Elior staggered against the mossy stone, his lungs burning and his legs shaking with fatigue. The echoes of the flaming lion's roar still reverberated through the clearing, a terrifying reminder of how close he had come to death. Sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes, and his palms ached from gripping the wooden sword that had done nothing but give him the illusion of defense.
He pressed himself lower against the stone, chest heaving, trying to steady his racing heart. He had survived for now. Somehow he had survived. Yet a gnawing fear stayed with him, an awareness that the lion was still out there, patient and determined, waiting for the moment it could finish what it had started.
And then he felt it, a faint flicker at the edge of his perception. A subtle warmth, a small pulse of energy, like the heartbeat of something alive, something sentient. He blinked and looked around, but the clearing was empty except for the glowing stones.
He whispered aloud, almost to himself, "Is this… another spirit?"
The flicker coalesced, gathering into a tiny, trembling form. It hovered in the air before him, delicate and small, its translucent body shaped vaguely like a fox. Its eyes glimmered with gold light that seemed to see everything and nothing at the same time. Elior felt a thrill of hope in his chest.
"You… you are a spirit?" he asked, though the question was almost rhetorical. Its presence was undeniable. He had come here expecting to die. He had assumed that no spirit, however small, would appear to save him from certain death. And yet, here it was.
A spark of determination ignited in his chest. No matter its size, no matter how weak it appeared, it was a spirit. No spirit was useless. Every story he had ever heard of Veilworld explorers, of legendary warriors, of prodigies who had survived impossible odds, had begun with a spirit that others dismissed. They had learned to trust their companions. If he could trust this spirit, he could survive too.
He extended his hand toward the wisp. Its form quivered as if considering his offer. Then it floated closer, brushing against his palm with warmth that was more felt than seen.
"I choose you," he said firmly, voice steady despite the tremor of fear that still ran through him. "I do not know your strength yet, but I trust you. Help me survive."
A chime echoed softly in his mind, the sound unfamiliar yet comforting. His vision flickered and the system interface appeared before him. Numbers, stats, and glyphs shimmered faintly in the air. Strength, stamina, agility, intelligence. The Farsight Wisp. Level one. Bonded.
Elior stared at the interface, a mixture of awe and apprehension washing over him. This was the start. The beginning of his life in the Veilworld, the first step toward power, the first promise of hope. Yet even as he felt that flicker of possibility, a knot of dread tightened in his stomach.
He tested the wisp instinctively. Concentrating, he tried to see deeper into the clearing, into the mist, toward the trees where the lion had disappeared. The world sharpened in his vision. Every tree trunk, every twisted root, every shadow and movement became clear. He could see far, farther than any human eyes should allow.
The thrill of discovery surged through him, but it was immediately followed by crushing reality. The Farsight Wisp enhanced his vision. That was all. It could make him aware of the lion's position, of the path it had taken, even of small creatures hidden in the underbrush. But it could not fight. It could not protect him from the monster outside. No matter how small or how powerful, this spirit could not give him strength, agility, or firepower.
He sank to his knees, frustration and despair pressing down on him like the weight of the stones beneath his hands. His eyes stung, and for the first time, the mask of hope he had held up since entering the Veilworld began to crack. He had chosen this spirit believing it could help him survive. He had trusted it with his life. And now, staring at the invisible threat lurking beyond the clearing, he realized that trust alone was not enough.
Tears burned his eyes. He thought of his mother, frail and coughing, struggling to draw breath in their small apartment in Arcadia. Every day without proper treatment was a gamble, every delay a threat to her life. He had come here to grow strong, to find treasures, to secure a way to heal her. And yet here he was, trapped, powerless, and alone.
The system pulsed. A notification appeared, bright against his vision:
Token of Exit — One-time use.
He stared at the floating glyph, heart hammering. The token could transport him out of the Veilworld, back to Arcadia. He could survive. He could see his mother again. He could continue his quest for strength from safety. But it was a single-use gift, a one-time lifeline that could never be replaced.
Elior's fingers hovered over the interface. He could almost hear the lion's roar again, faint, patient, and waiting. The Farsight Wisp floated beside him, almost imperceptibly, quivering as if sensing his fear. It was small, almost fragile, yet it had chosen to stay with him, to bond with him. It could not fight the lion, but it had given him vision, awareness, and perhaps, in its own way, guidance.
He swallowed hard, bitter tears falling freely now. He had trained his mind to hope, to trust, to believe in every spirit no matter how small. Yet reality was cruel. Hope could not save him from the lion. His spirit was inadequate, his strength too meager. He was forced to make a choice, a decision he had dreaded from the moment he entered the Veilworld.
"Mother," he whispered, voice breaking. "I am so sorry."
He pressed the token, heart hammering. The world shifted violently, light and mist colliding in a dizzying swirl. The clearing, the stones, the Farsight Wisp, even the shadow of the lion faded as he felt himself pulled out of the Veilworld.
He collapsed onto the cobblestones of Arcadia, coughing, shaking, and drenched in sweat. The city smelled of rain and damp stone, of street food and life, ordinary and overwhelming. People moved past him, unaware of the life-or-death struggle he had just endured.
Elior lay there, chest heaving, tears falling freely. He had survived, yes, but he had left as "trash," powerless against the lion, his root spirit seemingly useless in combat. He had used his one-time token, and the weight of that sacrifice pressed down on him.
The Farsight Wisp hovered faintly by his side, barely perceptible, a ghostly shimmer that reminded him of the bond he had formed. It could not fight, yet it had chosen him. It had waited, patient and silent, and in its own way, it had given him hope.
He wiped his tears, gripping his sword tightly. His journey was only beginning. One day, he would return to the Veilworld. One day, he would master his spirit. One day, he would face the flaming lion and survive.
But for now, he had to live. He had to survive. And he had to find a way to save his mother, no matter the cost.
Elior rose slowly, every movement heavy, every breath a reminder of the fight he had survived. The city around him was ordinary, but to him it now felt like a battlefield, a place where he could prepare, learn, and grow.
And the Farsight Wisp, tiny and fragile as it was, floated beside him, ready to reveal the power that lay hidden within its small form when the time came.
Elior took a deep breath. He had failed. He had fled. He had cried. But he was alive. And that was enough… for today.