Noah’s felt his breath steadying, his vision clearing.

  I’m alive.

  Noah blinked, his body buzzed, like he’d just chugged three energy drinks and run a mile, but without the jittery crash waiting on the other side. He flexed his fingers, expecting pain—his right arm had been a mess, a deep gash from a sword that had burned like fire, and his back had been nothing but pure agony. But now? No pain.

  He looked down at his hands. They looked new. Not just healed, but stronger. Like they could crush a rock if he tried. He clenched his fists, then unclenched them, watching the tendons shift under his skin.

  That light—it was like staring into the sun, but worse. It should’ve burned me to ash. But here I am, lying on the ground like I just woke up from a nap.

  “What the hell?” he muttered, sitting up. His voice sounded too loud in the quiet. His head didn’t spin, his muscles didn’t protest. He felt good. Better than good. Like he’d slept for a week and eaten a full meal. Energy buzzed under his skin, restless, like it wanted to move, to do something.

  Then he looked around. The two robbers were gone, nothing left but two scorch marks on the ground where they’d stood.

  “You’re alive,” a voice rasped, pulling him out of his thoughts.

  Noah’s head snapped up. The old man—Hesjevik—stood a few feet away, crouched on the ground, using the gnarled staff for support. His gray cloak was torn, one sleeve hanging loose where the robbers had grabbed him. But strangely, nothing else was amiss in his appearance, no signs of bruises or cuts from the beat up from the men. His eyes, sharp and wide, were locked on Noah, wide with something like shock, or wonder.

  Noah stared at him, not sure what to say.

  “I… yeah,” Noah said hesitant. He cleared his throat. “I think so. What happened to me?” He didn’t expect Hesjevik to know, not really, but he had to ask. The old man had tried to stop him from touching that box, had tried to protect him. He must know something at least.

  Hesjevik stood up and took a step closer. “Whatever happened, you shouldn’t be alive. That light—it was pure mana, straight from the river. No one can survive that. What did you see?”

  Noah frowned, glancing at the ground where the metal box had been. It was gone now, just a huge scorch mark in the dirt, like someone had set off hundreds of fireworks.

  He stood up, testing his balance. His legs felt strong, steady. The energy under his skin hummed louder now, like it was waking up with him. He took a step, then another, and stopped. The current—it wasn’t just under his skin. It was deeper, running through him, like veins, but not veins. More like rivers. Tiny rivers, branching out, crisscrossing, filling every part of him.

  "I don’t know what I saw, honestly. One second, I was touching the box, and then…" He paused, trying to make sense of it. "It felt like I got pulled somewhere else." He wanted to explain everything, but he was afraid of sounding crazy. Even he couldn’t fully believe what had happened, and part of him kept expecting to wake up and realize it was all just a dream.

  Hesjevik studied him in a strange way. He looked at him, but also through him, like he could see inside of him. He was also tracing the contour of his person with an unreadable expression. After an unsettling long pause he said: “Your anima, it was taken to the river, wasn’t it?”

  Noah blinked. He remembered the screen mentioning that word. “I think so, wait, how do you know? And what’s an anima?”

  “Your anima,” Hesjevik said as he tapped his chest with two fingers, “it’s the force that drives your body. Your will, your essence. It’s what animates your body, what makes you, you.”

  Noah’s mouth went dry. “So, I died?”

  "No," Hesjevik said, his voice firm. "If you'd died, we wouldn't be having this conversation. But you were changed." His voice lowered, tinged with concern. "There's a powerful current of mana flowing through you, but you don't even have a core. Cores are made from a small amount of mana, but you… you shouldn't be able to hold this much, let alone survive it."

  Noah considered this. No core, he thought. That’s right. Ravenskin didn’t have a mana core. No core means no power, no skills, no way to survive. But now, all had changed.

