Stretching, Brass hoisted himself out of his makeshift grave, his muscles shifting with a mix of predatory grace and human familiarity. The act of waking was strangely mundane despite his vampiric nature—a fact he chalked up to his still-beating heart, courtesy of the werewolf side of his hybrid existence. He cast a quick glance toward the single crack in the ceiling, where a faint, fading stream of sunlight filtered in, painting the damp earth walls with its amber glow.
The light was already waning, a signal that his nocturnal hours were beginning. Shaking off the residual stiffness, he checked his inventory and status.
STATUS
Health: 18/18
Stamina: 37/37
Ki: 182
Mana: 26
Chakra: 20
EXP: 112/200
Temporary bonuses from his earlier quests had faded, as expected, but his core stats remained intact. Brass nodded to himself. He was no powerhouse yet, but he was steadily improving. If he wanted to gain an edge before reaching Briar-Heart to meet Serra, he’d need to hunt and bolster his strength further.
Collecting his belongings, he moved to the crypt’s exit. Outside, the forest loomed, vibrant and ominous under the fading light of the three suns. He stepped carefully into the nearby shadows, avoiding the lingering patches of sunlight, which still held a faint sting against his undead nature. His eyes scanned the forest floor for a viable path through the shadows but found it lacking.
With a sigh, he retreated back into the lair. Wandering to the only interesting spot, his gaze fell upon the eclectic collection of books the Drider had amassed. One in particular caught his eye—a stack of old orders the creature had apparently been fulfilling. Picking up a stray parchment that had fallen to the floor, Brass frowned as he read the elegant script.
Order Note:
Requested by: Sidhe Borren
Items: 3 Elixirs of Lunar Restoration, 5 Mana Shards, and 1 Flask of Void Essence
“Huh,” Brass muttered, flipping the note over as if the back would hold answers. He had no idea who or what Sidhe Borren was, but the mention of lunar restoration piqued his interest. Were these items part of the Drider’s trade? It seemed even monstrous beings had jobs to keep themselves afloat.
Setting the note aside, Brass sifted through the rest of the books and papers. Many were similar—orders for potions, enchanted trinkets, or magical reagents. Apparently, the Drider had run a reasonably successful alchemical side business.
“Guess everyone’s gotta hustle,” Brass chuckled, stacking the papers neatly. A dusty tome on magic caught his eye, its cracked leather binding emanating an aura of mystery. He plucked it from the shelf and opened it, settling into a corner to read while the last rays of sunlight disappeared.
The book detailed the rudimentary principles of mana manipulation, with sections on channeling, sigil crafting, and basic enchanting techniques. While most of it went over his head, Brass found the descriptions intriguing. He focused on a section about stabilizing raw mana to prevent backlash—a useful tidbit for someone planning to dabble in magical skills eventually.
By the time Brass closed the tome, the crypt was cloaked in shadow. The cool, damp air of his underground sanctuary pressed against his skin, carrying faint whispers of the outside world through the small crack in the ceiling. The distant call of a nocturnal bird signaled the coming night. His time.
Rising with a fluidity that betrayed his hybrid nature, he stretched, the faint pop of his joints echoing in the silence. His senses stirred as he attuned to the forest’s nocturnal symphony. The muffled rustle of leaves, the whisper of wind sliding between branches, and the faint, rhythmic pulse of life called to him.
Drawing in a deep breath, he unleashed his instincts. The world sharpened around him, each sound and scent amplifying into an orchestra of information. He caught the musky tang of fur and the earthy, electric tinge of something… different.
Listening closely, he pinpointed the huffing breaths of an animal—a deer perhaps? Leaving his lair he stalked off into the night, weaving through the darkness like a phantom.
When he spotted his prey, his breath hitched. The creature wasn’t just any deer. Its lean, muscular form shimmered faintly in the moonlight, wrapped in an ethereal aura of wind that rippled around its body. Green runic symbols glowed faintly along its flanks, shifting and twisting like living tattoos. Upon its brow, a crown of vines twisted and wove around two budding antlers. The way it moved, so fluid and graceful, made Brass hesitate. For a moment, attacking it felt like defacing a work of art.
