Uwaa, this was painfully boring! Mind-numbingly, soul-drainingly boring! And being stuck in the Veilwoods? Yeah, that definitely wasn't helping. Was there even a word for boredom so deep it flipped over into raw, pants-wetting terror?

A sudden rustle snapped from the nearest bush. Sergiy jolted violently. His head snapped toward the disturbance just as the bush... shuddered again. Suspiciously. Menacingly. Was it just him, or was the light draining away unnaturally fast?! He wrenched out his shock saber and flooded it with mana without a second thought.

Then, just as the tension coiled to a perfect, dreadful peak—the bush convulsed—and out burst a shadowy, wicked-looking blur!

It was a... squirrel.

True, a squirrel with disturbingly vibrant flowers sprouting from its eye sockets, but still. Just a squirrel. And honestly that brand of weirdness was practically wallpaper in this warped forest.

Sergiy's face instantly curdled. He loathed this place.

"Senior! Senior Milan! How much longer? It feels like hours! Shouldn't we head back and report already?"

Milan shot him a needle-sharp look. "It's been barely ten minutes. And that's your fifth ask. So button it. Nothing stirs in these woods, but we finish our shift. Then we return."

He snorted softly, barely audible. "Ancestors preserve us, where did they unearth someone this… twitchy…"

Sergiy bit down hard, swallowing his protest, and trailed behind, shoulders hunched, embroidering the air with curses into his scarf. The trees loomed stupidly high, the air gnawed with winter's teeth minus the courtesy of snow, and the sun here never truly rose. Even at midday, it perpetually felt like a gloomy twilight. The creatures were wrong. The forest itself was wrong. And deep in his hindbrain, something primal shrieked incessantly—Get out. Now.

He didn't know the reason. He just knew.

His eyes flicked to a gnarled tree nearby. No sound. No movement. Yet his gut churned a warning. Something was there.

He'd felt this before. Vorak himself had acknowledged it—Sergiy possessed an uncanny knack for sensing unseen watchers. Or hunters. It wasn't structured magic, not truly. Just raw, marrow-deep instinct. And critically? It had never steered him wrong.

So when his skull hummed like an enraged hornet's nest right in the heart of the Veilwoods? He wasn't dismissing it.

"We're being stalked," Sergiy hissed, the words tight. "And watched."

Milan turned a look on him so flat it could have leveled stone. "Oh? And precisely where from?"

"I don't know! I just sense it! Look, if you'd actually cracked my admission file, it's documented! This instinct? It's always been there!"

Milan's expression hovered on the brink of utter dismissal… then his brow pinched slightly.

"Hmm. Some elemental affinities manifest early sensory quirks. What's your core affinity listed as?"

"Uh... water, Senior."

"Figures. The weird one," Milan muttered, scratching at his jaw. "Had a batchmate with water affinity once. Claimed the walls and dirt whispered to him. Real unsettling stuff."

He leaned in, voice dipping low.

"He jumped off the top floor of the Northern Tower at Pact HQ."

Sergiy went stiff, expression flatlined.

"…I'm kidding," Milan added with a lopsided grin. "He's fine. Still alive. A little scrambled upstairs, maybe. But every water-attuned I've met's been a bit off. Comes with the territory, I guess. His life did get better once he started ignoring the voices, though."

He straightened up, his tone shifting to something almost wise. "Look, elements show up in all kinds of ways. But not everything they give you is a blessing. Sometimes it's just a lifelong headache. So unless you know something's out there—like, ironclad certain—just ignore it. No sense tormenting yourself chasing shadows."

Sergiy opened his mouth, but the words didn't come. It echoed something Vorak once told him. Water affinity had its costs, especially for the ones who were naturally gifted. If that applied to Sergiy... well, it explained a lot.

But he didn't feel gifted. Couldn't even shape a decent waterblade around his sword—it fizzled out every time like a sad leaky faucet.

Milan seemed to catch the look on his face and continued. "Hey, not saying you're crazy. Just saying—water-types have this habit of seeing phantoms in every crack and crevice. You're hardly the pioneer. When was the last time you felt this kind of thing?"

