"A message rune stone?" Nozna eyed the dark stone in Khamat's palm.
Khamat raised his palm towards Nozna. "Arcan powers can also be expressed through another medium – rune stones."
Nozna stared back at Khamat, dumbfounded.
"In short, rune stones are Arcan powers stored within Arcan materials that can be unleashed. A message and receiving rune are used in conjunction for long distance communication."
As his mentor returned the message rune stone back into the pouch, the tugging sensation on Nozna's chest seemed to stop.
"There is more information on this in the papers. Make sure you study it all tonight. I will test you tomorrow morning."
Nozna was stunned. His mind raced as his mouth opened slightly. "C- Can rune stones be turned into objects?"
Like an amulet? Nozna thought to himself.
Khamat frowned in surprise. "Those are called Arcan artifacts. I am surprised the idea even crossed you."
Nozna avoided Khamat's gaze.
So is my amulet an Arcan artifact? But it doesn't have any powers. Khamat didn't sense it last night, so it must not have Essence.
"It is too early for you to know now…" Khamat smiled. "Study the information in the papers first."
Nozna groaned as he leaned backwards on his captain's bed.
Khamat brought the two plates down to the kitchen before shortly returning. He was holding something in his hands.
Khamat gave Nozna another stack of papers. Except, these were all empty.
Handing Nozna a quill, Khamat explained. "Now, you will be learning Aranese." Khamat smiled. "The language of the Haddamat empire… and the main language of our organisation."
…
The rattling of the cart's wheel rhythmically echoed through the forest. Bumps in the ground sent small tremors up its wooden frames.
The path ahead – once familiar– was nearly unrecognizable now, swallowed by nature. Ferns spilled over the edges, moss grew thick where bare earth once showed. The scent of damp earth and wood seemed thicker than usual.
Most of the trees stood at twice Jack's height. Up above, the forest's canopy formed a dense blanket of interwoven branches and leaves. On the ground, writhing roots and overgrown vines danced across the uneven ground.
Jack was not that far in the south of the forest yet.
The forest – at this point – mirrored the northern and western expanses.
The same thick canopy that cast a shadow over the forest, the same layers of damp moss that smothered the tree barks, the same web of plants that intertwined on the ground.
However, there was one difference.
All around him, the forest held its breath. There were no rustling leaves, the chirping of birds was absent. There seemed to be an absence of life. Only the rattling of the cart could be heard.
The forest opened into a clearing. Overhead, the blanket of leaves and branches opened up, inviting an ocean of sunlight that kissed the forest.
In the distance, the vague silhouette of the Prodsign mountains seemed to have grown in size.
Jack stood in the clearing, the air around him unnaturally still. His cart – carrying ropes and pouches of bread – rested in the shade of a tree. Holding his axe in his right hand, he silently stared at the scene before him.
The tree stumps from two years ago had changed.
What remained of them was swollen and dark. Some were softened by rot and draped in thick blankets of fungi, some showed blisters and cracks on its bark. Another, still intact, sprouted thin vines that curled upwards like fingers.
Jack stepped closer, his boots crunching on wood debris. Whilst bathed in light, Jack didn't feel warm.
A cold tightness crept into his chest as he tightened his grip on the axe.
He began felling the trees.
Each swing of the axe emanated through the silent forest. Cracks and splinters spilled everywhere as sweat ran down Jack's face.
Wiping his face, he continued to swing. Eventually, he decided to take a break. Rummaging through his pouch, he pulled out a piece of bread and a flask of water.
Upon finishing his meal, Jack picked up his axe again, but before swinging it towards another tree, he took a few steps away from the clearing.
And then a few more.
He passed by several clearings – some in the same state as the one he had just left, others were in worse state, already being consumed by the wild.
Brushing aside the swarm of leaves and climbing over thick branches, Jack travelled further and further south.
The path was no longer clear.
After a few minutes, Jack arrived at a tree. It was just as ordinary as the trees around it, however, at Jack's torso length, the tree bore a slight scar of an axe's strike. At its roots, the ground was sunken and disturbed.
