“Iskar, what are you doing?” Lanee asked from under the tree.

  “There’s a spirit, Mother. It’s calling me,” Iskar replied, his eyes following something unseen to the naked eye.

  “A spirit? And what kind of spirit is it?” Lanee asked with a smile, her hands busy sorting medicinal herbs.

  “I can't see it clearly, but I think it’s one of nature.” Iskar jumped to catch it.

  “Nature itself is made of a variety of spirits, dear. And if you try to catch it like a butterfly, it will likely flee. Spirits don’t like to be restricted,” Lanee explained.

  “They don’t like to be restricted?” Iskar paused mid-step. “Then why do they live in rocks and trees? Aren't they trapped there?”

  “That is their home, so they feel comfortable. That's where they were born.”

  I opened my eyes, awakened by the sergeant's voice.

  Ahh, I still remember that day as if it were yesterday. Back then, my mother wasn't afraid for me.

  We, the Zamatos people, believe in and treasure the spirits, even though most of us cannot see or interact with them. I chose to nurture my connection with them, following the teachings of the old books, as my grandmother had trained me. But to walk that path, I had to defy my family and society, who thought me insane.

  Not everyone in my world was Zamatos. Be they Vireans—Flux Masters—or Nuvans—ordinary people without the ability to control the Flux, not everyone believed in the existence of spirits. Even though my mother was a Virean and followed the Zamatos beliefs, she feared for me.

  My questions and curiosity about the spirits and the other world became so intense that they dominated my studies as a child.

  Location: 25,000 feet above the Test Site—a beast-controlled valley.

  Objective: Beast Hunting

  The red cabin lights of the CC-130 cast a dim glow over the fully geared-up test subjects. Oxygen masks cover their faces, parachutes strapped tight, digital altimeters secured to their wrists.

  The aircraft hums with a steady vibration, the wind howling outside the open ramp. Sergeant First Class Mason, the Jumpmaster, stands at the edge, scanning the night sky below through his night-vision goggles.

  “Listen up! We’re over the DZ in sixty seconds! Check your altimeters, confirm your gear! This is a High-Altitude, Low-Opening jump—stay sharp and control your descent!” Mason’s voice crackles through their helmets.

  Eden says nothing, silently checking his oxygen mask and backpack straps one last time.

  “Be careful out there,” Mason advises, his tone momentarily softer. “This test is critical for both your future and our country's. But your lives matter more. Don't throw them away for the solo test unless it's your last option. You can always take the group test later and still become a certified Vault Breaker. So be careful, especially the younger ones. We can’t afford to lose capable Vireans like this.”

  The recruits complete their final checks, tapping their equipment and giving thumbs-ups. One recruit, Diaz, only twenty-one, double-checks his altimeter. His hands tremble slightly—he's nervous.

  Sergeant Mason notices. He steps toward Diaz, voice firm but calm. "Diaz! You good?"

  Diaz nods quickly. "Yes, Sergeant! Just checking everything twice!"

  Mason smirks. "Good. But checking three times won’t keep you from freezing up at the door. You trained for this. Trust your gear, trust your training."

  Diaz exhales sharply and nods again. The green light flicks on above the ramp—Go Time.

  Mason turns back to his post. "Green light! Stand up!"

  The recruits rise in unison, gripping their static lines. The wind blasts into the cabin as they approach the open ramp. Mason makes a final signal to the pilot, confirming the drop zone below. He then looks back at the recruits, giving the hand signal for countdown.

  "Ten seconds! Get ready!" Mason shouts. "No matter where you land—tree, grass, stone, or water—I expect you to make it out of any situation."

  "Yes, sir!" everyone replies in unison.

  "Good luck!"

  The sleepy recruits shuffle forward, eyes fixed on the night sky ahead. The world below is nothing but darkness, the faintest outlines of ridges and valleys visible through their NVGs. The altimeter clicks closer to their drop point.

  "Five… Four… Three… Two… ONE—GO! GO! GO!"

  One by one, the recruits leap from the ramp, vanishing into the black void below.

  We were supposed to be twenty. But one of the guys quit as soon as the plane took off.

  Now, the guy in front of me seemed to have a change of heart. He stopped right at the edge, hesitating.

  "Diaz, do you quit?" Mason asked.

  "I'm not sure what to do, sir," the young man replied.

  "There’s no time to think. Jump or pull back!" the sergeant’s voice barked inside our helmets.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Diaz braced himself, preparing to jump, but still hesitated. So, I helped him decide—I kicked him out of the plane.

  "Efficiency is key," I told the sergeant before leaping.

  I had no intention of wasting my time. I had been abducted, chained, and deprived of sleep before they even asked if I still wanted to board the plane. There was no way I was in the mood to waste time on an indecisive sleeping head. Hell, if there were no repercussions, I would've dragged the instructor down with me as payback for how they treated us—the so-called participants in this test.

  That’s why the solo test was harder than the group one. Because of the harsh conditions we were forced to endure even before reaching the test site.

  Only those left with no choice—or the crazy ones—took the solo test. I was neither, but passing it would grant me the freedom to act on my own, to take missions without a team. So it was a necessity for my future plans.

  The rush of air engulfed me as I stabilized, spreading my arms and legs. The altimeter ticked down—20,000 feet… 15,000… 10,000. At 4,500 feet, each of us pulled our ripcord in sequence. The canopies snapped open, yanking us upward for a brief second before we settled into a quiet, controlled descent.

