Act I

Chapter VIII

2nd Millennia of Pera Dunamis, Continent of Rigurford - 12th of Deepmoon

The air is thick with the scent of decay and damp earth as I sprint through the corrupted forest. The twisted, dark blue trees loom overhead, their gnarled branches reaching out like the claws of some ancient beast. My heart pounds in my chest, and my breaths come in short, ragged gasps. Behind me, the ground trembles with each thunderous step of the creature pursuing me—a humongous, freakish, and mutated beast, its grotesque form barely visible through the haze of the forest. Its guttural growls and snapping the of branches grow louder, spurring me to push my body to its limits.

This is my twelfth day of training, and this morning’s task is an agility drill: outrunning one of the many monstrous creatures that inhabit this cursed continent. Khaz’s idea of training is as extreme as it is effective. I reckon throwing us into the thick of monster-infested lands is for his enjoyment. But as I weave between the deformed trees, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws and clawed limbs of the beast behind me, I can’t help but think he’s trying to give me a heart attack.

The forest is a labyrinth of twisted roots and overgrown vegetation, every turn a potential trap. The beast’s roars echo through the trees, a deafening reminder of the danger nipping at my heels. My legs burn with exertion, and my lungs feel like they’re on fire, but I can’t afford to slow down. Not even for a second. Unless I want to be that thing’s snack.

I spot a clearing up ahead, the edge of the forest where the entrance to the lower parts of the mountain is. I bet Trent is already there, resting, eating his damn food. The thought of eggs and bacon, my stomach filling its gluttonous desire, gives me a surge of adrenaline. I push harder, my feet pounding against the uneven ground as I dodge a particularly nasty-looking root that could easily trip me up.

The beast behind me lets out a frustrated roar, its breath hot and rancid, the sound of its massive body crashing through the underbrush. Just a little farther. I can see the ancient cobblestone entrance now, a faint shimmer in the air that marks the boundary the monsters can’t penetrate. I pour everything I have left into one last burst of speed, my legs a blur as I sprint towards safety.

With a desperate leap, I hurl myself toward the safe zone, muscles straining as I barrel-roll through the threshold. For a split second, there’s a strange feeling of disorientation as I cross the shimmer air. Then, the sensation changes; the oppressive atmosphere of the corrupted forest fades, replaced by an almost palpable sense of security. I stumble forward, picking up myself up clumsily but safely inside the safe zone. I pivot, heart still racing, for the beast to swim into view.

To my horror, the massive creature doesn’t stop. Its momentum carries it forward, and instead of skidding to a halt, it slams into the barrier with a bone-shaking crash. Sending shockwaves across the ground, the impact reverberates through the air. The shimmering barrier gleams, pulsing with an intense light as it holds against the beast’s assault.

In a display of frustration, the creature—a grotesque combination of twisted limbs and open mouths—rears back. Its eyes, radiating a jaundice yellow light, glare at me through the barrier. The beast roars, a sound that makes the air vibrate, and lunges again. The barrier responds, rippling with energy, creating a blinding flash that forces me to shield my eyes.

For a moment, the smell of ozone and high-pitched whine fills the air. The beast howls in pain as the barrier repels it once more, the magical energy scorching its flesh. It violently thrashes, continuously slamming its massive body against the invisible wall. But the barrier holds firm, an impenetrable line of defense between the creature and me.

I can barely breathe, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. My legs buckle beneath me, and I collapse to the ground. The beast lets out one last, furious bellow and sets its gaze on me as if committing my being to its memory. It finally retreats, its hulking form disappearing back into the forest. The air settles to a calm; the tension dissipating as the beast’s presence fades.

As the immediate danger passes, I sit up, still trembling from the encounter. My mind races, trying to process what just happened. I’ve never seen a creature crash into the barrier with such force before. The safe zone is supposed to impenetrable, a haven against the horrors outside. Yet, for a moment, it felt like that line between haven and chaos was razor-thin.