Then again, this was a fantasy world. This is probably just a normal deer, right? Right?
Predatory instincts quelled his doubt. He was no longer human; he was a hybrid, and predators didn’t apologize. As the buck lowered its head to graze, Brass activated his Vampiric Speed, the world blurring around him as he closed the distance in a heartbeat.
The plan? Tackle, subdue, and feed. Simple.
The reality? Far messier.
Brass’s leap was too high and too fast. His shoulder clipped the buck’s flank instead of its neck, and the impact spun them both into the dirt in a chaotic tangle of limbs. The buck, far from stunned, exploded into motion with a violent twist of its body. Its aura flared, sending a burst of wind into Brass’s face that stung like a swarm of hornets.
WHAM!
He hit the ground awkwardly, the air knocked from his lungs. Before he could recover, the buck lashed out with its powerful hind legs, catching him square in the ribs.
-8 HP
“Ugh!” Brass gasped, rolling onto his side. Pain radiated through his chest, and for a split second, he questioned every decision that had led him to this moment.
The deer didn’t wait. It bolted, hooves pounding against the forest floor like drumbeats. He growled, ignoring the throbbing in his ribs as he scrambled to his feet.
“Not today, Bambi.”
He launched himself forward again, claws extended, but the buck was faster than it looked. It zigzagged through the trees, its aura flaring with every leap. Brass tried to anticipate its movements, but the damn thing was erratic, almost as if it knew every move he would make in advance.
Finally, with a burst of speed, he managed to lunge close enough to grab the creature’s flank. Claws dug in, eliciting a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the forest. The buck kicked wildly, one hoof catching Brass in the hip.
-5 HP
“Are you kidding me?!” he snarled, his grip slipping. The deer bucked and twisted, nearly throwing him off. Its runes glowed brighter, the wind aura around it intensifying to a slicing gale. Blood welled from shallow cuts on Brass’s arms and legs as he fought to maintain his hold.
His muscles burned, and his instincts screamed at him to finish it quickly. With a desperate growl, Brass transformed one hand into a full lycan claw and drove it into the buck’s neck. The runes flickered, the wind dissipating as the creature stumbled and collapsed beneath his weight.
Panting, Brass wrestled the buck onto its side. Its eyes, wide and glowing faintly with magic, met his for a brief moment before he sunk his fangs into its jugular. The first few gulps were clumsy and bitter, the metallic tang of blood laced with something earthy and strange. The deer convulsed once, then went still.
He pulled back, blood dripping from his mouth as the primal hunger inside him eased. Glancing down at the buck’s chest, he noticed the faint thrum of its oversized heart. His instincts flared again, more primal this time, and before he could stop himself, he tore the heart free and bit into it.
It was warm, pulsing faintly in his hands as he devoured it. The strange, gamey taste should have disgusted him, but instead, he relished the vitality coursing through his veins. By the time he finished, his body felt stronger, sharper, more alive.
STATUS
Health: 18 +5 (23/23)
Stamina: 37 +5 (42/42)
Ki: 182
Mana: 26
Chakra: 20
EXP: 113/200
Stepping back, Brass surveyed his work, satisfied despite the clumsy execution. Then the air shimmered, and a metallic voice cut through the silence.
“Wow. That was bad, and you should feel bad,” the system’s avatar quipped, its crystalline lens adjusting as it stared at the mangled deer and then back at him.
Brass’s throat tightened. “You don’t mean it was some kind of spirit guardian or sacred forest protector, do you? Am I about to get hunted down by elves or something?” His voice betrayed a flicker of panic.
The avatar’s lens flickered. “What? No. That would be ridiculous. That was just really bad. You’re telling me that was the best you could do? Dash, grab, and bite until dead? Pathetic.”
“Excuse me for not being a hunting prodigy on day three,” Brass shot back, wiping blood from his chin. “You’ve been quiet for how long, and the first thing out of your mouth is mockery? Feeling the love, bud.”
“Oh.. don’t, I don't want you to. That earlier panic? Delicious. Do focus on that.” The avatar whirred, spinning in place like it was savoring the moment.
