The night was serene, a sharp contrast to the chaos Brass often found himself tangled in. As he hefted the heavy stone covering the entrance to his new home, the gentle sounds of nature filled his ears. The rhythmic chirping of crickets blended with the occasional low croak of frogs, while a cool breeze rippled across the still surface of the nearby pond. The air carried the scent of damp earth, tinged with the faint sweetness of wildflowers, refreshing and grounding. For a brief moment, Brass paused to take it all in, letting the crisp air expand in his lungs before releasing a long, slow breath.
With a sigh, he turned to the book in his hands, the faint glow from the moon above lighting its weathered pages. Another find from the Drider’s stash, it detailed plants and herbs—a stroke of luck, considering his current task. Flipping to the sections on the lumina flower and lionbark trees, he studied the precise sketches and meticulous descriptions. The lumina flower was depicted as a fragile bloom with petals like liquid moonlight, its ethereal glow unmistakable. The lionbark tree, on the other hand, stood massive and ancient, its silvery bark shimmering faintly even in the hand-drawn illustration.
The book’s text warned that the lumina flower was exceptionally rare, acting as a beacon of aetherial energy that attracted magical beasts and monsters. Brass grimaced. Figures. Of course it wouldn’t just be lying around waiting for me. Still, he felt a twinge of excitement. This was the perfect opportunity to test out his newly acquired axe—and maybe rack up a little XP while he was at it.
Opening his quest log, he brought up the objectives again.
[Quest: Echoes of the Past]
Objectives: 0/4
1. Reflect on your sister’s life and gather inspiration.
2. Collect materials for the shrine:
•Lumina Petals (Elderglen Forest)
•Silverwood Planks (Lionbark Trees)
•Memory Stone (Mine or Alchemist Guild)
3. Confront the grief manifesting as a spectral enemy.
4. Complete and dedicate the shrine.
Reward:
•Serenity Aura: Resistance to fear and despair, improved focus in battle.
•Access to the shrine for solace and minor stat boosts.
Seeing the first objective still incomplete, he frowned. “Reflect on my sister’s life, huh? Guess punching an orc doesn’t count as reflecting,” he muttered. Shaking his head, he dismissed the log and focused on the immediate task: tracking the lumina flower.
Leaning into his heightened senses, Brass closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He let the world fade, allowing the strange, almost mystical connection he felt to the forest to guide him. It was like casting a net of awareness, an invisible ripple flowing outward. At first, it was overwhelming—like trying to catch his breath while submerged underwater—but soon, the sensation evened out.
The energy of the forest became palpable, a subtle current winding through the air. Among it, a cool, radiant thread of magic called to him from the east. It pulsed faintly, like the gentle glow of moonlight breaking through a canopy of leaves. His lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. Gotcha.
Trusting his instincts, he launched into a sprint. The world appeared blurred as his feet barely seemed to touch the ground. Trees and underbrush whipped past in streaks of green and shadow, and the cool night air rushed against his skin. Each muscle moved with a precision he hadn’t known before, each stride perfectly measured, stamina seemingly endless. The ding of a system notification chimed faintly, but he ignored it, his focus razor-sharp.
Within moments, he reached the edge of a glade, slowing to a halt. Brass’s eyes scanned the clearing as he crouched low, his body instinctively blending into the shadows. Moonlight filtered through the trees above, casting an ethereal glow across the scene. At the center of the glade, a faintly luminescent flower bloomed—a lumina flower. Its soft, silvery light illuminated the surrounding area like a small star.
But Brass’s attention quickly shifted to the creature prowling nearby.
[Detected: Wraithwood Stalker - Level 7]
The system’s notification floated in the corner of his vision, and he dismissed it with a flick of his hand. The warning was unnecessary; his instincts were already screaming that this thing wasn’t friendly.
The creature sniffed around the base of a tree, its sinewy, emaciated frame illuminated by a sickly green glow. Its skin writhed unnaturally, resembling the bark of a cursed tree, and its elongated limbs twitched with unnerving precision. Tufts of wiry, bristle-like hair jutted from its shoulders and spine, quivering as though they had a life of their own.
Its face was the stuff of nightmares—sunken, ember-like eyes burned with a malevolent glow, and its jagged mouth seemed to split its face in two. Each tooth glistened, coated in some dark, viscous substance Brass didn’t care to identify. A low growl emanated from its chest, vibrating through the ground like the distant rumble of thunder.
As the creature crept closer to the lumina flower, its movements were almost predatory yet oddly deliberate. It wasn’t hunger that drove it—Brass could sense that—it was something crueler, a twisted desire to destroy rather than consume. The oppressive air around it felt almost tangible, pressing against his chest like an invisible weight.