As I catch my breath, I look around and spot Trent, chuckling under his breath as he practices his sword swings with a calm, practiced rhythm. He’s always been the more physically adept of the two of us, and it shows. I mean, received an offer to play rugby in the Olympics once. I could only get an offer into a division one college, let alone any international level play.

He stops mid-swing and grins, a look of mild amusement on his face. “Nice of you to join me, little brother,” Trent teases, sheathing his sword. “You know, I was starting to think that big ugly thing back there was going to eat you up.”

I roll my eyes, still trying to get my breathing under control. “Ha ha, very funny,” I retort, though there’s no proper bite to my words. I plop down onto the cold stone floor, grateful for the chance to rest. “Seriously, though, Khaz’s training methods are insane. Who thinks it’s a good idea to play tag with monsters as an exercise? Is he trying to get us killed?”

Trent chuckles, crouching next to me. “Have faith. He believes in learning by doing,” he says, shrugging. “Besides, it’s effective training. Out here, you never know when you’ll need to run for dear life.”

I groan, lying back and staring up at the ancient, crumbling architecture of the inner ruins that climb up the innards of the mountain. “Yeah, but I didn’t think running for my life would be a regular part of the curriculum,” I mutter, half-jokingly.

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He laughs, patting my shoulder encouragingly. “Yeah, but did you die, though?”

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth as I roll my eyes again. “I swear, my hair is going to be whiter than his beard before we get out of here alive.”

“I heard that,” a voice echoing between the wet walls. Trent and I look above to see Khaz at the top of the lower tower. A boar-like animal slogged over his shoulder with a small sack in his hand. “If you want breakfast, you’re going to have to climb up here. I’ve brought fresh Kampia larva and a Gotr.”

Without hesitation, Trent and I exchange glances of hunger and eagerness. Gotr is a type of boar in this Rigurford. When cooked right, it has the consistency of filet mignon but tastes surprisingly similar to bacon. While Kampia larva, despite its gross appearance, is basically caviar scrambled eggs. The scent of something baking wafts down from Khaz’s position. He’s got something else as well.

“Oh, and I have fresh Fromage baking as well. I will eat it without you two,” Khaz adds, instigating our rumbling stomachs.

“Great,” I mumble, pushing myself to my feet and shaking off the fatigue. “Just what we need—another obstacle course.”

Trent smirks, already eyeing the jagged ledges and crumbling stones. “Think of it this way: we’re burning calories before we stuff our bellies. We’ll get to keep our six packs.”

I sigh, but can’t help feeling a bit excited. The prospect of a hot meal, especially one that Khaz prepared, is more than enough motivation to scale the ruins. We both know this climb is as much a part of our training as the running or combat drills. Khaz believes in a holistic approach—physical endurance, mental fortitude, and agility are all crucial.

We begin our ascent, carefully navigating the broken stone and vines. The climb is at least six stories high, requiring considerable precision and parkour abilities. The stone walls are slick with moisture, making each step treacherous. I reach for a protruding stone, testing its stability before hoisting myself up. The ruins seem to groan under our weight, a reminder of their age and fragility.

Trent moves ahead with the ease of someone who’s done this countless times. He leaps from one ledge to another, his movements fluid and confident. I follow suit, a little less gracefully, but determined not to fall behind. The climb is exhilarating, a mix of danger and challenge that gets my blood pumping. Thoroughly testing every handhold and foothold is necessary, and there’s little room for error. One wrong move could send me plummeting down. I, for sure, don’t want to experience Khaz’s healing methods again.

As we ascend, I can’t help but admire the view. The inside of the mountain is a cathedral of stone and shadow, home to a lost civilization. It’s both beautiful and haunting, a place where the past lingers in every crack and crevice. The air is cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of moss and earth. Above us, the path to the fortress winds like a forgotten staircase, hidden in the darkness.

We reach a narrow ledge about halfway up, where we pause to catch our breath. I glance down and see the ground far below, the safe zone now a distant and comforting memory. A sense of awe at the sheer scale of this place matches the thrill of the climb. Khaz has brought us to a world filled with both wonder and peril, and every day here feels like a journey into the unknown.

