The forest stretched ahead, its shadows twisting like living things. Branches swayed in the wind, whispering secrets he couldn’t understand. Arion paused, tilting his head. A faint crackle reached his ears, the unmistakable mana movement in the distance. The kingdom's force. They were close. Too close.
Arion’s fingers tightened around his staff. He turned and surveyed the terrain. Behind him, the tomb’s concealed entrance had vanished into the cliffside, swallowed by the jagged rock. Ahead lay a labyrinth of trees and undergrowth. His only chance was to disappear into the dark.
A glimmer of light flickered between the trunks. Scouts. Their torches bobbed and weaved, growing brighter, closer. Arion ducked behind a tree, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He closed his eyes, summoning a spell. The air shimmered around him, bending the light just enough to mask his form.
The sound of footsteps drew near. Leaves crunched. Metal clinked. A scout passed so close he could hear the soft rasp of their breathing. Arion froze. He waited. One second. Two. Three. The soldier moved on, and Arion slipped deeper into the forest, his movements swift but careful.
Then, it happened.
A sudden burst of golden light erupted through the trees, slamming into the ground ahead of him. The explosion sent shards of dirt and rock flying, forcing Arion to shield his face. He turned, his heart racing, and saw him. A powerful mage with a crimson cape. The mage stepped forward, his staff crackling with energy.
“You’ve made this far more difficult than it needed to be,” Lorien said, his voice calm, almost amused.
Arion didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Instead, he muttered an incantation. A surge of energy radiated outward—a [Mana Pulse]. The shockwave rippled through the air, knocking soldiers off their feet and sending their weapons clattering to the ground. One man stumbled backward, crashing into another, as the line of pursuers momentarily faltered. Arion didn’t wait to see their recovery. He turned and sprinted deeper into the narrowing valley.
But it wasn’t enough.
The soldiers pressed forward, relentless. Their torches burned brighter, their formation tightening like a noose. Arion’s movements became frantic. He lashed out with spells, conjuring blasts and waves, each one buying him precious seconds. Still, they came.
He reached the valley.
Its walls rose steep and sheer, blocking any escape. The torches behind him cast long, flickering shadows against the rock. He spun, searching for an opening, a path he might have missed. Nothing.
Lorien stepped into view, his soldiers fanning out to encircle Arion completely. There was no taunt this time, no words of reassurance or threat. Just silence.
Arion gripped his staff, his knuckles white. The energy around him burned hot, his mana flaring with the desperation of a cornered animal. He knew this was the end. Or maybe, it was only the beginning.
"I can do it. I still haven't used the Fifth's ability," he muttered.
The soldiers tightened their formation. Arion’s chest heaved as he steadied himself, his staff trembling in his grip. They were ready to strike. He could see it in their eyes—the cold certainty of warriors who believed victory was near.
Then, it happened.
A searing pain lanced through Arion’s arm, forcing a cry from his lips. He staggered, his gaze snapping to his forearm as a glowing rune etched itself into his skin, burning like molten fire. Golden light flared from the mark, illuminating the valley. The air thickened, humming with power.
Before Arion could make sense of it, the spectral form of a man emerged from the light. The Fifth Sealer.
“The Fourth Sealer foresaw your struggles, Ninth. This rune is a gift, a single use meant to aid you in moments of despair. Use it wisely.”
The spirit faded just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the rune’s brilliance behind. growls followed, and the air around Arion grew icy. From the rune, vengeful spirits poured forth. They floated above the ground, vengeful eyes turned toward Lorien’s forces.
A soldier screamed as the first spirit lunged, its claws slicing through armor like paper. Another specter descended, its presence so cold that frost crept up the man’s weapon before shattering it in his hands. The valley erupted into chaos. Lorien’s men shouted commands, their voices tinged with fear, as the spirits tore through their ranks with ferocity.
Arion didn’t wait. He spun on his heel, darting into the forest beyond the valley’s edge. The sounds of combat followed him—shouts, the clash of steel, and the chilling wails of the spirits as they wrought their havoc.
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The forest welcomed him with its shadows, its roots and branches hiding his form. He pressed on, his breath uneven but determined. Behind him, the chaos raged, but he didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The chance was too precious, the moment too fragile.
For now, he was free.
Arion leaned against a moss-covered tree, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. The forest was silent now, the echoes of the chaos he'd left behind swallowed by the dense canopy. He clutched his staff tightly, his fingers trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline.
Why were they so relentless? His mind churned with the question, the pieces of a puzzle beginning to take shape. The kingdom’s soldiers hadn’t just been hunting him; they’d been desperate. Obsessive. It wasn’t just about him being the Monster Sealer. No, it had to be more than that.