  He closed his fist, and the current surged, sharp and sudden. It didn’t hurt, but it startled him, like flexing a muscle he didn’t know he had. He opened his hand again, and the current settled, steady and calm. Okay, he thought. This is new. I don’t have a core, but I’ve got something else. These rivers, these meridians—they’re everywhere. I can feel them, all through me, like a web. And the mana—it’s flowing through them like water. More mana than a core could hold.

  Hesjevik took a step closer, his eyes narrowed as he placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “You need to be careful,” he said. “Whatever happened to you, it’s never happened before. If the Houses find out—” his head suddenly turned up, toward the sky, as if noticing an exotic bird, but there was nothing there. At least nothing that Noah could see. Hesjevik kept staring at the same place, entranced, as if somehow he was seeing a vision, a premonition.

  Wait. Did Hesjevik eyes changed color?

  “I have to go,” Hesjevik said, his voice low. “Now,” his steps grew faster, more purposeful.

  “What? No, wait. What did you see?” he asked, his voice urgent now. “What’s happening?” Noah stumbled after him, his mind racing. Something’s going to happen. But what? And why can’t he just tell me? He glanced back, half-expecting to see robbers or monsters or whatever this world had. Nothing. Just trees.

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  Hesjevik turned to him, his face grim. “This is where we part.”

  Noah’s stomach dropped. “No, hold on—I still don’t know anything! What are the Houses? Who are the fists? What’s the Walking Stone? You can’t just—”

  "I must," Hesjevik said, his voice firm but gentle. He paused, giving Noah an odd look, accompanied by a small, warm smile. "You must face this alone. Our paths will cross again, but not now. You have your own journey, and I have mine."

  Hesjevik studied Noah, his eyes tracing his contour again. A flicker of concern crossed his face, as if he saw something troubling. Then as if he had just remembered something important, he reached into his robe, searching.

  "Here, wear this. Don't take it off," Hesjevik said, placing a black chain necklace around Noah's neck and patting it gently against his chest. He stepped back, his eyes scanning Noah once more, this time with a satisfied smile.

  “Go,” Hesjevik said, pointing his staff at the forest. “Find your path. Trust the river. It’s part of you now.”

  Noah shook his head. No. No way. He can’t just leave me here. I don’t know this world, I don’t know how to use this meridian thing. I need answers. “But I—”

  A crack.

  Noah turned toward the sound in the forest, alarmed. “What was that?” But he could not see what had caused the sound. “Hesjevik, did you see what—” but when Noah turned, he was gone.

  Noah stood in the middle of the dense forest. The trees loomed around him, their trunks gnarled and twisted, their branches knitting together overhead to form a canopy that let only slivers of pale light through.

  I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking for, Noah thought, his fingers flexing at his sides.

  He glanced around, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. Everything felt off. Too quiet for a forest that should be brimming with life. Hesjevik had hinted at danger, but what kind? A predator? Bandits? Something worse? I don’t even know what “worse” could mean in this world.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the unfamiliar hum of energy under his skin—the meridians, the System’s gift. It was like a second pulse, steady and warm, threading through his body like veins. It felt powerful, but it also made him uneasy.

  What if others find out about the meridians, and all the mana I carry inside? What will they do to me?

  He took a slow breath, trying to calm himself. I’m in the middle of nowhere, it does not look like the sort of place someone from a House would hang out. I should be safe.

  This thought made him feel better. He looked around.

  Okay, now think. I can’t just stand here waiting for something to jump me. I need a plan.

  He scanned the forest again, his gaze lingering on the thick underbrush and the faint trails that might have been made by animals—or something else. I could try to find Hesjevik, but he moves like a ghost, I’d likely end up even more lost.

  No. This is how I Iost years in my past life. Always clinging to things just because they were comforting, wasting time waiting for someone or something to come along and make things better.

  I’m not going to waste this life. I need to figure this out on my own. Now.

  His eyes flicked upward, catching on the tallest tree in the clearing. It was massive, the trunk broader than six of him combined, the branches stretching high into the canopy. The bark was rough and ridged, almost like scales, with patches of moss clinging to it.