Tightening his grip on the axe strapped to his waist, the worn leather handle comfortable in his grasp. His heart quickened, but not with fear. This was anticipation—the thrill of an impending fight. A smirk tugged at his lips as he stepped further into the shadows, eyes locking on to the creature.
“Well,” Brass muttered, his voice barely audible over the soft rustle of leaves in the glade. Rolling his shoulders, he tightened his grip on the axe. Knuckles whitened as anticipation surged through him. “Looks like you’re about to make my night a little more interesting.”
The creature’s jagged, sinewy form loomed in the faint light, and its hollow eyes burned with malice. He took a steadying breath. Alright, stay smart. Don’t let it hit you.
Weighing his options, he decided to leverage his natural height and strength. The creature was low to the ground; a direct approach would likely end with his throat ripped out. He’d have to rely on speed and precision.
Time to see what this vampiric speed can really do.
With a sharp burst of energy, Brass activated [Vampiric Speed], his body vanishing into a blur of motion. The distance closed in a heartbeat, as he raised the axe high above. Muscles corded with tension as he channeled everything he had into a devastating overhead swing. The blade sang as it cut through the air, aimed directly at the creature’s head.
The Wraithwood Stalker moved faster than expected. One of its gnarled, clawed hands shot up to intercept the blow. The impact reverberated through Brass’s arms, but to his surprise—and the creature’s—the axe bit deep. The bark-like flesh splintered, the blade carving through half the hand in a spray of ichor before deflecting off course. A severed chunk of the stalker’s clawed appendage hit the ground with a wet thud, but the creature merely hissed, its ember-like eyes burning brighter with rage.
Before he could press the attack, the monstrosity dissolved into the earth, its body sinking like water into the soil. The clearing grew eerily silent, save for the faint hum of energy radiating from the glowing flower.
Brass instinctively backpedaled, scanning the ground for any sign of movement. His heart pounded against his ribs as he gritted his teeth. This thing’s not running—it’s hunting.
Suddenly, thick branches erupted from the tree behind him, snaking around his torso before he could react. The coarse wood constricted with brutal force, grinding against his ribs and yanking him off his feet. Brass struggled, his muscles straining against the crushing grip, but the stalker wasn’t done.
With a sickening lurch, the branches whipped him through the air. The world spun wildly before his back slammed into the ground with earth-shattering force. Stars danced across his vision as the impact drove the air from his lungs. His HP flashed red, a notification hovering in his periphery:
[5 HP Lost]
He groaned, coughing as he forced himself to sit up. Pain flared in his chest, but his instincts screamed louder. MOVE!
Reacting on pure adrenaline, Brass rolled just as the earth beneath him erupted in a spray of dirt and roots. The Wraithwood Stalker emerged, claws slashing through the air where his chest had been a second earlier. One razor-sharp talon grazed him, slicing through his shirt and leaving a shallow, bloody streak across his torso.
[2 HP Lost]
Brass hissed, but the pain felt muted, dulled somehow. Was it the adrenaline—or his growing resilience? Either way, the window of survival was shrinking fast. He needed to end this now.
“Fine,” he growled, his voice a low rumble as he tapped into the primal force within him. “Let’s see how you like this.”
With a snarl, Brass activated [Lycan Transformation]. His body contorted as raw power surged through his veins. Muscles bulged, his limbs thickening with newfound strength as a coat of dark fur erupted across his skin. His hands elongated into claws, and his senses sharpened to a razor’s edge.
The stalker hesitated, its ember eyes narrowing as if recognizing the shift in power.
Brass didn’t give it a chance to retreat. With a guttural roar, he lunged, grabbing the creature’s malformed head in his massive hands. The stalker thrashed wildly, claws raking at his arms, but its attacks barely registered through his heightened vitality.
He hurled the creature into the air with all his might, watching as it flailed helplessly, its body twisting against gravity. The ground beneath his feet cracked as he crouched low, coiling his legs like springs before launching himself upward.
The force of his leap left a small crater behind. Time seemed to slow as he met the creature midair, his claws ripping through its torso in a single, brutal motion. The stalker’s body tore apart with a sickening crack, ichor spraying in all directions as the two halves tumbled to the ground below.
Brass landed lightly on his feet, the grass crunching softly beneath his weight. He exhaled heavily, his breath curling like mist in the cool predawn air. The tension in his body slowly bled away as the thrill of the fight ebbed, leaving behind the faint satisfaction of victory.
A familiar notification blinked in the corner of his vision.
[You have defeated: Wraithwood Stalker (Level 7)]
[50 XP awarded.]