Brass glared at it, his claws flexing involuntarily. “You’re definitely broken. Aren’t you supposed to be a guide? Like, from a goddess of happiness or something?”
“Exactly! And seeing you flail around like a drunk ghoul is making me very happy. So really, I’m doing my job.”
Brass groaned, running a hand down his face. “Great. I’m stuck with a sadist AI.”
The avatar tilted, its lens gleaming faintly. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. If you want real guidance, here’s a tip: maybe don’t go full predator mode on every shiny forest critter you see. Now, shall we move on, or are you planning on eating the vines next?”
Rolling his eyes, Brass made his way to the pond above the den, the water glinting faintly in the twilight. He crouched by the edge, the scent of damp moss mingling with the crisp evening air. The chill of the water bit into his skin as he scrubbed at his hands and face, washing away the sticky remnants of his earlier hunt.
Satisfied with his brief cleanse, he descended back into the crypt. The faint hum of magic resonated as he stepped into the nexus cortex, the air shimmering faintly around him. The portal activated with a subtle pulse, disorienting yet familiar. He strode quickly across the web, the silken threads woven of otherworldly light. With a resolute step, he entered the next portal and emerged into the forest above.
He took a moment to survey his surroundings from the tree-shrouded nook, the damp scent of blossoms filling his senses. The road to town stretched ahead, mostly empty save for a few distant figures moving into Briar-Heart’s gates.
Keeping to the outskirts, he moved with deliberate stealth. The bushes lining the fields offered ample cover, their leaves whispering softly in the breeze. He wove between them like a shadow given life, his vampiric speed and lycan agility making the maneuver effortless—mostly.
Finally, he spotted Serra. She was perched atop a barrel by a fence, her legs crossed and her bored expression lit faintly by the flicker of fire dancing above her open palm. She crafted the flames with an elegance that left him momentarily transfixed. The fiery figure spun and leapt in a mesmerizing dance, an intricate display of motion and control.
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The flame shifted and changed, forming intricate patterns—a sparrow in flight, a serpent coiling around itself. To Brass, the display was alluring, though it seemed she barely noticed her own artistry.
Her sharp eyes snapped to him as he drew closer, and with a flick of her wrist, the flames winked out. Her gaze narrowed, her expression caught between amusement and suspicion as she hopped down from her perch.
“Finally,” she said, brushing off her skirt. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten me.”
“Sorry,” Brass said with an awkward smile, running a hand through his hair. “Had to take care of some things.”
Her eyes flicked over him, and she quirked an eyebrow. “Is that blood on you?”
He stiffened, glancing down at the fresh stains, he wished he washed more thoroughly. His mind raced for an explanation. “Uh, yeah. It’s just… from a deer. Got a little messy.”
“A deer?” Serra tilted her head, her tone laced with incredulity. “What were you doing to it, wrestling it into submission? How does hunting a deer get that messy?”
Brass’s cheeks flushed as he scrambled for a response not wanting her to realize how accurate that was. “It… uh… well, let’s just say it didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped.” He coughed, awkwardly changing the subject. “Anyway, we should get moving. The Skol Foothills aren’t exactly close.”
Serra gave him a long, skeptical look but seemed to decide against pressing further. “Fine, but if you show up covered in blood again, I’m demanding answers.”
“Duly noted,” Brass muttered, relieved to shift focus.
They set off, the road winding southward through rolling fields and scattered copses of trees. The moon hung low in the sky, its silvery light bathing the landscape in a pale glow. Serra took the lead, her gait confident and purposeful, while Brass matched her stride, his eyes scanning the shadows for movement.
As they walked, Serra began to talk, her voice soft but carrying easily in the stillness. “This close to Briar-Heart, things are usually quiet. Soldiers and merchants tend to keep the roads safe. But once we’re past the farms, things can get a little… unpredictable.”
“How so?” Brass asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Well,” she began, “monsters aren’t uncommon outside the cities. Nothing too dangerous in this area—weak elementals, goblins, the occasional stray wyrm. But lately, there’s been talk of a new band of marauders in the area. The local authorities haven’t been able to locate their base yet, so travelers are on edge.”
