The wind battered the wagon’s canvas, an appropriate resemblance of Lucon Edelyn’s floundering internal state. Each lurch of the wheels carried him further from the safe stone walls of his family’s estate and deeper into the green clutches of the Wilderwood.

  He sat stiffly on the bench beside the driver, fingers gripping the edge of the seat until his knuckles blanched. The smell of oiled leather and steel filled the air behind him where the men-at-arms rode, their armor clinking in rhythm with the horses’ hooves.

  He should never have agreed to this.

  Lucon tried to steady his breathing, but his thoughts refused to quiet. The hunt—this fool’s errand—had seemed a convenient way to redeem himself after the shame of his failed monastic vows. A chance, his father had said, to prove that he was still worth something to the family. But the further they traveled, the more he regretted signing his name on the writ.

  The Merciful Temple had promised peace. Purpose. Forgiveness. He had joined their order to be rid of his vices, to drown the old urges beneath prayer and service. Yet all it had taken was one festival night in the city—wine, dice, and laughter—and everything he’d built there had crumbled. He’d gambled away more than coin. He’d gambled away his second chance.

  Lucon sighed.

  You never change, Lucon, he thought to himself begrudgingly.

  The wagon creaked to a halt, pulling him from his thoughts.

  “Milord!”

  The deep voice startled him. He turned to see Captain Mavor riding up to him and stepping down from his horse. His helm was pushed up to reveal a weathered face and a gray-streaked beard.

  “The cavern is just up ahead,” the captain said. “Best steel yourself.”

  Lucon nodded, his throat dry. He peered ahead where the forest broke against a line of low cliffs, dark holes gaping in the rock. The idea of facing what lived in there—of being near it—made him want to ask the driver to take him back home.

  Captain Mavor raised his voice, calling to the rest of the men-at-arms as they fell into ranks. “Listen up, men! The reports confirm it’s a Mana Alpha nesting here. The beast’s pack has been preying on our lord’s land for too long. We end its reign of terror and stop these beasts from harming our people, how about it?”

  The men struck their own chests in salute, shouting in agreement.

  Mavor gestured toward Lucon with one gauntleted hand. “And we do it with the Young Lord Lucon at our side! Let’s show him the might of the barony’s finest!”

  Another smack of their chests resounded, another loud shout.

  Lucon forced a smile, though couldn’t share in their enthusiasm. He knew the truth of it—he would be no help to them. His healing wasn’t good enough to heal grave injuries, and the temple’s training in “unarmed discipline” was all he had ever excelled at.

  But the thought of fighting monsters with only half-baked holy magic and his bare hands sounded too preposterous.

  Officially, he was listed as a healer. In truth, he would simply try to stay out of everyone’s way. He absentmindedly pat the shoulder of one of the healers he brought. Two healers stood by—both he personally hired in town.

  Lucon wasn’t going to lose a single man. The guilt would be too much. Not to mention how upset his father would be in losing men to what should be an easy hunt.

  His eyes lingered on Captain Mavor’s broad back as the captain began barking orders, forming the men into a marching column.

  The Guard Captain stood tall and unshaken, a sense of calm radiating from him—steady, immovable. Lucon could breathe easier with him around. Whatever happened, Mavor would handle it. He was an Arisen, after all.

  And not just him. His lieutenant, Kaeson, carried the same gift. Together they were a force that no ordinary beast could match. Even if this Mana Alpha and its pack had been bathing in raw Mana for years, growing more powerful with every breath, Mavor and Kaeson would still outmatch them.

  The column began to move, boots crunching fallen leaves as they approached the cavern’s mouth. Lucon walked in the middle of the formation, flanked by the two hired healers—one an alchemist, the other a shaman.

  “It’s going to be alright,” Lucon murmured, more to himself than anyone. He glanced at the grim-faced soldier in front of him. “Really, we have the best men. It will be fine.”

  He repeated the sentiment a moment later, his voice a little louder, “The Captain has everything in hand. We’ll be in and out before supper.”

  A few men glanced back at him. Their expressions weren’t comforted—they looked more uncertain than before.

  A quiet voice came from beside him.