Trent glances at me, a playful smirk on his face. “Buddy, if you fall, I’m going to laugh while I eat your food.”

I laugh defiantly, shaking my head. “Well, thanks for the encouragement. I’ll be sure not to trip you on the way up.”

He grins and pushes off the ledge, grabbing a vine-covered pillar and swinging himself to the next platform. I take a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. The climb is not just a physical challenge, but a metal one, as well.

I follow Trent, my movement a bit more confident with each step. The top of the lower tower is now within sight, and I can hear the crackling of a fire and the tantalizing aroma of cooking meat. My stomach growls in anticipation.

As we near the top, the climb becomes more challenging. The ledges are narrower, the handholds fewer and farther between. I grit my teeth, pushing through the fatigue. My arms burn from the effort, my fingers aching from gripping the rough stone. But the thought of breakfast—and the satisfaction of completing this challenge—pushes me onward.

Finally, we reach the top. I pull myself over the last ledge, panting and covered in sweat. Trent is already there, grinning as he helps me up. Khaz stands by a makeshift campfire, the Gotr roasting over the flames and the Kampia larva sizzling in a pan. The scent of fresh Fromage—a delicacy similar to cheesecake—mingles with the cooking food, and my mouth waters at the sight.

Khaz nods in approval as we catch our breath. “Good,” he says, his deep voice carrying a note of pride. “Two weeks here have done you both well. You two will begin starting magical adaptation tomorrow.”

“Adaptation? You mean training?” I ask, curious about his choice of words.

Khaz looks at me, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “Before you can train magic, you need to adapt your body to storing mana. Starting with teaching your heart,” Khaz begins to explain as he conjures a small ball of fire in his palms. The flames dance and flicker, casting a warm glow in the dim light of the ruins. “Despite the many times Trent has trained here, he has yet to produce results in this area.”

Trent looks up, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. He already dialed in on the food, savoring every bite. “I just can’t comprehend the feeling of absorbing mana particles,” he says, his mouth stuffed with Gotr.

Absorbing mana particles? I glance at Trent, then back at Khaz. It’s not exactly something we’ve experienced before, especially when we hail from Earth. The idea of tapping into a mystical energy source and channeling it through our bodies sounds just as foreign as it is surreal. Yet, Khaz speaks of it as if it’s second nature to him.

“How do we even begin to understand something like that?” I ask, genuinely curious and a bit daunted by the prospect.

Khaz extinguishes the flame in his hand and sits down, motioning for us to do the same. As we settle around the campfire, Trent hands me a plate piled with Gotr and Kampia. “The process of magical adaptation is unique to each individual. It involves aligning your physical and spiritual self with the flow of mana. After that, direct your flow with your natural magical alignment.” Khaz begins. My face twists in confusion. “For example, my natural alignment is pyrokinetics,” he continues, shifting the size and shape of the flames. “Not to say that I can’t produce other types, it’s just that my fire alignment naturally pales compared to other areas where I would need decades of training.”

“There are many ways to attune your body to mana. The way I learned is by creating a reservoir in your heart. Each breath allows you to build up your mana. It must learn to resonate, to absorb, and finally to circulate it through your body as your blood does. You’ll find that using magic becomes as natural as breathing.”

I nod, trying to wrap my head around the concept. It sounds both mystical and scientific, a blend of the metaphysical and the tangible. Just as I’m about to ask more questions, Khaz shifts the conversation. “But before we delve into that, we still have forty-two hours left in the day.”

Right. Days in Rigurford differ from Earth and Richten. No wonder he chose this world. While Serena and the others have only twenty-four, we have close to sixty. Three suns illuminate this world, each with a unique color. Almost makes me feel like it’s flat-Earth or something ridiculous. I can never hope to wrap my head around otherworldly concepts.

“We have more pressing matters,” Khaz says, snuffing out his flames. “You two are going to hunt down a Devlin.”

What the hell’s a Devlin?