… a legend I’ve heard in passing. A beast wreathed in black and red flame, tied to powerful beings.”

Arlen glanced at Fenri once more, the wolf’s red-tinted fur shimmering under the faint light. Voidflame Wolf. He knew that’s what the interface called fenri but still… The term felt both foreign and familiar, though he couldn’t place why.

Elara shook her head, clearly unsettled. “This world gets stranger by the day,” she muttered. “First, shadow creatures. Now, mythical beasts walking among us.”

Arlen gave her a sidelong glance. “And yet you’ve seen magic bags and fire-wielding mages, but a wolf is what unnerves you?”

Elara’s face twitched and she gave Arlen a confused glance.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

‘I guess she doesn’t have a reference for a non-magical world so that joke didn’t land home.’ Arlen thought as he sighed out loud. Elara eventually chalked his comment up to being weird.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, they finally found a small, abandoned hut nestled within the trees. It was run-down, but it would serve as shelter for the day. The sun was creeping ever higher in the sky, and Arlen could feel its approaching presence gnawing at his strength. They didn’t have much time before he would be forced to retreat into the shadows.

“We’ll rest here,” Arlen said, pushing open the creaky door.

The inside of the hut was simple—just a few broken pieces of furniture and a hearth. Arlen’s gaze swept the room before he moved to the darkest corner, where the sunlight wouldn’t reach. Elara and Marcus busied themselves with setting up what little supplies they had, though they both kept stealing glances at Arlen as if expecting him to vanish into thin air at any moment.

Elara sat down, leaning against the wall, her armor clinking softly as she settled in. “Ithlul’s not far from here. A day’s travel at most,” she said. “Once we’re there, what’s your plan?”

Arlen’s thoughts drifted to the question that had plagued him since he’d woken in this world. “To gather information. Find out why I’m here. And… what I’m supposed to do.”

“And if you can’t find the answers you’re looking for?” Marcus asked, his voice quiet.

Arlen shrugged. “Then I’ll keep looking.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. For now, at least, they had found a moment of peace. But Arlen knew it wouldn’t last. Whatever had brought him to this world, whatever power stirred within him—it was only a matter of time before it revealed itself fully. And when it did, he would be ready.

‘Do I even want this power?’ Arlen thought back to the energy that he had forcefully drained from Idun. ‘What was that energy? Was it some kind of life essence or maybe his soul?’ Arlen shuddered.

Fenri curled up beside him, his large frame offering warmth in the cool hut. Arlen rested his head against the wall, his single eye closing as mental exhaustion hit him. Tomorrow, Ithlul awaited. And with it, perhaps, the answers that had eluded him for so long.

The hearth crackled softly, the flames flickering in the cool night air. Elara and Marcus were fast asleep nearby, huddled under their cloaks for warmth. Fenri lay at Arlen’s side, his massive form curled up protectively near his master, though the wolf’s glowing eyes occasionally flicked open to check their surroundings.

Arlen sat still, staring into the embers of the fire. Sleep no longer called to him—not like it had when he was human. His body, made of shadows and something else entirely, didn’t require rest in the same way. But while the others slept, his mind was restless.

He turned his thoughts inward, focusing on the strange power that pulsed deep within him. Mana. The raw energy that seemed to fuel everything in this world. It was the same force he’d used to heal Orin and the same power that had surged through him when he drained Idun’s life force.

Arlen closed his eye, his focus narrowing to the core within him. He could feel it there, like a dim ember waiting to be stoked into a flame. He concentrated, willing the mana to move, to flow through his body. At first, there was nothing—just silence and the crackling fire. But slowly, ever so slowly, he felt it. A faint warmth began to build in his chest, spreading outward like the first flickers of heat from a small flame.

‘Come on,’ he urged, his brow furrowing in concentration.

The warmth surged briefly, spreading to his limbs. It was intoxicating, like a rush of adrenaline, filling him with a sense of power. But before he could fully grasp it, the warmth faded, dissipating as quickly as it had come.

Arlen cursed under his breath, his frustration mounting. He had only managed to keep the mana flowing for a few seconds before it slipped away, leaving him feeling cold and hollow. He could get it out of his core, feel it pump through him like a pulse, but getting it to circulate—getting it to move—was another matter entirely.

He tried again, focusing harder this time. The warmth returned, but again, it flickered out after only a few seconds, fading into nothingness before it could fully reach his fingertips. It was maddening. He knew the power was there—just out of reach—but controlling it felt like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands.

Ten seconds. That’s how long it took just to get the mana to flow to the tips of his fingers. And even then, it barely lasted. He felt the warmth spread through his arms, a small pulse of energy radiating from his core, but keeping it there—keeping it moving—was an entirely different challenge. Every time he tried to sustain the flow, his focus wavered, and the mana slipped away like water draining from a cracked vessel.