  “Milord,” Lieutenant Kaeson murmured, slowing his stride until he matched Lucon’s pace. His helm was under one arm, his dark eyes observing Lucon with patience. “You don’t need to reassure them. They’re soldiers—they don’t scare easy. But when you talk like that...it might make them doubt.”

  Lucon frowned at his own misstep. “I…I just wanted to reassure them that despite my own… failings, as one of the Edelyn Young Lords, I will see to it that they all live. I won’t let a single man fall.”

  Kaeson’s brow furrowed slightly, seeming to think what he should say next. “…And we thank you for that, milord. But best to keep quiet now. Sound carries far in the Wilderwood. If Mana Beasts are near, we’ll want to hear them before they hear us.”

  Lucon exhaled, nodding. “Right. Of course, Lieutenant.”

  The column pressed on, only to slow as the cliffs loomed tall and shadowed ahead, the cavern mouth yawning wide like a portal into an abyss.

  The two mages of the troop stepped forward, raising their staffs. A soothing blue glow surrounded them, and radiant orbs flared at the tips, chasing away the shadows.

  Lucon sighed—half in relief, half in envy. He’d once dreamed of wielding magic like that, of feeling the pulse of Mana within him and bending it to his will. But when he’d tried—when the tutors had tested him—the Mana wouldn’t hold; a Mana Pool refused to manifest within him.

  He looked ahead to Mavor and Kaeson, whose bodies now shimmered faintly with the heat-haze of riling Aura. The energy coiled around them like red fire, a living force drawn from their own life essence. Even dimmed for control, it was a sight both awe-inspiring and humbling.

  Lucon couldn’t use Aura either.

  His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to his brother—perfect Claude. The golden son of House Edelyn, who could command both Mana and Aura with ease, who excelled at every art Lucon had failed at. The comparison stung like an old wound reopened.

  It wasn’t fair. Claude had been blessed with everything, while Lucon could barely keep the Merciful Goddess’s faintest blessing from flickering out.

  As the firelight from the mages’ staffs spilled over the cavern’s jagged entrance, Lucon lifted his chin and followed the others inside.

  The cavern’s air was heavy with the scent of damp stone and minerals. As the mages’ orb light spread across the walls, Lucon’s breath caught. Clusters of blue crystals jutted from every surface—walls, ceiling, even the ground in glittering veins that pulsed faintly like living things.

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  “Mana Crystals,” he murmured, eyes wide. Each shard glowed with raw energy, thrumming faintly and causing the air to feel prickly. “No wonder Mana Beasts were born here…there’s enough condensed power to warp every creature within the entire forest.”

  The light of the crystals painted the soldiers’ armor in ghostly hues as they delved deeper, the crystals becoming brighter. The light eventually left the mages to dim their own conjured lights to avoid blinding the troop.

  Then came a low guttural growl.

  Then a scrape. A shuffle. Somewhere in the darkness ahead.

  Captain Mavor’s gauntleted fist shot up, halting the entire column. The men stilled.

  For a long moment, there was nothing.

  Then—glowing eyes.

  Dozens of them, flickering into existence at once. Cold blue, reflecting the crystals’ light. The low rumble of growls rolled through the cavern.

  And then they charged.

  They burst from the shadows like arrows loosed from a bow—wolves the size of lions, their teeth glistening in the crystal light.

  Mavor’s Aura flared, igniting as red flames that danced along his armor.

  “Form up!” he roared, his voice like a clap of thunder.

  The men slammed their shields together just as the first wave hit. The impact was brutal, the line buckling under the raw force.

  “Hold!” Mavor barked.

  [Earthen Bulwark]

  One of the mages slammed his staff into the ground, and a low earthen wall rippled up from the stone floor, shoring up the defenders and throwing several wolves off balance.

  [Spit-Fire]

  “Burn!” the other mage shouted as he held his staff high and swept it downward—jets of fire streaked into the wolves, igniting fur and flesh. The beasts yelped in agony.

  [Healer-Man]

  The shaman threw a small carved totem forward. It struck the ground and grew—wood twisting, roots digging into stone—until it stood tall as a man, hollow eyes glowing green. A pulse of energy radiated outward, coursing through the soldiers like a battle hymn. Their breathing steadied. Their grips tightened.