Sergiy didn't have to think long. "Right before I left for here. A whole murder of crows watching me from an alley. Felt… wrong."

Milan nodded, half-smiling. "So even a bunch of alleyway crows could ruffle your feathers. Now, look around. Shadows pooling in every nook, critters eyeballing you from every bush. Could just be a territorial squirrel back there giving you the stink-eye. Is that gonna trip your danger bells too?"

Sergiy hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. He wanted to say no—but yeah. It was the same feeling. Those crows didn't feel like just crows. There was something behind their gaze.

Was he really that jumpy?

Stolen story; please report.

"…Maybe you're right," Sergiy admitted. "Could just be my head spinning ghosts out of nothing."

Milan ruffled his hair, casual as anything. "You're still green, kid. Not even a yellow core yet. Got a whole journey ahead. And don't get me wrong—I'm not telling you to stop trusting your affinity. I'm saying learn when it's helping you... and when it's just messing with you for fun. That wisdom only comes with time."

Something eased in Sergiy at those words. The forest still felt eerie, but not like it was smothering him anymore. Maybe it was just his nerves playing defense. After everything lately, he didn't blame his head for trying to stay ahead of danger.

Still, this wasn't the time to wimp out. He joined the Iron Pact to be a warrior, not a whiner. He needed to be braver—especially if the higher-ups were up to something shady. But whatever. He was still a nobody for now.

He shrugged, cracking a small smile. "You know, for someone who acts like a total arse, you're actually not that bad."

The words slipped out before he could stop them—and the moment they did, panic flared in his eyes.

But Milan just let out a short laugh.

Damn it. Sergiy really was picking up all sorts of bad habits from being too casual around Vorak. Sometimes he forgot rigid hierarchies were still a thing he was supposed to… well, hierarch.

Even after graduation, Sergiy was still just a junior-ranked Enforcer—only one lonely star on his chest to show for it. The Pact allowed for up to ten stars. The ladder was steep.

Up to three stars you were a junior. Most hadn't even hit yellow core yet. Four to seven stars were senior Enforcers—almost all yellow cores, respected and battle-tested. Eight and nine were Apex Enforcers. Red cores. Veterans. Top of the chain. And ten… Only three people in the entire Pact had ten stars. The leaders. Gold cores. Practically myths.

It was… a long climb.

You earned stars based on your actions—your contributions, your sacrifices, your survival. If Sergiy wanted to follow his dream of researching ancient artifacts, he needed to be a senior like Vorak. That's why he was pushing himself so damn hard. If luck—and chaos—kept swinging his way, maybe he'd land that second star by the end of the week. Hell, if he kept grinding, he might even scrape his way to three.

Focus, Sergiy. Remember why you're here.

After Milan's earlier reassurances, Sergiy had cooled down a bit. They'd talked more on the way—Milan had solid points, sure, but his tone sometimes felt... how to say it politely? A little too devoted. Like the Pact's word was law, and its leadership could do no wrong.

He despised Vorak, dismissed that girl—Jade—as a fluke for sacrificing herself. Sergiy didn't believe that crap for a second. Vorak had already peeled the blindfold from his eyes. Something rotten was blooming in the Pact, and he had no plans of getting caught in the fallout.

Not that he said any of this to Milan. What was the point? He was already brainwashed. Totally convinced.

"You've gotten awfully quiet," Milan eventually said.

"Huh?"

"I mean, earlier you were pushing back on everything I said. Now it's like you're not even trying. Did my wisdom finally sink in?"

Sergiy shrugged. "Because it's not worth it. I doubt I could change your mind, so why waste the breath?"

Milan opened his mouth – probably for another zealous rant – when it happened.

In an instant, something dark and serpentine shot from the treeline and clamped around his mouth. Three more shapes exploded from the underbrush before Sergiy could even blink.

One coiled around Milan's waist, pinning his arms. Another yanked his sword clean out of reach. A fourth snapped around his legs like a bear trap made of shadow.

The last thing Sergiy heard was a muffled scream as Milan was yanked into the bushes—gone in less than a heartbeat.

