Thorne decided to take it easy the next day, staying in his attic for most of the morning. The small room was silent save for the distant hum of the city below, and he let himself drift in and out of thought, savoring the rare quiet. As the sun climbed higher, casting a pale glow through the single attic window, he ventured outside, stretching his legs with a stroll to the nearby fish market. The air was thick with the briny scent of the sea and the sharp tang of fish, and for a moment, he let the bustling energy around him ease his mind.

That evening, Jonah and Ben returned, and the three of them ate fried fish and blueberry pie Thorne had bought earlier. The warm, flaky fish and the sweetness of the pie should have lifted their spirits, but the two boys were sullen, barely picking at their food. One of their friends had vanished the night before, and despite combing through the usual haunts, they hadn’t found a trace of him.

Recalling a conversation from earlier, Thorne asked quietly, "You think Uncle had anything to do with Tom's disappearance?"

Jonah chewed his lip, his gaze fixed on the candle flickering between them. “I don’t think so. Tom hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just supposed to keep an eye on the docks, watch the merchants, and report anything interesting. That’s all.”

They all knew the truth, though, unspoken and undeniable: the streets, especially at night, swallowed boys like Tom whole. Every few weeks, another cousin or friend would disappear, some without a trace. The lucky ones, they liked to imagine, had escaped, carving out a better life somewhere far from the city’s grip. But the unlucky ones—they were found in alleys or floating by the docks, unrecognizable. Thorne shuddered, an unbidden memory flashing through his mind of a body they’d pulled from the river months back, bloated and nameless.

A heavy silence settled over them, thick as the darkness outside. Each lost in thoughts of Tom and the countless others who had vanished before him. Despite their best efforts, they all knew deep down that Tom was never coming back.

The next morning, Thorne woke early to Jonah’s loud snores, the boy sprawled across the floor, tangled in a grimy blanket. Even with the sunlight slipping through the attic window, a bleakness clung to him, a reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of four walls. Thorne stretched and yawned, careful not to disturb the boys, who’d only just returned from the docks a few hours earlier. Moving quietly, he tiptoed downstairs to the tavern, hoping to find some breakfast.

The main room was nearly deserted, the air stale and heavy. A couple of patrons lingered, staring blankly into half-empty mugs, remnants of a long night. Behind the bar, the dour barkeeper was struggling to keep his eyes open, his face propped on his hand as it slipped from his cheek every few seconds. Thorne approached and cleared his throat, the small sound echoing in the silence.

“Excuse me, sir, can I have some breakfast?”

The barkeeper didn’t bother opening his eyes, muttering a gruff, “No.”

Thorne clenched his jaw, fighting a flicker of irritation. He coughed again and rattled his few remaining coins. “I’ve got money.”

The barkeeper finally cracked open one eye, catching sight of the meager offering. With a begrudging grunt, he extended his hand, and Thorne deposited five coppers, which the man inspected with disdain. “Fine. Wait here,” he said, voice dripping with reluctance. “Just so you know, it’s only stale bread and some fruits that’ve gone soft.”

Thorne bit back a protest, knowing he had little choice at this hour. He waited in silence, and eventually, the barkeeper returned with a plate that looked as sorry as promised.

Taking it to a small table by the door, Thorne ate in silence, each bite of the dry bread catching in his throat. He kept his gaze on the floor, unwilling to meet the hollow stares of the patrons who hadn’t yet managed to pull themselves away from last night’s ale.

Once he’d finished, he slipped outside, relieved to be free of the stifling tavern. The morning light was soft and golden, casting a warm glow over the slums that, for a brief moment, made even the rundown buildings look peaceful. Dew glistened on the rooftops, and a chill lingered in the air, fresh and bracing. He took a deep breath, letting the coolness clear his head.

As he wandered, Thorne observed the street coming to life around him. Women swept the dust from doorsteps, children laughed as they chased each other through narrow alleys, and shopkeepers busily set up their stalls, calling out greetings to early passersby. He let the familiar sights distract him, allowing himself a brief moment of respite.

Passing the western gate, he noted it was, as usual, unguarded. Without a glance from anyone, he slipped through, stepping out of Alvar.

The trail to the forest had become familiar to Thorne, each step carrying him further from the city’s din and closer to the untouched wilds. As he crossed the boundary into the elven forest, the change was immediate and striking. The bustle of Alvar city faded, replaced by the whispering hush of trees and the thick, earthy scent of damp leaves.

Here, the foliage felt alive in a way the city never did—every leaf, vine, and branch steeped in colors that pulsed with the season. Though it was only early autumn, the forest felt much deeper into the cycle, with rich yellows, fiery oranges, and deep reds blanketing the ground in a vibrant tapestry.

As he ventured deeper, the air grew cooler, laced with the scent of moss and decaying wood, mingling with the crispness of autumn. The dense canopy above allowed only thin beams of sunlight to break through, casting patches of light across the forest floor. Dappled shadows danced and shifted, creating a serene yet haunting atmosphere, as though the forest itself watched him from every leaf and branch. All around him, sounds filled the air—the gentle rustling of leaves, the trills of distant birds, and the occasional scurrying of unseen creatures in the underbrush.