  If I climb that, I could get a better view. See if there’s a village nearby, somewhere I can get food, shelter. Maybe spot whatever Hesjevik was warning me about, before it comes at me.

  He hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek. But climbing’s risky. What if I fall? What if something’s up there? He glanced at the ground, then back at the tree. But staying down here feels worse. At least up there, I’d have a chance to see what’s coming.

  He nodded to himself, decision made.

  Okay, tree it is.

  He stepped forward. Up close, the tree looked even stranger. He reached out, brushing his fingers against it. It felt strangely warm. Weird. But it’s probably just the humidity or something. He shook off the unease and gripped the lowest branch, testing its strength. It held firm. Good enough.

  He hoisted himself up, muscles straining as he pulled his weight onto the branch. The meridians pulsed faintly, like they were waking up, and he felt a surge of energy, stronger than he expected. Huh. That’s new. It made the climb easier, his body lighter, his grip surer. He moved from branch to branch, the tree creaking faintly under his weight. The higher he went, the thinner the branches got, and the canopy started to open up, letting in more light. He paused halfway, catching his breath, and glanced down. The ground looked farther away than he’d expected, the forest floor was starting to look like a patchwork of shadows and green.

  Don’t look down, idiot. Focus.

  He kept climbing, his hands sticky with sap, his torn pants snagging on rough patches of bark. Finally, he reached the top, the branches thin and swaying under his weight. He clung to the trunk, steadying himself, and looked out. The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, a sea of green broken only by the occasional glint of water or the faint rise of hills. No smoke, no rooftops, no signs of a village.

  Damn it.

  He squinted, trying to spot anything useful, but the horizon was empty.

  A sudden gust of wind shook the tree, and it totally caught him off guard. He lost his grip and started falling, scrambling to grab a nearby branch. In all the chaos, he saw his necklace slip off and drop to the ground below.

  No! Crap.

  He had to get that necklace back on, Hesjevik had warned him never to take it off. Noah started climbing down as fast as he could, feeling for the next branch with his foot, when the tree moved. Not like a normal sway from the wind, it was like the whole trunk flexed, the bark shifting under his hands.

  What the—?

  He froze, breath catching, as the branch he was holding bent downward, slowly, deliberately.

  Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This isn’t a tree. This is—

  A low, rumbling groan echoed through the air, vibrating through the trunk. The branches twisted, curling inward like claws, and the bark from the trunk split open, revealing rows of jagged, teeth-like ridges. Noah’s stomach dropped.

  It’s alive. It’s awake. And I’m on it.

  He scrambled downward, branches moving under his weight, his hands slipping. The tree—or whatever it was—shuddered, its groan rising into a roar, and he felt it start to move, the trunk bending, the branches thrashing.

  I need to get off this monster. Now.

  He half-climbed, half-fell, branches clawing at his arms, his pant tearing. He hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact, and scrambled to his feet, chest heaving. The tree loomed over him, its trunk splitting further, revealing a gaping maw lined with those jagged ridges. Its branches writhed like tentacles, and its roots tore free from the ground, lurching toward him.

  Move, move, move! He bolted, ducking under a swinging branch, his meridians flaring, energy surging through him. It made him faster, stronger, but the thing was massive, its reach impossible large.

  A shadow passed overhead, and Noah looked up, and his heart sank. Something else was there. It was massive, black, with wings spread wide like a vulture’s, but its body was all wrong—segmented like an insect’s abdomen, with a long, curved tail ending in a sharp stinger. Its beak looked razor-sharp, and its eyes glowed with a sickly yellow, locking onto him with an intelligence that was beyond anything you’d ever see in an animal’s eyes. It glared at him like it had been hunting him and finally tracked him down. There was this ravenous, almost cunning hunger in those eyes, like it could sense the mana inside him and was starving for it.