“Marauders?” Brass frowned. “What kind of bandits are we talking about here?”
“Armed, organized, and ruthless,” Serra replied grimly. “They’ve hit a few caravans already, leaving just enough survivors to spread the word. Probably trying to intimidate anyone thinking of traveling through.”
“Great,” Brass muttered. “Anything else I should worry about?”
Serra shrugged. “The farther south we go, the closer we get to the border. There are always skirmishes along the frontier, so running into enemy patrols is a possibility. But we’re still a ways from that kind of trouble. For now, just keep an eye out for anything unusual.”
They walked in silence for a time, the rhythmic crunch of their boots on the dirt road the only sound. The night stretched on, cool and quiet, the stars scattered across the sky like shards of glass. Brass found himself relaxing despite the ominous warnings. Traveling with someone who knew the land felt… reassuring.
But the stillness didn’t last.
A faint rustle came from the trees to their left, barely audible over the soft murmur of the wind. His ears twitched, hybrid senses picking up the sound more distinctly than Serra’s human ones might have. He slowed his pace, his body tensing.
“You hear that?” he whispered.
Serra stopped, her head tilting slightly as she listened. A shadow passed over her face, and her eyes narrowed. “I do now,” she said softly, her voice edged with caution. “Something’s moving out there.”
The rustling grew louder, closer, the sound of underbrush parting. Whatever it was, it wasn’t small.
Brass’s instincts flared, his senses sharpening as he scanned the darkness. “Stay behind me,” he said, his voice low.
Serra moved to his left, just a half-step behind him. From the top of her staff, he noticed a small flame beginning to writhe and contort. Something deeper within him, a heightened awareness of energy perhaps, made him acutely aware of the flow of mana. It streamed from her hands, clasped tightly around the polished shaft, surging in rhythmic pulses into the gemstone embedded at the staff’s apex. The air around her seemed to hum faintly, as though the world itself held its breath.
He forced himself to focus. Whatever was in the shadows was no mere animal. His instincts screamed at him to act just as a massive, unhinged jaw erupted from the underbrush. Rows of jagged teeth gleamed in the faint moonlight, snapping shut where he had stood only a fraction of a second before.
Brass’s body reacted before his mind could catch up, his vampiric speed skill activating instinctively. The world blurred as he darted to the side, the displaced air from the creature’s strike brushing against his skin like a slap. The jaws slammed shut with a bone-shaking clack, tearing through the space he had vacated.
The creature emerged fully from the shadows, and Brass’s breath hitched. Its serpentine eyes glowed faintly, catching the moonlight with a predatory gleam. Its scales shimmered in hues of deep emerald and bronze, each movement betraying the raw power coiled within its lithe, sinuous frame. The beast’s elongated body rippled as it slithered partially into view, its clawed limbs digging into the soil with terrifying ease.
Brass’s hybrid instincts clashed in his mind. His beast blood roared, rising to the surface with a primal need to assert dominance over this challenger. His vampiric side, colder and more calculating, urged restraint. Both sides of his nature agreed on one thing: this was no ordinary predator.
As if to confirm his fears, the system’s familiar, detached voice chimed in.
[Detected: Juvenile Forest Dragon]
“Well, that’s great,” Brass muttered under his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, though he wasn’t sure if it was from fear or excitement.
“Dragon?” Serra hissed, her voice tinged with both disbelief and alarm. “Here?”
“Apparently,” Brass replied tersely, his eyes locked on the creature. He took a cautious step back, his muscles coiling. “Any chance it just wants to chat?”
“Not likely,” she said, the flame on her staff flaring brighter. The gemstone pulsed in time with her magic as she muttered an incantation under her breath.
The dragon hissed, a sound like steam escaping a pressurized chamber, and crouched low. Its jaws opened slightly, revealing a faint glow deep in its throat.
“Is it about to—” Brass started, but Serra cut him off.
“Move!” she shouted, thrusting her staff forward. A bolt of fire shot from the gemstone, colliding with the beast’s shoulder just as a stream of acidic green mist burst from its mouth.
