Immanuel's eyes kept staring at the spot where the beast had vanished, long after it had disappeared into the sea of grass. His body ached from the clash, and he glanced at his hand, half-expecting to see the cut from his sword, but it was pristine, with only the dried blood remaining. "What the fuck?" he said aloud. The world around him began to darken as night approached. "I need to find some cover," he thought to himself.
With a grimace of pain, Immanuel summoned his tent. The simple act of moving around was Herculean, but he managed to crawl inside its welcome shelter. As his head settled onto the soft carpet, his consciousness surrendered to exhaustion and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Dawn's gentle touch roused Immanuel the following morning. He lay still, his eyes open, processing the serenity that had replaced yesterday's chaos. Curiously, he felt... good. No, not just good—remarkably whole. He patted himself down, half-expecting to find injuries or tender spots, but there were none. A chuckle escaped him, bubbling up from a well of relief—until a loud, melodious voice shattered the silence.
"Are you alive?"
The voice was musical and carried a note of curiosity. It was quickly followed by another, distinctly different in tone but equally inquisitive.
"Definitely a Dras look there. And blood."
Immanuel's heart skipped. His chuckle evaporated into the morning air, replaced by a sudden tension. He was not alone.
"Yes," he called out, his voice surprisingly steady. "I am alive."
Slowly and with a hint of caution, Immanuel crawled out of the tent. He blinked against the brightness of the three suns now high in the sky, his eyes adjusting to the daylight and his mind bracing to meet these new strangers.
Immanuel stood there, somewhat disheveled, his eyes flickering between the curious figures before him and the place where danger had lurked the previous day. The six men, if they could be called that, bore an uncanny resemblance to monkeys with their prominent ears and hairy visages. They were small, yet they held themselves with an undeniable presence. Cloaked in green robes that blended with the grassy landscape, they were equipped with bows, and their brown eyes studied him with a mix of concern and fascination.
"Are you okay?" one of them ventured, breaking the silence that had settled around the group.
"Uhm, yes?" Immanuel's response was hesitant, his mind still reconciling the aftermath of the battle with his unscathed body.
"I was attacked by a beast, but, uhm, it gave up," he added, still processing the events.
"It gave up?" the monkey-like man echoed, a hint of surprise in his tone. "I see blood here."
"Yes, I cut myself with my sword in the struggle," Immanuel admitted, feeling a bit foolish as he recounted the chaos.
"You cut yourself," another one repeated, seemingly puzzled.
"Uhm, yeah," Immanuel coughed awkwardly.
"How did you get here?" a voice called from the back of the group. The man who spoke had a particularly sharp gaze, as if he were trying to read the truth in Immanuel's expression.
"Uhm, yeah, a big bird kidnapped me and dropped me in the middle of these fields, uhm, grasslands," Immanuel explained.
"A big bird?" the first man asked, his skepticism barely veiled.
"It was a really big bird," Immanuel affirmed, meeting their eyes one by one. "And it dropped me before dying," he finished.
The group exchanged glances. It was clear that Immanuel's tale was as strange to them as the strangers were to him.
The brown-eyed leader, a head taller with wisps of gray in his eyebrows, regarded Immanuel. "You are very fortunate to survive an encounter with a Dras. Those beasts are relentless. We've been on its trail since it assaulted one of our Carrio'. It won't get away."
As the men prepared to leave, Immanuel noticed one of them holding his walking stick. He felt a surge of relief upon seeing the familiar object. "You found my walking stick, thanks!" he called out.
The monkey-man who held the stick hesitated, sharing uncertain glances with his companions. "This is yours?" he called back. "It is beautiful."
"Uhm, yes, it was a farewell present from my, uhm, teacher," he replied. The man seemed to contemplate whether to keep it, but after a moment's conflict, evident in his frown, he approached Immanuel and handed it over. The scent of herbs and earth clung to him, and Immanuel found it oddly comforting.
"Thanks," Immanuel said as he took the walking stick, feeling its familiar weight in his hand.
With a decisive nod to his band, the leader announced, "We must continue the hunt." As they turned to leave, Immanuel's heart lurched with a fear of being left alone again.
"Wait, wait! I am completely lost. Can I come with you?" He asked, the desperation apparent in his voice.
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The men exchanged wary looks. "No, it is better not," came the firm reply, stirring a sense of dread within Immanuel.
"But," the gray-eyed leader added, softening, "if you wait here, we will pass by again on our way back. Past the river, you can come to our Enduew."
A wave of gratitude washed over Immanuel. "Thank you! Yes, that would be... even better," he said, a hopeful note in his voice as the possibility of finding some guidance in this strange world took root.
With a final nod, the monkey-men turned and disappeared into the grasslands, their green robes flickering like the leaves in the wind. Immanuel watched them go, feeling a mix of loneliness and anticipation at the prospect of what lay ahead.
With the possibility of a potentially long wait ahead of him, Immanuel decided to use this pause to explore the contents of his mysterious storage further after satisfying his hunger with a breakfast of more fruit.