‘Four seconds,’ he thought bitterly. That’s all he could manage before the mana flickered out, leaving him drained. And the mental effort it took just to keep it flowing for those few seconds was almost overwhelming. His mind felt like it was being stretched thin, as though each attempt to control the energy frayed his concentration further.

He clenched his fists, frustration gnawing at him. In the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t something he could master overnight. He had power—real, tangible power—locked inside him, but he was still fumbling in the dark, unable to fully harness it.

Fenri stirred beside him, his glowing eyes briefly meeting Arlen’s. The wolf huffed softly, as if sensing his master’s frustration, then closed his eyes again.

Arlen let out a slow breath, trying to calm his mind. ‘This is just the beginning,’ he reminded himself. He was new to this world, new to this power. It would take time, patience, and practice. He had already come so far—waking up in a strange forest, surviving encounters with bandits and cultists, and unlocking powers he didn’t fully understand. But he had survived, and he would continue to survive. He didn’t have a choice.

With renewed determination, Arlen closed his eye again, focusing on the warmth in his core. He could do this. He just needed more time.

And he had all the time in the world.

Elara stirred from her sleep, the faint light of the dying campfire casting flickering shadows across the clearing. She blinked groggily, her senses slowly coming back to life as she sat up and looked around. The cold air nipped at her skin, but what caught her attention was Arlen—sitting upright, legs crossed, his eye closed in a posture that looked more focused than relaxed.

For a moment, she wondered if he was asleep. His body was so still, motionless like the shadows that clung to him. But then she noticed something unusual. A faint red glow, pulsing softly from the left side of his chest. The light throbbed rhythmically, like the beating of a heart. Every couple of seconds a subtle glow appeared beneath his closed eyelid too, pulsing in unison.

Elara frowned, tilting her head as she observed him. ‘What is he doing?’ The sight was both strange and mesmerizing. The red glow was faint but steady, like a heartbeat made of pure energy. The pulse wasn’t constant, but each time it surged, the light would gradually flash in him, like throwing alcohol on a flame.

‘Is he sleeping?’ she wondered. ‘Why is he glowing like that?’

Elara had never seen anything like it. She had traveled far and wide as a knight of Barad Niserie, and she had encountered plenty of mages and strange powers along the way, but nothing like this. There was something otherworldly about Arlen—something that went beyond mere magic. She had seen him fight, seen the way shadows bent to his will, and yet here he sat, glowing faintly in the dead of night, as if his very soul was pulsing with power.

Meanwhile, deep in concentration, Arlen was completely unaware of her scrutiny. His focus was inward, his mind fixated on the mana that now flowed through him with greater speed. Each time he concentrated, the warmth filled his chest, spreading to his limbs with increasing efficiency. It took him only five seconds now to channel the mana to his fingertips, and he could feel it building up, pressing against his control like water surging against a dam.

But no matter how much he improved the speed, he couldn’t make the mana circulate for more than a few seconds. Four, maybe five seconds at most, before the mental strain became too much. The pressure built quickly, and each time he lost control, the energy would slip away, dissipating as if it had never been there at all.

Frustration gnawed at him. The rush of power was exhilarating, but it always slipped through his fingers. It was as if he was on the verge of unlocking something incredible, but the final piece of the puzzle remained just out of reach.

‘There must be something I’m missing.’ His thoughts echoed in the quiet of his mind. ‘I’m thinking about it wrong, or maybe I need something else to assist.’ The mana was there, the energy was real, but controlling it felt like trying to hold onto sand—it kept slipping away. Was it his technique? His form? Or was it something deeper? Something he hadn’t realized yet?

The red pulse surged again, visible even through his closed eyelid. He could feel it now—the energy building inside him, but every attempt to sustain it left him drained. His chest heaved slightly as the mental strain weighed on him, but he kept pushing, kept searching for the answer that would allow him to control this power, to truly wield it.

Elara continued to watch him from her place by the fire, her curiosity growing with every passing second. His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, and every now and then, the faintest flicker of movement would pass through him—a subtle tightening of his muscles as if he was holding onto something that threatened to overwhelm him.

‘Is this... magic?’ she wondered, her mind racing. She had heard of powerful mages who could wield incredible energy, but the way Arlen glowed, the way his entire being seemed to pulse with light—it was different. It wasn’t like any magic she had seen before.

For a long moment, Elara debated whether to say something, to break the silence, but there was something about the scene that held her back. Arlen’s focus was so intense, his aura almost tangible in the quiet of the night. She felt as though she was witnessing something personal, something she wasn’t meant to disturb.

She settled back down, her eyes never leaving him. Whatever he was doing, it was important. And for now, all she could do was watch and wonder.