He felt a calm settle over him, the troubles of the city fading into the background. Out here, surrounded by the wild beauty of the forest, he found a rare peace. But he knew better than to let his guard down.

The forest may have been his place of solace, but it also held dangers lurking in its shadows, creatures attuned to the aetheric energies pulsing beneath the surface. Moving silently, his footsteps barely disturbed the forest floor, and his senses sharpened, each sound and flicker of movement catching his eye.

After a while, Thorne came upon a small clearing, where a fallen log lay nestled among the colorful carpet of leaves. He took a seat, feeling the cool wood against his skin as a soft breeze rustled the leaves around him. Thorne knew that if he wanted to find some decent prey, he would have to delve deeper into the forest. The intensity of the aether around him was rising, but it was still too low for any magical beast to linger.

A prickle of unease suddenly settled over him. The usual hum of the forest had faded—the birds had gone silent, and even the rustling of small creatures had stopped. Every muscle tensed, his senses heightened. Each slight sound—a leaf brushing against another, a faint crack of a twig—made his pulse quicken. He gripped his knives, his fingers tightening around the worn handles as he scanned his surroundings, each shadow seeming to shift with hidden intent.

Despite his heightened senses and readiness, he was taken by surprise.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Without warning, a blur of motion sprang from the left. Thorne barely had time to raise his knives as a winged snake, its body about three feet long, shot toward him. Its pinkish scales shimmered faintly, while feathered wings beat rapidly, propelling it through the air with a terrifying agility. Thorne swung his blade, but the creature twisted in mid-flight, dodging with ease. The snake’s fangs snapped close to his face, and he stumbled back, his heart hammering. Sid’s harsh voice echoed in his mind: Anticipate. Read its movements. Don’t react—predict.

The snake circled him, hissing as its wings created a low, rhythmic hum. Thorne steadied his breathing, forcing his focus on the snake’s eyes, watching for the slightest hint of its next move.

When it lunged again, he sidestepped and slashed with his knife. This time, his blade caught its side, drawing a thin line of blood as the creature let out a piercing screech. Encouraged, he pressed forward, knives flashing as he swung in swift, practiced arcs. But the snake darted away, weaving through the air, its movements a dizzying blur of feathers and scales.

Before he could gather himself, two more winged snakes burst from the underbrush, their pinkish bodies blending seamlessly with the hues of the forest. Thorne’s heart sank. One snake was a challenge; three would be deadly. The new arrivals flanked him from either side, their eyes locked onto him with a hungry gleam.

His mind raced as he calculated his options. He couldn’t let himself be surrounded. With a quick inhale, he called on his Acrobatics skill, flipping backward to put some distance between himself and the snakes. He landed lightly on his feet, heart pounding, every nerve on edge. The snakes hovered in the air, their bodies swaying in tandem as they tracked his every movement, their wings stirring the leaves into tiny eddies around them.

One of the snakes lunged, and Thorne ducked, feeling the rush of air as its wings sliced past his face, feathered tips grazing his cheek. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a second strike from behind, heart hammering as he hit the ground and sprang back up. His combat reflexes snapped into action, and he spun, slashing with both knives. One blade found its mark, slicing clean through the delicate membrane of a wing. The snake screeched, its flight breaking as it tumbled to the ground, writhing in pain.

But the other two snakes were relentless, moving in sync, their strikes coordinated from different angles as if they shared a single mind. Thorne felt the sting of glancing blows, but his thick skin skill absorbed some of the impact, though not enough to hold out much longer. His stamina waned with each defensive move, his limbs growing heavy, his breath coming in short, labored bursts.

He hesitated, knowing his aether skills could be draining. But he was away from prying eyes—free to use them here. He decided to try his Primal Aether Manipulation, focusing on the swirling motes around one of the snakes, compressing them, willing them to disrupt its flight. The creature’s wings faltered, struggling to stay aloft. Hope surged within him, but keeping his focus divided was taxing, and his concentration slipped. The other two snakes seized the moment, lunging in tandem.

Realizing he needed an escape, Thorne shifted his focus to his Escape Artist skill, eyes scanning for any potential cover or route. His gaze fell on a low-hanging branch just within reach. Without a second thought, he dashed for it, the snakes close on his heels, their wings buzzing furiously. Thorne leaped, grabbing the branch and swinging himself up in a single fluid motion. Leaves and twigs whipped his face as he scrambled higher, while the snakes tangled themselves in the foliage, struggling to keep their flight steady.

Seizing the chance, Thorne dropped silently to the ground behind them. He didn’t waste a second; he lunged at the snake he’d injured earlier, plunging his knife into the back of its head. The creature let out a final, piercing screech before falling limp in his grip. One down, two to go.