He navigated through the images he saw with his mind's eye, like remembering the face of someone you know very well. Eventually, he stumbled upon an item that appeared to be a delicate silver crown adorned with strange symbols. He withdrew it from his storage and examined it. The crown was exquisitely crafted, light as a whisper, with the symbols etched deeply into its metal. He placed it atop his head, half-expecting some dramatic transformation or influx of knowledge. However, he was greeted with only the cool touch of silver against his skin. With a shrug, he replaced it back in storage, deciding its purpose was a mystery yet to be uncovered.
Amidst his exploration of the his storage's contents, Immanuel's eyes were drawn again to the colorful stones, their hues deep and enchanting. Selecting one that seemed to pulse with an inner light, he held it between his fingers, its texture rough against his skin. A spark of intuition flashed within him, guiding his actions. He focused, channeling a thread of his own energy into the rock, feeling a tingle in his palms as his power interacted with it.
For a fleeting moment, his hands were enveloped in a soft glow. The rock began to vibrate—a subtle, growing hum that resonated with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Then, with a gentle but firm pressure, the stone cracked.
As the rock shattered, its pieces transformed into a stream of luminescent dust, swirling around his hands before seeping into his skin. The energy of the beast's core surged through him, a rush of vitality that coursed through his veins and sought out the center of his being. It settled within him—a warm, radiant presence that nestled near his heart, a core of power that pulsed in sync with his every breath.
A soft laugh, full of genuine amazement, bubbled up from Immanuel's chest.
At that moment, Immanuel realized what he had just absorbed: a beast core. The realization brought a flurry of thoughts and questions, but one thing was sure—it had infused him with power. Eager to understand this newfound strength, he closed his eyes and meditated.
He sensed a powerful force converging just beneath his heart—a place that felt like the eye of a storm, calm yet pulsating with potential. It was his core; he knew without knowing how he knew. It was akin to embracing a live wire—thrilling, potent, and slightly terrifying. This core within him was a nexus of energy.
His laughter echoed softly around him, releasing the tension and the overwhelming sense of novelty. "Like hugging lightning," he murmured to himself, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. "This world. This world," he thought.
Still reeling from the newfound rush of energy coursing through him, Immanuel was jolted back to reality. The excitement of his discovery faded as he scanned the desolate landscape. "Right, I'm still lost," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. Swiftly, he stowed his tent back into his mystical storage and resumed examining its contents.
His fingers grazed across various images until he paused at one that seemed to contain a document. With a flick of his hand, a letter materialized from storage. Unfolding it, his eyes quickly absorbed the opening title, "Inheritor."
---
Inheritor
As you unfold this letter, know that you are not merely reading words but inheriting a legacy—a charge of power and consequence.
In the waning moments of my life, I have endeavored to bestow upon you the fullest extent of my knowledge, carefully circumventing the shadows of corruption. Though the clarity of my teachings might be veiled in your memory, know that I have deliberately groomed you for the innate wielding of core energy. It is with profound purpose that I pass onto you my essence, the core of my being. This decision compelled me to take a drastic step - I stole you, bringing you here from a realm unknown.
To harness the full extent of your newfound abilities, you must absorb energy, predominantly via the essence of fallen beasts—named beast cores. Enclosed within your personal dimensional space are crucial cores necessary for your evolution. You stand at the second stage of a journey that can elevate you to the pinnacle of power. You are an astral initiate. Train diligently, fight valiantly, absorb relentlessly, and grow beyond the bounds of your current comprehension.
Power is not granted idly. I ask of you three tasks.
Vanquish the Empire of Helian. King Dastian's lineage must meet its end. Their lies and blood must be purged from this world.
Deliver the flowerbox within your space to 'The Verdant Alchemist,' an apothecary located in Blue Lake City.
Exterminate the species known as Death Walkers. This blight upon our world must be eradicated; their existence must be snuffed out. They are an aberration, a threat to the very fabric of life.
There are no enchantments upon you to compel obedience; there are no bindings to force your hand. I have entrusted this to you, hoping that the resonance of my will is enough to inspire action.
I could not stomach the thought of my power dissipating into obscurity. My legacy will live on through you, and my influence will stretch into the future.
Consider my words, Inheritor. Your judgment is now the vessel of my legacy. Forge ahead with resolve, and may your actions echo through the annals of time.
Acleafor, the Progenitor
---
After reading the letter, Immanuel felt an internal conflict, anger, and obligation coiled tightly within his chest, each vying for dominance. Yet the practicality of survival and curiosity about his newfound potential directed his next steps. With its weighty demands, the letter was tucked away, an issue to be faced another day.
He started examining his storage again and found regal robes and a compact and mysterious device, promising a function he had yet to unravel. Seeds, whose potential lay dormant within their hard casings. And bottles—were they potions? Wine? The items offered no explanations.
Immanuel's practicality overtook him as he realized his appearance mattered. The monkey-men would probably appreciate a semblance of grooming. He washed with haste, using the river's water, and quickly backed away again. Immanuel then decided to await the return of the monkey-men.
As time passed in the silence of waiting, the sun traced its path across the sky, casting shifting shadows and light across the grasslands—a beautiful, if not stark, reminder of the world's indifference to one man's struggles.