Jack stared at it for a long moment. Not at the tree, but at the array of branches at its base.
A slow ache spread across his chest.
Jack gave a bittersweet smile.
"Heh, they sure grow up quickly."
The words came out low and rough, as if stuck in his throat. His smile barely lifted on his mouth. In his eyes, the light dulled.
His mind flashed back in time.
…
About sixteen years ago, the southern expanse of the forest.
The rain drenched the earth in sheets of cold silver, the relentless droplets drummed against the leaves and branches. The forest was mostly swallowed in a thick darkness, only ribbons of moonlight squeezed through the dense canopy above.
It rarely rained in Savoda Village.
It rarely rained in this forest.
Yet on this night, the air was thick with the scent of the wet forest – the unpleasant stench of rotten leaves, the subtle metallic whiff of soaked bark, and the heavy aroma of the damp earth.
Jack stirred.
His skinny face was pressed into the damp forest floor. Mud was smeared across his cheek. The rain soaked through his clothes and clung to his skin, his brown hair was plastered to his scalp. His hands were dirty and wet.
Jack pushed himself upright. In the next moment, a searing pain erupted through his skull.
"Argh!" He yelped.
He blinked, slowly adjusting to the darkness with the help of the ghostly-pale moonlight.
His memory was fogged.
Clutching his throbbing head, Jack leaned towards a nearby log that seemed to be on the floor. His soaked tunic clung to his ribs, the cold eating through the fabric like hungry needles.
Shivering, Jack looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
Why is this tree on the floor?
As the rain continued to pelt at his face, Jack caught his breath. He had remembered.
His father had gone sick, so it was his first day lumbering alone. He was careless, misjudging the path of where the chopped tree would fall.
As the tree gave way, it came down fast, briefly striking Jack across his head.
Whilst it was not a direct hit, it still knocked Jack unconscious.
Heh, the first day alone and this happens.
His fingers raised towards his left temple where most of the searing pain was felt. Upon contact, he winced, the pain became more unbearable.
He suddenly realised.
Oh no! I have to get back, it's so late. Father must be worried.
Jack pulled himself up, gritting his teeth in the process. Jack stumbled to his feet, swaying unsteadily.
The axe… where is it?
As soon as he made two steps, his head burst out in pain as his vision dulled.
The world seemed to tilt, sending Jack back to the ground. A high-pitched ringing drilled into his ears.
The cold had sunk deep into his bones, turning every limb heavier.
The torrential downpour continued, unforgiving.
Jack continued to crawl forward. Trembling, he felt a sudden chill on his palms.
His hands were pressed against something flat. Something cold. Sweeping his hands across the ground, he felt a familiar object.
The axe.
Jack's fingers curled stiffly around the handle, his joints grinded sluggishly. His thoughts seemed to grow slightly clearer as hope began to well up inside of him.
Using the axe as a cane, Jack got onto his two feet again. His knees wobbled beneath him, threatening to give out.
His breath was ragged, his leg muscles were aching with pain, but he managed to stay on his two legs.
As his thoughts became clearer, he began to hear a high pitched sound – faint at first, like a distant whine.
Crying.
A baby's cry.
Jack's blood ran cold.
How?...
Instinctively, his grip on the axe tightened. He began moving towards the sound, like a moth drawn to a flame.
His instincts screamed at him to run away, but Jack continued to move.
The more Jack moved, the louder the crying became. Each wail sent waves of shivers into his spine as he heaved through the woods.
After what felt like an eternity, Jack froze.
Something was in front of him.
Underneath a tree, under the direct gaze of the moonlight, lay a creature curled up.
It looked like a newborn.
For a heartbeat, Jack thought it was a child.
But it wasn't.
The pup was small – the same size as a newborn baby. Its fur was a deep, velvety black, so dark that it seemed to blend into the darkness of the night. The most horrifying thing was the amalgamation of bulges and scars around its small body. It was like a deformed wolf. Its eyes were the colour of sapphire blue staring blankly. Its mouth was opened, emitting a shrilling crying sound that sounded exactly like a human baby.