  [Doctor’s Visit]

  Beside Lucon, the alchemist popped the cork from a vial, releasing a thin vapor that spread quickly. The acrid smell of herbs and tonics filled the cavern, and cuts and scrapes began to mend where the mist touched flesh.

  [Pray for Mercy]

  Lucon tried to focus, summoning what little holy energy he could. His hands glowed faintly gold as he hovered them over a soldier’s back, sealing a gash that wasn’t even deep. It took far too long, and sweat was already trickling down his neck.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. He remembered the Ritual of Merciful Blessing, the hours of prayer and fasting, only for the goddess to grant him this…pittance of holy magic.

  He watched as the regular men had to work in teams, stabbing and slashing in unison to bring a single wolf down. Meanwhile, Mavor and Kaeson moved like whirlwinds of red energy, their swords cleaving through Mana-toughened hide and bone with single, decisive strokes, decapitating beasts with terrifying efficiency.

  As quickly as it began, the battle was over. The snarling was replaced by pained whimpers and then silence. Wolf carcasses litter the crystal-lit floor.

  “Skin them,” one of the men said, wiping his blade on his tabard. “Mana Beast hides fetch a fine price, or we can give it to the blacksmith to make good armor.”

  “That’s for another time,” Mavor said, his Aura dying down to a simmer. “This was just the first skirmish. The Alpha will be deeper in.”

  The men reformed their ranks, the mages plucking a few loosened Mana Crystals to replenish what Mana they had spent—but taking only what they needed. They knew better than to covet the crystals, which was why none mentioned selling them. The crystals belonged to House Edelyn now.

  Lucon wondered if his gambling debts could be paid off with the crystal too. He was supposed to make the coin himself but…there was quiet a bit of debt.

  They fought two more running battles, each tense and brutal, but to Lucon’s profound relief, the combination of the Arisen, the mages, and the healers ensured no one died.

  A cautious optimism began to stir in his chest.

  After what felt like hours, the path widened again. Kaeson slowed, glancing around.

  “Going smoothly,” Kaeson commented, his voice low as he scanned ahead. “Too smoothly. Be ready.”

  His words were prophetic. As they rounded a large cluster of crystals, they crossed a lone, stumbling figure.

  It was one of the Mana wolves, but its movements were all wrong. It swayed, its legs unsteady, head lolling.

  The men raised shields.

  But the wolf didn’t charge. It took a few faltering steps and then tripped, landing heavily on its muzzle.

  Mavor’s voice was low. “What’s wrong with it?”

  The wolf clumsily got back to its feet, only to stumble in a drunken circle. A strange, choking sound echoed in the cavern. Hic-cup!

  A nervous chuckle went through the ranks. One of the men laughed outright. “Am I mad? It looks drunk!”

  Another joined in, the tension breaking for a second. “Can Mana Crystals be fermented?”

  A few chuckled, exchanging smiles.

  That was their mistake.

  The wolf’s head snapped toward the sound of their laughter. Its body went rigid, then blurred into motion with a speed that dwarfed any of the wolves they had faced before.

  “Shields!” Mavor shouted.

  Too late.

  It hit the line like a battering ram. One man didn’t even have time to scream before its jaws clamped down and tore him in half—armor and all.

  Blood sprayed across the stone. The laughter died in an instant.

  Lucon’s face went ashen, his mind blank except for the vivid image of the man’s body being torn in half. The smell of blood filled the air. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be an easy hunt.

  The wolf threw its head back and howled, the sound echoing through the crystal-lined chamber like a shriek of madness. Its eyes burned with an unnatural light, its muscles rippling beneath mangy fur. The men shouted, reforming the shield wall, but the beast hit them again—harder this time—sending two soldiers sprawling.

  “Hold the line!” Mavor bellowed, his Aura igniting into red flames again.

  [Spit-Fire]

  [Spike Trap]

  The mages cast desperately—jets of fire and spikes of stone erupting around the wolf—but it moved with staggering speed despite its staggering gait.

  [Might-Man]

  [Doctor’s Visit]

  The shaman released a totem that grew and wielded yellow eyes, pouring strength into the men, while the alchemist hurled another vial that burst into a healing mist. Even so, the line trembled beneath the beast’s assault.