Brass allowed himself a brief, triumphant smirk, wiping the blood-ichor from his hands as his claws retracted back into his fingertips. The metallic tang lingered on his skin despite his efforts. He swiped his hand through the air, calling up his STATUS screen.
STATUS
Health: 18 +12 (27/30)
Stamina: 37 +17 (18/54)
Ki: 182
Mana: 26
Chakra: 20
Honor: Newcomer - 0 neutral (Your new to the land and rumors have only begun to abound)
EXP: 112/200
Strength: 5 +4 (9)
Constitution: 7 +4 (11)
Dexterity: 6
Wisdom: 4
Intelligence: 5
Charisma: 5
The changes weren’t drastic, but they were satisfying nonetheless. He noted his health ticking upward as his body continued to recover in his post-transformation state. The stamina drop was noticeable, though. His beastial regeneration was impressive, but it clearly came with a cost.
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His gaze shifted to the crumpled corpse of the Wraithwood Stalker. Its twisted, bark-like flesh lay scattered in pieces, oozing a faint green ichor. For a fleeting moment, he considered whether consuming it might yield some grotesque boon. The thought was banished as quickly as it came; the idea of ingesting that foul thing turned his stomach.
Instead, he turned his focus to the real prize. Brass crouched low, his fingers brushing the vibrant petals of the Lumina Flower. The glow of the plant was otherworldly, a gentle radiance that seemed to pulse faintly in his palm. He recalled the book’s instructions and carefully rotated the stem, feeling it release from the earth with a soft pop.
The flower’s energy resonated in his hand, a faint warmth radiating from its core. It was more than just beautiful—it was alive in a way he could feel in his veins, as though it were humming in tune with the ambient magic around him.
[Lumina Flower acquired]
Brass stood, casting a glance skyward. The shifting hues of the horizon marked the slow approach of dawn. The moons were fading, their light retreating against the encroaching blaze of the sun. He needed to move quickly if he hoped to complete his task before daybreak.
As he made his way through the forest, Brass’s heightened senses guided him. The earthy scent of damp wood mingled with the sharp tang of pine resin, while faint animal calls whispered through the underbrush. He slowed as the terrain shifted subtly—the air thickened with a tang of magic, and the ground grew harder underfoot. It wasn’t long before he spotted what he was looking for.
A massive Lionbark Tree stood before him, its silver-streaked bark glowing faintly in the dim light. Its twisted roots curled and writhed like petrified serpents, and the bark emitted an almost imperceptible hum, alive with latent energy.
Brass approached with care. Then, focusing his thoughts, he called upon his lycanthropic nature.
His flesh shifted and contorted, fingers elongated, claws forming as his hand became a monstrous hybrid between man and wolf. He tested the claws briefly, flexing them as they gleamed faintly in the tree’s magical light.
He then raked his transformed claws along the bark in a controlled motion, stripping away a piece with precision. The silver-streaked fragment came free, pulsating faintly with the tree’s energy. It felt solid, yet strangely warm to the touch.
[Lionbark Tree Sample acquired]
Satisfied, Brass shifted his hand back to normal, the claws retracting with a faint sting. He patted the pouch holding his gathered items and turned to head back toward his pond. The sky above was beginning to glow, the first hints of sunlight threatening the sanctity of night.
He had reached his secluded hideout just as the first rays of sunlight kissed the horizon. The tranquil pond reflected the soft hues of dawn, its surface rippling gently in the breeze. He wasted no time, descending into the hidden entrance beneath the water’s edge.
The familiar darkness of his crypt embraced him, cool and soothing against the skin. He approached his grave, feeling the pull of exhaustion now that his adrenaline had worn off.
Finally, he lowered himself into the ground. The weight of the earth around him was strangely comforting, a barrier against the harsh world above. With a deep exhale, Brass allowed the stillness to overtake him, his mind already drifting toward the tasks that awaited him when night fell once again.
[End of Night Cycle: Resting… Regeneration in Progress.]
~~~
The Lady Vale Mesmra of Briar-Heart Village—a name that, in truth, no longer suited the bustling, ever-expanding settlement that should long ago have been christened a proper city—stood upon the stone balcony of her manor. Her silken robe billowed gently in the crisp morning breeze as she gazed out over the awakening province. The rays of the rising sun crept slowly across the horizon, setting the distant treetops ablaze with hues of gold and amber.
It had always been her favorite time of day, those fleeting moments when the world held its breath before the chaos of life began. A soft smile touched her lips as memories stirred—of simpler mornings spent as a girl, perched on a wooden bench beside her grandfather. He would sip his steaming cup of tea while she fidgeted with a basket of wildflowers, both of them watching the sun crest the hills in companionable silence.