He thought of the immortal monsters, their presence spreading devastation wherever they appeared. The Famine Dragon. The beast that had destroyed his village. And others like it, whose power twisted mana and corrupted the world around them. The kingdom knew about them—perhaps even more than he did. But instead of fighting the monsters directly, they were chasing him. Why?
Arion’s brows furrowed as a chilling thought crept into his mind. Were they trying to stop him from sealing the monsters? Could their pursuit be tied to the immortality of those creatures? The idea gnawed at him, but he couldn’t ignore it.
He shook his head, pushing the questions aside for now. Answers would come later—if he survived long enough to find them. For now, there was only one path forward. The next tomb. Whatever waited for him in the next tomb might hold the key to understanding. Or at least give him the strength to continue.
But as his hand brushed against his empty satchel, reality set in. He had no supplies. No food, no potions, nothing to sustain him on the journey ahead. His lips pressed into a thin line as he scanned his surroundings. The forest could provide some sustenance, but it wouldn’t be enough for the miles he had yet to travel.
"I need supplies," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible in the stillness. The thought of venturing into a nearby village brought its own risks. The kingdom’s reach was vast, and word of his presence would travel fast. But he had no choice. Without provisions, he wouldn’t make it far.
Straightening, Arion adjusted his grip on his staff and began moving deeper into the woods. One problem at a time. Supplies first. Then the tomb. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find the answers he sought along the way.
---
The village of Aelbrook hummed with life as Arion approached, its cobblestone streets bustling with merchants hawking wares, children darting between market stalls, and townsfolk exchanging gossip. Smoke curled from the chimneys of thatched-roof houses, mingling with the aroma of fresh bread and roasting meat. Arion pulled his hood lower, masking his face in shadow. To them, he was just another wanderer—a traveler seeking shelter and supplies.
He kept his pace measured as he entered the heart of the village, his staff concealed beneath his cloak. A glance at a nearby stall revealed rows of fruit, jars of honey, and dried herbs. He stopped, handing over a few coins for a small pouch of dried meat and a loaf of bread. The vendor, an older woman with kind eyes, gave him a brief smile but asked no questions.
At the next stall, he added a flask of water and a bundle of fire-starting sticks to his collection. The merchant—a wiry man with sharp features—chatted idly with another customer about strange happenings in the region.
“...another sighting, just three days ago,” the merchant said. “West of the woods. They say it wasn’t human, glowing eyes and all. Some kind of beast.”
“Immortal?” the customer asked, a tremor in his voice.
“Could be. If it is, best to avoid those parts. The kingdom’s sending more troops, anyway.”
Arion’s hand froze briefly as he reached for the goods. He forced himself to move naturally, placing a few more coins on the counter. The kingdom was here. He’d expected it, but the confirmation sent a ripple of unease through him. They weren’t just hunting him—they were keeping tabs on the monsters too.
He moved on, slipping into an apothecary’s shop tucked at the edge of the market. The air inside was thick with the scent of herbs and alchemical brews. Arion selected a handful of minor healing potions and a tonic for stamina, careful not to overfill his satchel. Every coin spent needed to count.
As he exited, his senses sharpened. A guard stood near the market square, scanning the crowd. His gaze landed on Arion, lingering just a moment too long.
The guard’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. Arion kept walking, his steps calm. His heart thudded in his chest, each beat pounding louder in his ears.
“Hold a moment,” the guard called out, starting toward him.
Arion didn’t falter. Without breaking stride, he turned a corner and merged with a small group of villagers heading toward the outer road. He slipped away from the crowd at the first opportunity, cutting through a narrow alley lined with stacked crates and barrels.
By the time he reached the village outskirts, the guard was nowhere in sight. He exhaled, loosening his grip on his staff beneath the cloak. Supplies in hand, he disappeared into the treeline, the bustling sounds of Aelbrook fading behind him.
Arion entered Wyrmwood Forest again, the quiet weight of the trees pressing in on him. He had to be cautious. The kingdom had seen his face. They knew he was here.
The faint creak of branches above and the rustle of leaves underfoot were the only sounds in the stillness. He opened his map and read it. The forest stretched ahead, vast and tangled, villages hidden among the trees. Small, quiet places—perfect for blending in, but not for finding what he sought.
He needed more. He needed to leave the forest. The next tomb wasn’t hidden in the shadows of Wyrmwood. It lay further south, across the wide expanse of Glimmerfield Plain. The plain spread out like an open canvas, dotted with towns and cities. Rumors would gather there. Answers, perhaps.
Arion traced the path on the map, his finger pausing over the towns and cities nestled in the rolling grasslands.
The open land would be dangerous. But it was his only choice.
He folded the map carefully and tucked it away, his resolve hardening. Beyond the forest lay the vast plain, and with it, the next step in his journey.
Time to move.