  I landed on a tree, cutting my straps free the moment I touched the branch.

  Each of us carried only a few rations, two water containers, a dagger, and our registered weapons. In my case, that meant my double revolvers—pretty much useless with the bullets I had and the beast I planned to hunt.

  Guess I'll have to snatch a weapon if the opportunity arises. Now, who was the poor bastard that came here with a sword? I tried to recall.

  No sword. No paper doll talismans. From what I’d gathered, this world’s people had no clue what those even were. The previous Eden had no knowledge of them either.

  Well, I’d have to make some.

  Weak spirits couldn’t roam freely without something to anchor them. The stronger ones could linger at a place or event, but even they weren’t completely unbound. Cautiously, I searched for a suitable type of leaf or grass to craft makeshift talismans—something to help my stored spirits connect with this world.

  Under the cover of night, I moved through the forest in silence. The test had two requirements: first, survive. Then, bring back proof of the beasts you killed.

  So far, things were going smoothly. I found a decent enough spot to rest and wait in silence.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  An oversized gray wooddog picked up my trail. Tough as tree bark, the beast’s real weapon wasn’t its bite—it was its raw strength. A single pounce could knock a mancer to the ground, and after that, you were at its mercy.

  Think of a pitbull. Now slap on an extra hundred pounds, stretch it to about 1.5 meters in height, and pump it full of steroids. That ain't a pet. It’s a walking bulldozer with enough destructive power to wreck your day.

  Maybe not quite as much as your pissed-off wife, but close.

  From my perch on a tree branch, I watched the wooddog pace in circles, trying to figure out how to get me down.

  This won’t net me many points, but it’s a start. And a source of blood.

  I pulled out Tyago, one of my revolvers, and took aim. No deafening gunshot echoed through the forest—just a faint hiss of searing heat as I pulled the trigger twice in quick succession.

  The beast sensed the danger, leaping to the side. The first bullet only grazed it, leaving a smoking wound. The second, however, punched straight through its skull.

  The wooddog hit the ground with a dull thud.

  [ +17 SP ]

  I had to move fast. Blood and fresh prey were an open invitation to things I wasn’t ready to deal with yet.

  Placing a leaf talisman made with a few droplets of my own blood on the dagger's blade, I infused it with flux, enhancing the weapon's sharpness and durability. Then, I forced my dagger into the beast’s neck, rupturing blood vessels to pool the blood where I could reach it.

  Some spilled onto the ground—too much. Any natural hunter passing nearby would pick up the scent in an instant.

  Ohh, it’s a dog-eat-dog world out here. And an even doggier one out there.

  Dipping my thumb into the silver blood of the wooddog, I began drawing sigils on the leaves. The first two I created immediately transformed into ravens as I bound the spirits to them with a focused intention.

  Now, I had another two pair of eyes to help me scout the area—at least until the spirits’ power ran dry.

  The valley reeked of old blood and damp earth. Jagged cliffs loomed over the mist-choked expanse, their shadows stretching long as the first rays of morning pierced through like golden spears. Gnarled, skeletal trees stood like forgotten sentinels, their bark cracked and hollow.

  Somewhere below, they lurked—monstrous things, all gnashing fangs and sickly breath, prowling between the ruins of a world long abandoned by humans.

  Eden crouched at the edge of a crumbling ridge, his sharp gaze scanning the valley. Twin revolvers—Tyago and Puma—rested easy in his gloved hands, their silver barrels dulled by a coat of dried mud. The cold morning wind pressed against his armor, but he remained motionless, listening.

  Then, the growl came. Deep. Guttural. Close.

  Eden didn’t move—not yet. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled a small leaf talisman. A whisper left his lips, words laced with intention and flux. The talisman pulsed, then burst into flickering embers that twisted and reformed—Yigo, a fox-shaped shikigami wreathed in ghostly blue fire.

  "Find them," he murmured.

  Yigo shot forward, a streak of pale flame weaving through the underbrush. Seconds later, a shriek split the air—high, sharp, unnatural.

  Eden’s pulse quickened. He cracked his stiff neck, checked the membranous rounds in his revolvers—still mud-covered, still not the best model—then dropped from the ridge. The moment his boots left the ledge, his mental power cushioned the fall, guiding him into a crouch amid the valley’s twisted trees.

  The mist churned. Then, they came.

  A hulking, wolf-like beast with too many eyes and a maw that split too far down its neck lunged from the fog, claws raking stone as it charged. Behind it, two more slithered from the darkness—one a reptilian horror with chitinous plating, the other a twisted stag, its exposed ribs pulsing like breathing gills.

  Eden’s lips curled into a grin. "What’s this, a high school reunion?"

  The first beast leapt.

  He fired.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  The last two purple bullets punched through its body, splattering black ichor across the tree trunks.

  [ +25 SP ]

  Before the body even hit the ground, Eden spun—his legs whipping through the air as the second beast lunged. Puma barked twice—BANG! BANG!—each shot slamming into the creature’s plated chest.

  It staggered. But it didn’t fall.

  Damn. Nice armor you got there. Better than mine, anyway. I glanced at the deep scratches in the plates across my chest.

  The third beast came from the right—silent, fast. I had one second to react.

  Eden gathered his focus, pouring flux into the mental-layer shield woven around his body. The stag lunged, its jagged horns slamming into his side. A burst of force sent him airborne—right above the creature’s opening ribcage, which split wide like a flower's maw.