Those days, however, were long gone. Her grandfather had passed, his wisdom and kindness now only echoes in her heart. In his stead, the mantle of responsibility had fallen to her. Now she bore the weight of an entire province on her shoulders, her title elevated to Baroness Mesmra, though the people still affectionately called her “Lady Vale.” She doubted they truly grasped the burden of her station.
This morning, however, was different. The usual serenity of the sunrise was marred by a tension she couldn’t shake. Her gaze lingered on the eastern road leading toward the village gates, the same road that would soon bear a delegate from the Ayneshys Geniocracy—a neighboring kingdom as enigmatic as it was alluring.
Ayneshys, a realm of magical sophistication, was populated largely by elves, leprechauns, sylphs, selkies, and sirens. It was a land of beauty and riddles, where intellect and arcane prowess ruled supreme. Their interest in Briar-Heart was as unexpected as it was unnerving. She couldn’t decide whether this visit was an opportunity or a potential threat.
The delegate, she had been informed, was a wood elf named Ildarion Maelis, whose title was as flowery as his reputation: Arcane Consul to the Outer Kingdoms. It was said that Ildarion’s kind were as clever as they were cunning, masters of diplomacy and deception in equal measure. Vale had no reason to doubt these whispers, nor did she trust them.
Her thoughts spiraled as she considered what such a visitor could want with her province. Briar-Heart was prosperous, yes, but modest compared to the glittering cities of Ayneshys. Were they here to offer aid? Or to extend a hand while hiding a blade?
A faint shimmer caught her eye on the horizon. The morning mist stirred, parting like a curtain to reveal a small but elegant party approaching the village gates. At the center rode Ildarion himself, seated atop a steed that seemed more creature of myth than mere horse, its silvery mane flowing like liquid moonlight. His figure was unmistakable—tall, slender, and garbed in flowing robes that shimmered with threads of gold and green. Even from a distance, his presence was magnetic, like a beacon of otherworldly authority.
Lady Vale’s heart tightened as she straightened her posture, her hand brushing the cool stone of the balustrade. Whatever the Arcane Consul’s purpose, she would face it with the grace and resolve her grandfather had instilled in her. But deep within, the unease lingered, whispering that this meeting could change everything.
It did not take long for the delegation to reach Lady Vale’s manor. By the time they arrived, she was already standing just inside the wrought-iron gates with a carefully assembled retinue behind her. A few servants in crisp livery flanked her, while representatives of key guilds—including a sharp-eyed elder from the Mage’s Guild—stood at her back. Their collective presence projected an air of organization and quiet power, a message to the visitors that Briar-Heart was no mere backwater.
The sound of hooves and soft footsteps grew louder as the Ayneshys party approached. At the gate, the manor guards struck a crystal bell with a practiced motion, its chime ringing out in a hauntingly beautiful note that resonated with magical overtones. One of the guards stepped forward, his voice amplified by an enchantment, and announced the delegation with practiced clarity.
“Presenting the Arcane Consul of Ayneshys, Lord Ildarion Maelis, accompanied by his retinue: Lytheriel of the Sylvan Choir, emissary of song; Galdrin Leafshade, master alchemist of the Evergreen Concord; and Orinmae Tidecaller, envoy of the Sapphire Depths.”
The gates swung open as Vale inclined her head, her expression measured and serene, though her pulse quickened. The Ayneshys delegation moved with a grace that was almost unsettling. Ildarion, at their head, dismounted from his ethereal steed with a fluid motion, his robes catching the light in a way that made the fabric seem alive. Behind him, his companions followed—each figure as striking and otherworldly as the rumors suggested.
The group engaged in the formal greetings and protocols required of such an occasion. Criars announced titles and accolades, while Vale responded with polite acknowledgments and reciprocated introductions. Though her outward composure was flawless, inwardly, she cataloged every glance and gesture from the delegation, searching for hints of their intentions.
Once the pleasantries were concluded, she gestured gracefully for the party to follow her into the manor. The servants moved quickly and efficiently, seeing to every need of the delegation as they entered the grand hall. Ildarion and his retinue were guided toward the visiting lounge—a warm, sunlit chamber appointed with plush seating and polished wooden tables adorned with intricate carvings. Within minutes, tea and an array of delicately arranged biscuits were brought in on silver trays.
The Ayneshys delegation took their seats, each one settling in with a poise that seemed almost choreographed. Ildarion, however, remained the focal point. His sharp, golden eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on each person present, including the Mage’s Guild representative, before he turned his full attention to Lady Vale.