Around its neck hung a fuschia pink amulet.
Every muscle in Jack's body seemed to turn taut. He didn't dare to speak.
The rain continued to fall. The pup let out another wail.
Suddenly, he felt an unusual emotion rise within him. A wave of heat washed over his head as Jack clenched his jaws. Rage.
It didn't make sense why he was angry. Because of his current situation? The biting cold? The soaking rain?
Jack raised his axe.
His emotions boiled. He suddenly found strength and motivation. An overwhelming determination surged through his body.
He felt as if he could do anything, as if he was unstoppable.
He swung down.
Before the axe reached anything, the pup stopped wailing.
Jack faltered, his anger vanished instantly. However, Jack's body – already committed to the swing – lurched forward with momentum.
Instead of hitting the creature, the axe tore into the bark of the tree above it.
Jack's arms trembled. His whole body felt numb.
The wild heat in his chest dimmed.
His knees buckled without warning, and the world tilted. The sound of the rain dulled, pulling away like it was being swallowed up by water.
Jack hit the ground hard, but he didn't feel it.
The axe was lodged into the tree.
His eyes slowly closed.
…
Back to the present, Mawisa Inn, Khamat's room.
Nozna spent the rest of the afternoon learning Aranese with Khamat.
The sun started to sink beyond the horizon as the sky was stained a deep gold.
"That's enough for today." Khamat said, setting aside the sheets of paper. "Nozna, you've done well."
Nozna let out a long breath. His head was buzzing with new words and strange sentence structures. His tongue was starting to feel numb, and his throat ached.
Khamat stood up from his chair.
"Tomorrow, you will begin your combat training."
"Y- Yes… captain."
It felt strange calling Khamat as captain.
Khamat handed over a leather bag to Nozna, inside were all the sheets Khamat had given Nozna today. The flickering light of the candle, recently lit by Tomir, cast faint shadows across the wooden walls of the room.
Just before Nozna left, Khamat's voice rang out with a calming tone.
"At ease."
Nozna turned towards his mentor, his face visible with confusion. His brows furrowed slightly as he met his mentor's gaze.
Standing near the table, Khamat added "You said this year's Huntary is in a month correct?"
"Yes." Nozna replied. "April 25th of every year."
Khamat walked towards Nozna, his leather boots tapped softly against the wooden floorboards. Putting a hand on Nozna's shoulders, Khamat reassured. His usually stoic expression had softened.
"We will make the south safe before then." He gave a warm smile. "I promise."
Nozna felt the tension in his body lift slightly. However, there were still coils of fear deep in his stomach that refused to loosen.
Something still lingered in Nozna's mind "Captain… I also have a question…" Nozna hesitated.
Seeing his captain nod, he continued.
"Since you're here training me… what about your trip to Bolman city?"
Khamat turned towards the windows and gazed at the fields of grass outside. The vertical scar on his left cheek seemed to catch the glow of the dying sunlight.
His expression turned sharp again.
"It will be delayed, but no longer than two weeks." Khamat turned to face Nozna, his emerald green eyes pierced Nozna. "Within those two weeks, you will be able to control Essence, master the basics of Aranese, and master a few combat techniques to defend yourselves."
His tone hardened with determination.
"And most importantly, control your fear enough that you can face your enemies."
…
As Nozna stepped outside, the evening breeze brushed gently against his face.
He began to walk, making his way towards the river.
Just like Nozna's hut, the inn was to the south side of the village's river – the number of buildings on this side of the village could be counted on one hand.
The Mawisa inn stood alone on the open plains, a quiet silhouette surrounded by endless fields of grass swaying in the evening wind. It was close enough to the river that Nozna could see the flowing body of water the moment he stepped outside.
The gentle glimmer on its surface caught the light from the sky above, carrying a dark hue of burnt orange and soft violet as the last remnants of daylight clung onto the horizon.
The soft murmur of the current reached Nozna's ears, blending with the whisper of the wind.
