The world of Eatheria was never safe.
Monsters roamed the skies, the seas, and the very roads people walked. Some were small and weak, little more than pests. Others were so powerful that even kingdoms fell before them.
For Kael Stormound, monsters were more than just a danger—they were the reason he had no parents.
When he was only six, his mother and father were killed by a monster attack. Since then, Kael had lived with his grandparents in a quiet village, trying to live as normal a life as possible in a world that wasn't normal at all.
Now sixteen, Kael was tall and lean, with dark hair that refused to stay neat and a grin that made his grandparents sigh in equal parts frustration and affection. He cracked jokes too often, messed around too much, and had a knack for getting into trouble.
But beneath all that, Kael carried something heavier: the memory of his parents' deaths, and the desire to one day be strong enough to face monsters head-on.
At least, that's what he told himself.
At the moment, however, he was just carrying a basket of vegetables down a dusty road.
"Grandma said, 'don't wander off, Kael.' Grandpa said, 'keep your eyes open, boy.'" Kael muttered, kicking a rock along the road. "What they really should've said was, 'try not to embarrass the family name while buying turnips.'"
That's when he saw it.
A pair of gloves, lying in the mud at the roadside.
They were old, black leather, etched with faint crimson veins that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Kael crouched down, staring at them.
"…Yep. Definitely cursed. Which means I absolutely have to pick them up."
Any normal person would've ignored them. Kael was not normal.
The moment he slid the gloves onto his hands, the world changed.
Every object around him shimmered faintly. His plain wooden walking stick twisted in his grip, transforming in seconds into a brutal spiked club.
Kael yelped and dropped it.
"…Okay, WHAT. Since when do sticks do that?!"
The gloves pulsed, whispering in his mind.
"More… test us. Feed us."
Before he could process that, the bushes ahead exploded with movement.
A C-rank ground beast—a boar the size of a horse, its tusks jagged like stone—charged straight for him, dirt flying in its wake.
Kael's body went cold with fear, but the gloves clenched tighter around his fists, almost pulling his hand toward the weapon.
He grabbed the spiked club. It thrummed with power, eager for battle.
Kael forced a shaky grin, his heart pounding.
"Alright, Kael Stormound… time to find out if you're a hero in the making—"
He raised the weapon as the monster closed in.
"—or monster food."