A surge of determination flared within him. Thorne drew on his aether reserves, channeling his energy into an Aether Burst. He aimed, feeling the aether gather and swell, then released it in a powerful wave. One snake darted away just in time, but the other took the full force of the blast. Its wings shattered, feathers and scales scattering like leaves in a storm as it crashed to the ground, thrashing in agony.

Without hesitation, Thorne closed in, stabbing his knife deep into its head, silencing it instantly. For a moment, the forest fell into an eerie stillness, broken only by the sound of his own ragged breathing.

The final snake hovered at a distance, its eyes fixed on him with a new wariness. It circled, studying him, and Thorne could sense its intelligence, the cautious gleam in its gaze as it re-evaluated its chances. It knew he was dangerous.

The snake darted forward, and Thorne feinted to the side. Anticipating its next move, he slashed upward, his knife cutting through the thin, fragile structure of its wing. The creature plummeted to the ground, wings flapping weakly as it struggled.

Thorne didn’t hesitate. He drove his knife down, delivering a swift, final blow to the snake’s head. The last echo of its death cry faded, leaving the forest silent once more. He stood there, panting, every muscle in his body aching from the fight, his hands trembling as the adrenaline began to wear off.

Finally, he let himself drop to his knees, the rush of battle fading into an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. He took a shaky breath and pulled up his character sheet, watching as a series of notifications appeared, each one a result of his victory.

Skill Level Up: Daggers!

Skill Level Up: Acrobatics!

Skill Level Up: Escape Artist!

Skill Level Up: Thick Skin!

Skill Level Up: Combat Reflexes!

Character Level Up: Level 15!

Despite the pain pulsing through his limbs, a sense of accomplishment settled over him. He’d fought, alone, against not one but three enemies—and he’d won. Though he knew the snakes weren’t as powerful as the elemental cat he’d once faced, they had posed a new kind of challenge. They were cunning, coordinated, and frighteningly fast. The realization brought a flicker of pride; he’d managed to hold his own.

As he sat there, chest heaving, catching his breath in the stillness of the forest, Thorne’s thoughts turned to Sid’s relentless teachings. He could practically hear Sid’s voice in his head, sharp and unforgiving: "Smarter, faster, more cautious. This world doesn’t forgive the weak, Thorne." Each word a reminder that the world he lived in was one where even a moment’s hesitation could end in death.

Thorne began replaying the fight in his mind, analyzing every movement, every split-second decision. His heart was still pounding, but the fading adrenaline left him with a sharp clarity. The brutality of Sid’s training sessions—days that felt more like punishments than lessons—flashed through his mind. At times, he’d been convinced that Sid only wanted to break him down. And yet, here he was, alive, the hard-won skills from those grueling sessions pulsing through his muscles like instinct. No, as harsh as Sid’s methods were, those lessons had kept him alive.

His mind lingered on the way he’d read the snakes’ movements. The constant drills, Sid’s barked commands to watch an opponent’s tells, to anticipate rather than react—they’d been drilled into him to the point of exhaustion. But it had worked. The snakes had been faster than him, but he’d still managed to read them just enough to avoid their deadliest strikes. He could almost hear Sid’s gruff voice echoing in his thoughts, “Watch the eyes, read the body, anticipate before they move.”

Thorne’s focus had latched onto those cues—the way the snakes’ wings angled before they darted, the sudden tension in their bodies right before a strike. In those moments, Sid’s harsh words had been the edge he needed. It hadn’t been perfect, but it had been enough.

As he sat there, Thorne also realized something else. Sid's training wasn't just about physical prowess or skill. It was about resilience, about pushing through pain and fear, about not giving up even when everything seemed impossible. Sid had taught him to fight not just with his body, but with his mind and spirit.

Then, a strange thought crept in, making him shift uncomfortably. Had he… had he actually started to appreciate Sid? It seemed impossible. Sid was mercurial, brutal, and never softened a single edge. And yet, a part of him recognized the twisted loyalty in Sid’s lessons—the survival skills he’d be grateful for the rest of his life. Thorne shook his head, disturbed by the idea. Fondness for Sid? No, that couldn’t be right.

He glanced at the bodies of the snakes sprawled in the underbrush, their pinkish scales still glistening faintly in the dappled sunlight. Sitting up a bit straighter, curiosity tugged at him. The fight had proven their strength and value; these creatures weren’t ordinary, and it was possible that every part of them held potential.

He activated his aether vision, watching his sight adjust until the motes of aether that laced the air around him became visible. The snakes glowed faintly, even in death, each part of them suffused with lingering aether energy.

His mind raced as he examined the snakes’ glimmering scales and fragile, feathered wings. These weren’t just trophies; Jonah would be thrilled at the potential for trade or study. The value of these aether-infused creatures could be enormous, even game-changing. If they could be harvested right, he thought, excitement stirring within him.

Just as he was deep in thought, a notification appeared in his vision, snapping him back to the present.

Congratulations!

New Skill Unlocked: Hunter’s Insight!