  Lucon raised his hands to cast, to do something, but his weak blessing could only mend shallow cuts and bruises.

  Then Mavor and Kaeson charged.

  The two Arisen moved as one—Kaeson darting left, Mavor right, red fire trailing behind them.

  [Brutal Sweep]

  [Decapitator]

  Their blades flashed, striking sparks from the wolf’s hide. The creature snarled and lunged, meeting them blow for blow.

  Lucon’s became motionless. The thing was keeping up with them. Even Mavor’s strength wasn’t enough to overpower it outright.

  Then fortune—or whatever shred of mercy still lingered in this cursed place—intervened. In the middle of a lunge, the wolf’s own body betrayed it. It hiccuped violently, its head jerking to the side and throwing its balance off completely. That moment was all Mavor needed.

  With a roar, he brought his blade down in a sweeping arc. Kaeson followed, striking almost at the same instant.

  [Steel Eater]

  The wolf collapsed, throat torn open, blood spilling dark and thick across the cavern floor.

  Silence descended, broken only by the heavy panting of the men and the crackle of dying mage-fire. The shaman and alchemist hurried to tend to the wounded, Lucon doing what he could alongside them.

  One soldier clutched a torn leg, another a bleeding shoulder. Kaeson sat down heavily, cradling his arm where the wolf’s teeth had pierced through mail.

  “Was…was that the Alpha?” one of the mages asked, breath heavy.

  Mavor shook his head, wiping blood from his blade. “No. It was alone. A Mana Alpha Beast doesn’t move without others of its kind. This one was…different.”

  Kaeson winced as the alchemist poured a stinging, amber liquid over his wound. “That burns...”

  Lucon knelt nearby, eyes drawn to the wolf’s corpse. The air around it reeked—bitter and sour. He grimaced and leaned back. “It smells like alcohol...”

  A few of the other men gathered closer, sniffing the air around the dead wolf. “He’s right,” one of them confirmed. “It smells like it’s been swimming in a distillery.”

  Lucon shook his head. “This is getting too strange. We should leave. Whatever caused this isn’t worth the risk.”

  Mavor turned toward him, eyes hard beneath his helm. “With respect, milord, I haven’t failed a Mana Hunt yet—and I don’t plan to start today. I also gave your father my word. The Alpha’s still in here. We finish the job.”

  A murmur of agreement passed through the men, a few vowing to avenge their fallen comrade.

  Kaeson flexed his healed arm. “Then we move carefully. Send a scout ahead. We can’t afford another surprise.”

  Mavor nodded. “Agreed.”

  Lucon opened his mouth to protest, but Mavor stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Young Lord, go back to the wagons. Wait there. I’ll tell Lord Auric you fought bravely. But it would certainly bring me peace of mind that you’re safe.”

  Lucon saw the sincerity in his eyes—it wasn’t an insult. It was duty of someone sworn to protect House Edelyn. That was how Mavor was—thinking only of duty.

  Still, Lucon straightened and shook his head. “No. I’m staying.”

  Mavor sighed, the sound heavy through his helm. “So be it. Kaeson, you’ll guard the Young Lord personally.”

  Kaeson inclined his head. “Understood.”

  The scout went ahead, slipping into the darkness. The group followed slowly, weapons drawn, magic faintly glowing.

  A few minutes later, the scout returned—or tried to. He stumbled into view, weaving on his feet like a drunk.

  “Reth?” Mavor called out. “What’s wrong with you?”

  The man looked up, his eyes unfocused. “S-sir…I…” He slurred the words before falling to the floor still.

  “He’s…dead!” the alchemist declared when he checked on him.

  Before anyone could react, movement flickered beyond him. Wolves—many of them—stumbling, lurching, their glowing eyes half-lidded and glassy. Hiccups echoed faintly in the cavern.

  But their attention wasn’t on the wolves. At the far end of the chamber, beneath a shaft of pale light pouring from an opening in the ceiling, lay an enormous shape. The Mana Alpha—its body massive as an ox, its eyes open, chest still.

  Dead.

  And someone was lounging on its ribcage as if it were a daybed.

  The figure had hair the color of fresh snow and, floating serenely around their head, a softly glowing, golden halo.