The wind carried the scent of pine and something sweeter—lilacs, perhaps. Or maybe it was just him.
Adam sat stiffly in front of his sister, pressed back against the reassuring warmth of her torso. Laylee's arms loosely encircled him from behind, her gloved hands resting on the reins. The mare they rode was a towering white creature with gleaming fur and a temperament known across the household as aristocratically bitchy. She didn't let anyone ride her. Not even the family stablemaster.
Laylee herself had needed a full day—an entire day—before the creature acknowledged her as its master.
Yet now, this proud beast was trotting gently through the forest with Adam in front of her, nuzzling at his scent like an obedient puppy.
Ridiculous.
Even more ridiculous was the arrangement itself. A young noblewoman riding with her brother seated between her arms, like some kind of traveling couple? In any proper household, the thought alone would have scandalized the maids into dropping their trays.
But Adam had insisted.
Stubborn as ever, stupidly innocent, and utterly unbothered by social rules, he'd huffed and puffed about how he "needed to learn" and "couldn't train properly if he didn't know how to ride." And somehow… she'd given in.
He was warm in front of her. Small, compared to her height. Not childishly so, but—petite. Slim at the waist. Compact through the shoulders. She could see it all clearly now, the product of three weeks of hard-earned effort.
And yes, she'd expected him to quit.
The first day she heard about his ridiculous workout schedule, she'd scoffed. Ten kilometers a day? One hundred of each? A boy like him would collapse in two.
But he hadn't.
Now here he was, with skin like porcelain, a faint shimmer of sweat glistening on his nape, and thighs that hugged the saddle too tightly for her peace of mind. He even smelled good, like lilies and soft rosewood.
He leaned back suddenly, his fluffy hair brushing her collarbone, and looked up at her with wide, open eyes.
"Sis?" he asked, blinking. "You okay? You've been staring."
Laylee turned her face away, clicking her tongue.
"Look forward. Keep your spine straight. Reins even."
"Right," he said, sheepishly. "Sorry."
Stop being cute, she almost said aloud.
The sound of hooves on loamy ground filled the brief silence. Three mounted guards trailed behind them at a careful distance, all women in hardened leather gear with bows slung across their backs. Every so often, Laylee caught them glancing in their direction.
Or more specifically, at him.
Envy, maybe. Surprise. Curiosity.
She didn't blame them.
Adam looked different now. His gloom had lifted. His eyes gleamed with quiet determination. And his aura—no longer forgettable—seemed to hum with quiet presence. Even her mother had said something last night at dinner about how "even a fading flower can bloom again in the right season."
"…We're tracking Quickfoots today," she said, more curtly than she meant to. "That's what you wanted to learn about, yes?"
Adam perked up. "Yeah. Those fast chicken things, right? They taste really good raw."
Laylee nearly sighed again. "Yes. 'Fast chicken things.' Their meat stays tender even uncooked, which makes them a delicacy for aura warriors who travel light. But more importantly—they're rare, skittish, and nearly impossible to catch without precise timing."
"How do we find them?"
"They travel in flocks," she explained. "They shed feathers constantly, so their trails are easy to notice—especially during mating season. They tend to gather near water sources to compete for nesting ground."
"Oh," Adam said, perking up. "Then—"
A faint trickle of water reached his ears.
He opened his mouth. "I think I hear—"
Laylee's hand clamped gently over his lips.
"Quiet," she whispered. Her breath tickled his cheek, low and commanding.
Adam's eyes widened.
The scent of her breath. Her hand, firm but soft. Her voice… husky and warm like melting chocolate.
And her face—leaned in close, brows furrowed, lips only inches from his skin.
Why is this kind of hot?
He blushed furiously as she dismounted in one fluid movement, signaling the guards with quick, precise hand gestures. They responded instantly, sliding from their mounts and drawing bows or slipping hunting blades free.
She turned back to him.
"Down," she whispered. "Slow. Quiet."
She took his hand and lowered him gently, crouching beside him in the brush. Her voice slid into his ear again. "We're close. Don't move unless I say so."
Adam nodded quickly, feeling his pulse in his neck, his ears, everywhere.
She parted the bushes with a soft motion.
There they were.
Quickfoots.
Purple-feathered, thick-bodied chicken-like beasts the size of large dogs, with beady amber eyes and crimson talons. Easily twenty of them picking at the undergrowth near the stream, puffing their chests and making low, clicking noises.
It was a mystical sight.
A game memory come to life.
Laylee raised one hand—fingers poised to signal the ambush.
But Adam didn't move.
He stared hard at the stream. At the mangrove stump nearby.
It should be now.
The [Ignis Spirit] event.
Any second—
The water exploded.
A long, scaly body burst out of the shallows like a cannonball, its open maw hissing, its claws swiping at the nearest Quickfoot.
A lizardling.
Massive. Pale-green with a speckled black underbelly, eyes glowing yellow like twin lanterns. Its jaw dripped with saliva thick with acidic venom.
Tier 6.
Laylee reacted instantly.
"Catch one!" she barked. "NOW!"
The guards moved with lethal speed—nets flinging out, arrows loosed in synchronized bursts, even as Laylee launched herself into the clearing, flame already swirling at her fingertips.
"Stay here," she growled at Adam, her eyes on the beast. "Don't move unless I tell you."
He nodded, but he was already watching something else.
This was it.
The event had begun.