The forest was quiet that day, unusually so. Birds that normally filled the air with chatter were absent, and even the hum of insects seemed subdued beneath the heavy summer heat. Kael adjusted the leather strap of his quiver, his sharp eyes scanning the undergrowth for herbs. His family needed extra coin, and his mother often sent him to gather medicinal plants while his father toiled in the forge.
At sixteen, Kael was no stranger to the woods, though he still considered himself a neophyte hunter. He knew the paths where deer sometimes passed and the groves where rare roots could be dug, but he was not yet the seasoned hunter his father was. Ifrit always said he was sharp, but reckless—a boy with the cunning of a fox, but not the patience of a wolf.
Kael smirked to himself, brushing sweat from his brow. Maybe that was true. But today, he felt strangely restless, as though the forest itself were holding its breath.
Then he heard it.
A faint, desperate cry. High-pitched. Fragile. The sound of a child in distress.
Kael's heart lurched. He darted through the brush, bow already in hand, following the sound until he burst into a small clearing.
What he saw froze him.
A girl, no older than eight, stood trembling as three hound-like beasts circled her. Their bodies were twisted, black fur matted with oozing red veins, and their eyes burned with unnatural crimson light. Kael knew instantly—these were not ordinary wolves or strays. They reeked of something foul, something that prickled against his skin like ice.
Corruption.
The girl's knees buckled as one of the beasts lunged. Without thinking, Kael moved.
"Hey!" he shouted, loosing an arrow. It flew true, striking the creature's side. It yelped, dissolving into smoke the moment it hit the ground.
The other two turned on him, snarling.
Kael's pulse thundered in his ears. His hands trembled, but he forced himself to nock another arrow. The beasts were faster than deer, their movements jerky and unnatural. He fired again—missed—ducked under a snapping jaw, then swung his bow like a club into the creature's face. It staggered back, giving him just enough time to grab a fallen branch and drive it into the second beast's chest.
The last one leapt. Kael fell back, rolling, his knife flashing from his belt. The blade found its mark, piercing through corrupted flesh. The beast let out a warped howl before dissolving into ash.
Silence returned.
Kael lay there panting, his chest heaving. His arms ached, and his knife was slick with black ichor that evaporated quickly, leaving only the faint stench of rot.
Then he remembered. The girl.
She stood rooted in place, her small hands clenched at her sides, tears streaking her cheeks. Her eyes—dark, but shimmering with a strange brilliance—met his.
"It's… it's okay," Kael said, forcing calm into his voice. He sheathed his knife and stepped closer. "They're gone now."
The girl swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. "T-Thank you."
Before Kael could reply, the air shimmered. Light bloomed in the clearing, so radiant it forced him to shield his eyes. The girl gasped and dropped to her knees as a figure descended, haloed in silver brilliance.
Kael's breath caught. He had seen statues in temples, heard prayers offered during festivals, but never had he believed he would stand before a god.
The man was tall, robed in woven light, his features sharp and ethereal. His presence was overwhelming—divine, yet weary, as though centuries of burden weighed upon his shoulders. His gaze swept over Kael, then softened as it fell on the trembling girl.
"You have saved my daughter," the figure said. His voice was like chimes and thunder, resonating both in Kael's ears and in his very soul.
Kael dropped to one knee instinctively. His body trembled, not from fear but from the sheer immensity of what stood before him. "Y-your daughter?"
The god nodded. "Christy."
The girl looked up, startled. Her lips parted, but no words came. She seemed almost afraid to acknowledge him.
The god turned his gaze back to Kael. "Few mortals would dare stand against corruption barehanded. You showed courage when others would have fled. For this, I owe you a gift."
Kael's mouth went dry. "A gift?"
The god raised a hand. A ripple of energy surged forward, striking Kael's chest with a warmth that sank into his bones.
System of Innovation activated.
User recognized: Kael.
Talents, Magic, Technology, Cultivation—all can now be evolved.
Kael staggered back, clutching his head as words not his own scrolled across his vision.
A system? Like some… otherworldly voice?
The god's expression softened. "This world teeters on the edge of ruin. The corruption of the Outer God Reiku spreads faster each day. Most of my brethren have already fallen to his touch. Only Faith, Bravery, and I remain uncorrupted."
He knelt, gently touching Christy's shoulder. "Protect her. She is my blood, though she does not yet understand the weight of that truth. And nurture the gift I have given you. Through innovation—through creation—you may forge a path no god has walked before."
Kael's throat tightened. He was no hero, no warrior. Just a boy from a quiet town. But as Christy's small hand slipped into his, trembling but trusting, something within him shifted.
He met the god's eyes and nodded. "I'll protect her. And… I'll do my best with this gift."
The god's weary smile was both grateful and sorrowful. His form began to fade, light scattering like sparks into the wind. "Then may creation guide your steps, Kael."
And then he was gone.
The forest was quiet again, but it no longer felt the same. Kael stood there with Christy beside him, the weight of the system pulsing in his mind and the memory of a god's command heavy on his heart.
From that day forward, his life would never again be ordinary.
The boy of Vance had been chosen by the God of Innovation.
And somewhere beyond the stars, the Outer God Reiku stirred, shrouded in shadow and miasma, hungering for all creation.