Brass didn’t need to be told twice. He dashed to the side, narrowly avoiding the spray as it scorched the earth where he had stood. Smoke and the acrid stench of melting vegetation filled the air, making his eyes water.
“Any brilliant ideas?” he called out, circling the creature to draw its attention.
“Yeah,” Serra replied, her tone grim. “Don’t get hit.” She sent another bolt of fire streaking toward the dragon, but it deflected the attack with a flick of its tail, the impact sending embers scattering into the night.
Brass clenched his fists, his rational side warred with the primal urge to attack. If this thing was juvenile, he didn’t want to imagine what a full-grown one would look like as it was the thing must of been twenty yards long. For now, survival meant keeping it off balance.
“Distract it,” Serra barked. “I need a moment to charge something stronger!”
“Sure, I’ll just wave my arms around and hope it doesn’t eat me!” Brass retorted, drawing his axe and darting forward to rake the blade across the dragon’s flank. Its scales were like steel, and the blow barely scratched its surface. Still, it turned, snapping at him with a hiss that sent a shiver down his spine.
“Just keep it busy!” Serra shouted, the flame in her hands growing into a blinding orb of light. “I’ve got this.”
“You’d better,” Brass muttered, dodging another swipe of the dragon’s claws. “Because I’m not exactly—whoa!” He ducked as the beast’s tail whipped through the air, narrowly missing his head.
This was shaping up to be a long night.
~~~
Lady Vale sat across the fire, absently twirling the silver ring on her finger, her mind half on the conversation around her and half on the day’s events. Her attendants had gathered near the flame, chatting in hushed but animated tones. The topic of the night, of course, was their enigmatic new traveling companions: the delegation from Ayneshys.
The morning had been a whirlwind of activity. Preparations for her departure had stretched on far longer than anticipated. Between ensuring her hold would be properly managed in her absence and receiving the final reports from her steward, the caravan didn’t manage to set off until well past midday. It was frustrating but ultimately unavoidable.
Still, they had covered good ground, nearly two leagues before dusk forced them to make camp. Now, as shadows stretched long into the night, the two factions had naturally settled apart. The fae folk from Ayneshys were gathered on one side, their presence marked by an almost otherworldly glow. Their voices rose in lilting, melodic tones, a language as foreign as their shimmering cloaks and the faint, bioluminescent sheen of their skin.
On the other side of the camp, her own retinue clustered close to their wagons. Twenty men-at-arms, two knights, and her personal guard of five handpicked soldiers—a substantial force for what was, in theory, a peaceful diplomatic mission. She had initially balked at the idea of taking so many. But when the Ayneshys delegation arrived with a troop of over fifty men, each armored in gleaming plate and bearing the unmistakable discipline of trained warriors, she found herself wishing she’d brought more.
Her fingers drummed lightly on the edge of her knee as she studied the fae contingent. Their armor bore intricate, swirling motifs, runes that seemed to shimmer and shift under the firelight. One emblem in particular caught her eye—a five-pointed star enclosed within a circle, unmistakably the symbol of the Order of Pentalding.
The Order was no ordinary group of soldiers. They were paladins of the highest order, renowned for their sacred duty to hold the borders of the Darklands. The mere sight of their insignia was enough to inspire awe—and unease. What were members of such a prestigious order doing in a diplomatic delegation? Surely their presence was more than mere showmanship.
Vale’s brow furrowed as she remembered Ildarion’s reassurances earlier. The fae envoy, clad in shimmering robes that seemed spun from starlight, had smiled and waved off her concerns.
“A demonstration of sincerity, my lady,” he had said, his silver hair catching the sunlight like liquid moonlight. “Ayneshys values this accord deeply, and we wish to show the king that we come with respect—and strength. We are merely prepared for any… unexpected challenges.”
She hadn’t missed the faint curve of his lips when he said it, as though there was more he wasn’t saying. The paladins of Pentalding weren’t the kind to be loaned out lightly, even to a cause as noble as diplomacy. Whatever their true purpose, she suspected it had little to do with cordial relations.
Across the fire, her attendants’ conversation pulled her from her thoughts.
“Do you think they sleep like us?” one of them murmured, leaning closer to the others. “Or do they just… fade into the night?”