She returned his gaze evenly, offering a polite smile as she took her own seat at the head of the gathering. “Welcome to Briar-Heart,” she began, her voice calm but firm. “We are honored to host such esteemed guests from the Geniocracy of Ayneshys. I trust your journey was pleasant?”
Ildarion inclined his head, a faint smile touching his lips. “Pleasant indeed, Baroness Mesmra. Your hospitality is as warm as the morning sun, and your lands…” His gaze flicked toward the window, where the sprawling village stretched toward the horizon. “…are most intriguing.”
Lady Vale leaned slightly forward, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she listened to Ildarion. His words were measured, deliberate, but there was no mistaking the gravity behind them.
“Baroness,” he began, his golden eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that left no room for pretense, “we come to you not merely as emissaries of Ayneshys, but as representatives of a cause that concerns the very balance of these lands. The forces of the Dark Lands grow bolder with each passing year, testing the borders with greater ferocity. For centuries, it has been the united effort of the realms to contain them, a task we have never shirked despite the toll it exacts.”
His tone turned sharper, more focused. “However, for the last two years, Ayneshys has not received the customary contributions from Albion. Your kingdom’s funds are vital to maintaining the arcane wards and fortifications that guard the eastern borders. Without them, our defenses weaken, and the consequences could spread far beyond our lands.”
Vale’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. She remained silent, her expression neutral as she waited for him to continue.
“We are here to investigate this lapse,” Ildarion explained. “It is not merely a matter of gold; it is a matter of trust and unity. We cannot afford division in the face of such threats. Yet approaching your king without understanding the nuances of your court or the circumstances surrounding this matter would be… unwise. That is why we have come to you.”
The sylph Lytheriel chimed in, her voice soft yet musical. “Baroness Mesmra, your influence in Briar-Heart is well known, as is your wisdom. We humbly seek your assistance in navigating Albion’s court and persuading the king to resume his kingdom’s obligations. In exchange, Ayneshys would not forget your aid. We are prepared to offer our own resources in gratitude, be it rare materials, arcane knowledge, or trade agreements that could greatly benefit your province.”
The room fell silent for a moment, save for the faint clink of teacups as one of the delegation’s members set their cup down. Vale’s mind raced. The proposition was enticing. Aligning Briar-Heart with Ayneshys could elevate the village-turned-city's status even further. The Geniocracy’s favor was not something to be taken lightly, especially with their wealth of magical expertise and exotic trade goods. It would also bolster her own influence, potentially setting her apart as a key player on the national stage.
And yet…
The political waters of Albion’s capital were notoriously treacherous. She had not been to court in over a year, and much could have changed in that time. The king’s reasons for withholding funds might be justified—or worse, meddling in this matter might inadvertently put her province at odds with the crown. If she misstepped, the repercussions could be disastrous for her people and her position.
Ildarion seemed to sense her hesitation. “Lady Vale,” he said, his voice softening, “we are not here to place you in jeopardy. Our goal is unity, not discord. But the threat we face is real, and it will not wait for diplomacy to catch up. Whatever aid you can provide us will not only strengthen Ayneshys but Albion as well.”
Her gaze flicked toward the representative of the Mage’s Guild, an older man with a graying beard and piercing eyes. Master Aldemar had served as a key advisor to her family for years and was known for his measured counsel. He caught her glance and gave the faintest nod, leaning forward slightly.
“Baroness,” Aldemar said, his voice low but firm, “if I may. The Geniocracy has long been Albion’s most steadfast ally in matters of defense. Their expertise in magical wards and barriers is unmatched, and their contribution to the containment of the Dark Lands cannot be overstated. Assisting them in this matter would not only bolster our ties with Ayneshys but also reflect well upon your leadership. It is a risk, certainly, but one that carries considerable potential for reward.”
She held his gaze for a moment longer, the weight of his words settling alongside her own considerations. Aldemar rarely spoke in absolutes, but when he did, his advice was worth heeding.
“Very well,” she said at last, her voice calm and steady. “You will have my assistance. We will leave for the capital tomorrow morning. In the meantime, you are welcome to rest here. My servants will see to your needs.”
The tension in the room eased, and Ildarion inclined his head, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. “You have our gratitude, Lady Vale. Rest assured, this alliance will not go unrewarded.”
As the delegation expressed their thanks, Vale rose gracefully to her feet. Though her face remained composed, her thoughts were already turning to the challenges ahead. Tomorrow, she would step into the heart of Albion’s politics, caught between the ambitions of an elven nation and the realities of her own kingdom.
The sunrise that had once filled her with such simple joy now seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the uncertainty of what lay ahead.