Isla ran until her lungs burned and her legs shook like jelly.
Branches grabbed at her arms with sharp fingers. Leaves slapped her face like angry hands. The silver-lit forest turned into a spinning blur of green and shadow. But still, Isla ran. Not from some wild beast. Not from a raging storm. But from her own people.
From home.
Or... what used to be home.
She didn't dare look back. Not even once. The moment she crossed the sacred ridge that marked the outer forest, she had become an exile. A nobody. The cruel whispers of her elders still buzzed in her ears like angry wasps, accusations, sky-high expectations, threats of punishment. None of them understood. None of them even tried to listen.
Not when her blood boiled with something strange and wild. Not when her tail shimmered with flickers of energy that weren't in any of the clan's dusty old scrolls. Not when her dreams echoed with power that felt foreign, dangerous, and completely wrong.
And so she ran like her life depended on it.
Eventually, her strength gave out completely. She collapsed at the edge of a shallow clearing, the soft moss cushioning her aching body. Her breaths came in sharp, painful gasps. Her long white hair stuck to her face, soaked with sweat. Even her fluffy tail dragged behind her like a wet mop.
'Just a moment,' she thought, eyes fluttering shut. 'Just one tiny moment to catch my breath.'
The growl ripped through the air like a rusty blade.
Her eyes shot open.
There it stood. A monster, no, a nightmare with legs. Four massive paws. Towering height. Its mane was actual fire, licking the air in wild, hungry waves. Molten cracks glowed across its muscular limbs like veins of lava. The grass beneath its paws hissed and turned to ash with every single step.
A Flame-Mane Lion.
Her heart nearly stopped beating.
'Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.'
Mana surged into her fingertips, hot and desperate. She raised her trembling hands.
"Spirit Pulse!" she cried out.
The spiritual burst rippled through the air, only to bend and disappear against the shimmering veil around the lion's massive body.
Heat Haze Cloak.
'Of course it has that,' she thought bitterly.
The lion roared in answer, the sound so loud it nearly knocked her flat on her back. Trees shuddered like they were scared too. Birds fled in panic. Her soul felt like it was shrinking into a tiny, terrified ball.
She tried to run.
'Tailwind Escape,' she thought desperately. 'Come on, work just this once.'
Her body dashed to the side with a flicker of speed, but her foot caught a thick root, her knees buckled like broken sticks, and she collapsed beside a tree with a painful thud.
'This is it,' she realized, staring up at the beast. 'Alone. Afraid. No strength left. No one coming to save me.'
Then—
"Hey, ugly!"
The voice was sharp. Confident. Completely crazy.
She turned her head.
And saw him.
A boy, no, a young man, stepping from the trees like he owned the place. Tall and lean. Fair-skinned. Short, pristine white hair that caught the moonlight like silver silk. Crimson Iris. A long black trench coat flared behind him with each step, and in his hand, a sword gleamed like liquid starlight.
He wasn't shaking.
He didn't look scared.
He stood between her and death like it was just another Tuesday.
'Who is this person?'
---
Leon regretted everything.
Every. Single. Thing.
'Why didn't I just stay in the clearing? Why didn't I mind my own business? Why am I so stupidly heroic?'
The lion's roar had nearly burst his eardrums. Its heat made sweat pour down his back like a waterfall. Even from several meters away, the Flame-Mane Lion radiated power, real, raw, burning power. Not the kind that looked cool in video games. The kind that turned people into crispy bacon.
He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as sand.
"Okay," he whispered to himself, "you've seen worse in boss raids. Sort of. Maybe. Actually, no, this is way worse."
The lion's muscles coiled like springs.
'Oh, crap.'
The beast lunged with terrifying speed.
Leon threw himself sideways, barely avoiding the massive swipe. The heat singed his arm through his coat. The lion's claws gouged deep trenches in the earth where he had just stood, sending chunks of dirt flying everywhere.
He sprinted to the side, trying to draw its attention away from the fox girl, Isla.
The beast followed with heavy, thunderous steps.
It moved like a shadow made of pure muscle and rage. Graceful, yet earth-shaking. Leon barely raised his sword in time to block a glancing blow.
The impact sent him flying like a ragdoll.
His back slammed into a tree with a crack that shook his entire spine. Pain exploded across his chest like fireworks. He hit the ground gasping, tasting dirt and blood.
'Ow. Ow. Everything hurts.'
The lion roared again, padding forward slowly now. Taking its time. Like a cat playing with a mouse.
Leon scrambled to his feet, coughing and wheezing. "Trench coat," he muttered, patting himself down frantically. "Please tell me you're doing something useful."
A notification flickered across his phone's screen.
> [Impact absorbed: 20% Damage Reduction — Trench Coat of the Awakened]
Leon gave a weak, breathless chuckle. "Nice to know you've got my back, buddy."
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a healing potion. The glass bottle shimmered faintly, cool against his hot palm.
He chugged it like it was the best drink in the world.
Warmth flowed through his body like liquid sunlight. Muscles mended. Bones knit back together. His breathing steadied into something almost normal.
One potion. Two. Three potions later, he was still limping, but upright and mostly functional.
The lion watched him with burning eyes. Patient. Curious. Almost amused.
'Great. Even the monster thinks I'm entertainment.'
Leon gripped his sword again, knuckles white.
His Combat Intuition skill had activated.
It didn't come with flashy lights or dramatic music. It was quieter than that. A sharpening of focus. A clearing of the mind. He could see things now, the lion's stance, the subtle shift of its hind legs before it pounced, the way its tail flicked before it attacked. He could feel the flow of combat before it even began.
"This skill," he whispered, understanding flooding through him, "isn't about hitting harder."
Combat Intuition guided him like an invisible teacher. Not just swordplay, but movement. Angles. Flow. Timing.
It made him a real fighter.
He sprinted forward, and the forest blurred around him. Not because of magic, but because of pure focus and determination. Every step landed with purpose. Every movement had meaning. The lion blinked, caught completely off guard.
Leon's blade slashed through the air.
Once. Twice. Again and again.
The first strike caught the beast across the shoulder, drawing a thin line of glowing blood. The second, a clever feint, slid past its flank and left another mark. The third forced it to rear back on its hind legs, roaring in surprise.
They danced around each other like deadly partners. Blade and flame. Human and beast. Predator and prey, but who was which?
The clearing became a battlefield. Grass burned. Trees got scorched. The air itself seemed to crackle with tension.
And then, they both stopped.
Leon stood panting heavily, his blade held in a ready stance, boots sliding across burned and blackened grass.
The lion growled low, its molten eyes staring back with something that looked almost like respect.
Across the smoky field, Isla stared with wide amber eyes, her mouth hanging open.
She could barely breathe.
That boy wasn't even in the Intermediate rank. She knew it. She had seen his aura, weak and flickering like a candle. A Novice. A beginner. Yet here he stood, matching a creature that could wipe out an entire scouting party without breaking a sweat.
Not evenly. He was clearly outmatched.
But surviving. Holding his ground. Fighting back with everything he had.
'How is this possible?'
The Flame-Mane Lion lowered its massive head, molten drool dripping from its fangs. Its muscles coiled again, preparing for another charge.
Leon steadied his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
'Round two. Here we go.'
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
The next exchange would decide everything. Life or death. Victory or defeat.
Leon raised his sword, and despite everything, he couldn't help but grin.