The world buckled around Sergiy. The constant scream in his gut – the one he'd choked down, ignored, rationalized… It went utterly, terrifyingly silent.

What use is a warning siren after the bomb drops? Warnings only matter if there's a chance. This silence? It meant the thing hunting you was so far beyond your league, screaming was a waste of perfectly good panic. It meant there was no hope.

Sergiy couldn't even muster a whimper. Pure, ice-cold terror locked him solid.

…Literally.

Frost exploded over his boots, crawling up his calves like frozen spiders. Ice crusted over his lips, sealing his mouth shut. He managed a pathetic, trapped-mouse squeak – then something hard and impossibly heavy slammed into the base of his skull and the world went black.

***

Sergiy's eyes fluttered open—

Instant regret. A wave of pain slammed through his skull like a spinning mace. He winced, instinctively trying to raise a hand to his head—

Only to find he couldn't.

His hands were bound. Tight.

Panic surged instantly. He tried to scream, but only managed a muffled rasp. Gagged.

He was tied upright to the thick trunk of a massive tree. No obvious wounds, but that hardly felt like good news. A quick glance sideways confirmed Milan was tied up right beside him, wide-eyed, breath ragged. The senior Enforcer looked utterly shaken.

Maybe it was the sheer helplessness of it all. The attack had happened so fast it barely felt real. One blink, and everything collapsed.

Oddly, the panic didn't last. It burned out just as quickly as it rose, replaced by a kind of cold, quiet clarity in Sergiy's mind.

Not so for Milan—he was still thrashing against his bonds, tears leaking down his cheeks as he struggled harder and harder, blind to the fact that it was doing nothing.

Sergiy stayed still.

Something was watching them again. That same presence. Like pressure brushing against his senses—soft but certain. The one who brought them here, no doubt. They hadn't been moved far; it still felt like the Veilwoods. But the aura watching him… it didn't feel overtly hostile. Yet.

Still… it was nearby. Close. And—

To his right.

His gaze jerked sideways.

His blood iced over.

A towering golden creature stood beside him, just within the edge of his vision—staring straight at him with cruel, violet eyes. A monstrous beast of shining scales and sinuous motion. How long had it been standing there?

His instincts hadn't warned him at all.

It looked—no, it was—a Drakkari in beast form. At least, that's what it resembled. But it was far larger than any Drakkari he'd ever seen. And it radiated power. Definitely red core or above. They had no chance.

Its golden scales shimmered with divine intensity. Its wings were folded with quiet majesty. From its back, long tentacles curled—each tipped with wicked, golden blades. Those were what had snatched Milan. No doubt.

Sergiy stayed frozen, statue-still. From the corner of his eye, Milan still thrashed, oblivious to the golden death standing inches away, observing them like bugs under glass.

What unholy shitstorm had they stumbled into?

Then the beast noticed Sergiy's stare.

It smiled.

A slow, razor-edged nightmare of a grin. Sergiy's heart plummeted straight into his bowels.

The Drakkari crouched—fluid, predatory—until its massive, scaled snout hovered a hair's breadth from Sergiy's face. Every primal fiber shrieked RUN, but the ropes held firm. Trapped.

It purred. A low, grinding rumble, like oil on gravel, threaded with an unmistakable, chillingly feminine lilt.

"Oh my… what a pretty little trinket you are."

Somehow worse than a roar.

A massive, taloned claw—gleaming gold, curved like a scythe—lifted and cupped his jaw with terrifying gentleness. Sergiy flinched hard, breath hitching. Deny this. Please.

"So… composed," she crooned, mock-sweetness dripping like poison. "Unlike your noisy friend. Perhaps… I'll start with you, little trinket."

She leaned in—closer—her breath hot and metallic, stinking of copper, iron, and ozone.

"Don't fret. I've no desire for… unwilling pets. Just answers. Whether you leave here as helpful little birds… or dismembered curiosities… depends entirely on how sweetly you sing for me."

Sergiy felt the hot, humiliating flood soak his thighs. His cheeks burned like coals.

The Drakkari's grin widened, savoring it. "Now then… shall we begin?"

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