The morning fog clung to the cliffs like a damp shroud, curling and twisting around jagged rocks. Kaelen moved carefully along the narrow ledges above Port Scab, his boots scraping against the stone. The shantytown below sprawled chaotically, a tangle of tar-stained hulls, driftwood, and rope bridges connecting precarious shacks. The smell of brine, smoke, and rot mixed in the air, filling his lungs with the unmistakable tang of life clinging stubbornly to the edge of ruin.
Even as he walked, Kaelen could feel the pulse of the town's Aura, subtle but persistent. Each building, each person, even the tide itself, hummed faintly in response to the world's magic. It was a living web, and Kaelen had learned to sense it—though only enough to detect disturbances, not control them.
"Focus," he muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on the sword. Early Tier-2. He had strength, reflexes, and minor Aura control, but the world of Aerthos was unforgiving. One slip, one miscalculation, and even a small monster could end him.
From the alleyways below, a sudden scrabbling and chittering caught his attention. A pack of Gloom Rats scuttled over broken planks, their blackened fur shimmering faintly with residual magical energy. Kaelen's pulse quickened. He crouched low, sending a small surge of Aura into his sword. A single arc of steel severed the nearest rat mid-leap. The others hesitated, sensing the sudden aura shift, but aggression overrode caution. Kaelen rolled to the side, striking again, forcing the swarm back toward the shadowed alleys.
The rats weren't particularly strong, but their numbers and speed made them dangerous—a reminder that Tier-2 meant precision over brute force. Even now, Kaelen's arms ached from the repetitive pulses of Aura, his muscles straining to maintain the edge of control.
As the last rat fled, a low rumble echoed through the streets. Kaelen's storm-grey eyes narrowed. From the depths of a ruined warehouse, a Brackenspine Wolf emerged. Its thorned fur glittered faintly in the fog, scales tipped with traces of residual magic from the rogue mage's previous tampering. Eyes intelligent, calculating, the wolf moved like water over stone, silent and patient, every step precise.
Kaelen inhaled, feeling his Aura pulse subtly along the blade. Early Tier-2 wasn't about overpowering enemies—it was about reading them, predicting their movements, and striking with absolute precision. The wolf lunged. He rolled, narrowly avoiding its claws, and slashed, letting a brief pulse of Aura travel along the sword's edge. The strike grazed the wolf, staggering it but not stopping it.
The fight became a dance: dodges, feints, and subtle Aura bursts. Every swing had to count. Each heartbeat was measured. After several tense exchanges, the wolf slunk back into the shadows, leaving behind only faint claw marks on warped planks.
Kaelen exhaled slowly. Every encounter reinforced his limitations—and his potential. The town, though chaotic and dangerous, had become a proving ground. He felt the pull of the tides below, the hum of the residual magic in the rocks and water, and the sharp scent of salt and rot on the wind. Aerthos was alive. Dangerous. And beautiful in its own merciless way.
He sheathed his sword, scanning the horizon. The cliffs jutted skyward like jagged teeth, distant mountains shimmered with crystalline forests, and the constellations above writhed faintly, like serpents in eternal motion. Somewhere beyond this small, ragged settlement, the true world awaited—one that he would have to learn to navigate if he hoped to survive.
"One step at a time," Kaelen murmured. "Early Tier-2… but I will be ready."