Another snickered. “Probably hang upside down from trees like bats. That’s what my aunt used to say about fae folk.”
“Hush,” chided the eldest of the group, her tone sharp but amused. “Don’t be disrespectful. They’re not beasts.”
Lady Vale allowed herself a small smile, though her gaze remained fixed on the fae soldiers. Disrespectful or not, the thought wasn’t entirely ridiculous. Everything about the Ayneshys delegation felt alien. Their movements were too graceful, their eyes too bright. Even their horses, sleek and silvery, seemed carved from some fantastical dream.
The conversation quieted as the attendants began to settle for the night, but Vale remained by the fire, her thoughts churning. Tomorrow would bring more travel, and with it, more unanswered questions. For now, she would rest—but not without keeping a blade close at hand.
As Lady Vale rose to make her way to the tent, the tranquility of the night was shattered by a sound that sent chills racing down her spine. A low, resonant roar echoed across the sky, vibrating through the air like the rumble of distant thunder. Moments later, a burst of fiery orange light painted the heavens, its brilliance illuminating the camp and casting stark shadows across startled faces.
Her heart sank. The sound was unmistakable—a dragon’s challenge. In Asteria, it was a call that no one ignored, a harbinger of either destruction or salvation, this case was clearly the former.
The camp erupted into chaos. Men stumbled over one another, struggling to arm themselves in the flickering firelight, while the fae delegation burst into swift, coordinated action. Their mages wove shimmering wards into the air, the runes crackling with protective energy as enchantments flared to life.
“Antony!” Vale called sharply, her voice cutting through the noise like a whip. Her loyal guard rushed to her side, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. “Bring me my horse. Quickly!”
“Yes, my lady!” Antony darted off into the fray, shouting orders to the nearest men.
As she waited, a breathless messenger stumbled toward her from the picket line, his face pale and streaked with sweat. “My lady! The beast—it’s close. We spotted it toward Briar-Heart. The flames—it’s heading straight for the village!”
Vale’s chest tightened. Briar-Heart was her holding, its people under her protection. She could not stand idly by. Antony returned with her horse, the chestnut mare snorting nervously as the roar echoed again, closer this time. Vaulting into the saddle, she rounded her steed toward the fae encampment, her gaze locking on Ildarion.
The elven envoy stood amidst his warriors, his expression calm despite the chaos around him. His silver hair caught the glow of the wards, lending him an ethereal quality as he observed the sky with an inscrutable gaze.
“You claim to be defenders of life!” Vale shouted, her voice ringing with urgency. “Then I implore you—help drive off this attack on my people, and I will not question your intentions further. Stand with me, and together we will demand answers from the king! But now, I beg you—help my people!”
Ildarion regarded her for a long, tense moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he inclined his head, his voice smooth and unwavering. “Of course, my lady. We had every intention of investigating this matter.”
Without another word, he turned and mounted his steed in one fluid motion. Behind him, a troop of paladins fell into formation. They needed no mounts, their enchanted armor granting them supernatural speed as they surged forward, disappearing into the night like silver phantoms.
Vale barely had time to register their departure when Sir Charles, one of her knights, barked an order. “We can’t let them have all the fun! Antony, stay with Lady Vale. The rest of you boys—on me! For glory!”
Before she could respond, Charles spurred his horse forward, leading a dozen of her soldiers in pursuit of the elf’s contingent. Vale gritted her teeth, her frustration mounting. The man had no authority to give such orders, but there was no stopping him now.
“Damn it, Charles,” she muttered under her breath. Spinning her horse, she called to Antony. “Stay here and guard the camp. I’ll handle this.”
Antony hesitated, his brow furrowing in protest. “My lady, I—”
“That’s an order!” she snapped, cutting him off.
With a sharp kick, she urged her mare forward, the horse surging beneath her as she charged into the night. The wind whipped at her hair, and the distant glow of flames lit her path. She could feel her heart pounding, a mix of fear and exhilaration driving her onward.
She wasn’t about to stand idly by while others fought for her people. If a dragon was truly attacking Briar-Heart, she would see it with her own eyes.