Arriving at the bridge, Nozna glanced at the river bank, the patches of swaying grass that lined the flowing river.
Nozna's gaze lingered.
He was here just last night, with Khamat.
So much had changed overnight. The hidden Arcan world. The powers he possessed. Rune stones, feeling Essence. Berserkness. Spectras.
Yet… the tranquil evening itself remained unchanged everyday. The river flowed the same way it always had, the breezes blew in similar fashion.
Nozna wondered if his life too could have remained unchanged too.
The weight of his decision to join Khamat tugged at his conscience.
Was he really ready for all this?
"Is the life that you live everyday, every week truly the same? Nothing stays the same forever Nozna. Growing is what makes us strong."
"Don't let fear control how you live. Let it control how you grow."
Nozna let out a slow breath, the breezes around him seemed to stir.
He had already chosen his path. There was no way back, only forward. Only growth.
Nozna had planned to head over to the tavern. He hadn't seen Embar, Raven or Grant since Thursday night. He missed them.
The idea of sinking into their laughter – their warm comfort – tempted Nozna.
But he decided against it.
After all, something else was weighing on his mind.
Instead of crossing the bridge, Nozna turned around and began walking home. His footsteps were heavy. The wind stirred again, brushing through the blanket of grass and tugging at his tunic.
He was now an Arcan.
It was time to tell his father. Everything.
…
The sun had almost fully dipped below the horizon by the time Nozna reached home. His hut stood in its usual silence.
"Da! I'm back," he called out, stepping inside.
No answer.
He glanced around the main room. The fire hearth was still alive but faint. One of the axes was missing, he had noticed that the cart – usually resting in the front yard – had not returned either.
Nozna quickly searched around the hut, frantically opening every door.
Nozna's chest tightened. His father wasn't here.
He stood still for a moment, the silence hung heavy.
Nozna let out a slow breath, brushing a trembling hand through his blonde hair.
It was still early.
His father should be at the market square right now.
Reeling himself together, Nozna placed his bag inside his room.
Then, stepping outside, he grabbed a few logs from his front yard and tossed them into the hearth. With a sudden whoosh, the dying flames flared to life, shadows rapidly danced across the wall as the room began to feel warmer.
He then took multiple trips to the river and back, hauling heavy wooden buckets of water to refill the big reservoir bucket in his hut. Using the fire hearth, Nozna began to light up candles in the hut, one by one.
Nozna sat on his bed after finishing the chores, catching his breath.
It felt strange. Usually, he would be with his father, on some days – mostly Saturdays – he would be at the tavern with his friends, then return home to his father.
Now he was home alone. The only other time he had been alone was during each Huntary event, before he had turned fifteen.
Rising again, Nozna moved to the kitchen.
Nozna crouched beside a squat structure of stone and iron. Peering inside, he saw a desert of ash and soot. After carefully scooping the remains out into an empty bucket, Nozna placed a few split logs of firewood inside.
Nozna lit the firewood with help from the hearth, turning on the stove. As the flames grew steady, he poured water into a blackened iron pot and gently set it over the heat.
Waiting for the water to boil, Nozna grabbed different wooden boxes off a shelf. From them, he took out one roynon, two carrots and two potatoes.
Using a worn knife – its handle wrapped in a rough and dirty cloth – Nozna carefully cut each carrot and potatoes into small chunks, whilst slicing the roynons into thin lines.
Once the water boiled, Nozna added all the vegetables. He reached out onto a wooden cup on the shelf and grabbed a pinch of salt, throwing it into the pot. Using a wooden ladle, Nozna stirred for minutes.
A blanket of heat radiated from the stove, warming his face and hands. The faint aroma of the vegetables – earthy and sweet – began to fill the hut.
Each motion calmed Nozna even further. He felt his tumultuous thoughts slow down, the knot in his chest seemed to gradually loosen with each breath.
Suddenly, the door to the hut swung open with a thud.
Jack's booming voice rang out. His tone carried a trace of amusement and mischief.
"Heh, it smells nice."