The city woke slowly.
Fenrik stood in the empty lot behind his apartment, early morning mist hanging low over cracked concrete and rusted fences. The sounds of traffic were distant here, muted like the world itself was holding its breath.
He tightened his grip around the handle of the Wolf Slayer Axe.
The weapon felt different today.
Not heavier. Not lighter.
Just… aware.
Fenrik exhaled and lifted it carefully, positioning his feet the way instinct told him to. He didn't swing at first. He simply stood there, letting the cold air sting his lungs, letting his heartbeat settle.
"Don't rush," he whispered to himself.
He swung.
The blade cut through the air with a deep, low hum. No flash. No shockwave. Just raw force, clean and controlled. The impact cracked the ground where the edge stopped, a thin fracture spidering outward.
Fenrik froze.
He hadn't used much strength.
"…I did that?"
A chill ran down his spine.
He stepped back and rested the axe against his shoulder, breathing harder now. The power wasn't exploding out of him—it was waiting. Watching. Like a wolf lying still in tall grass.
Fenrik remembered the sage's words.
Weapons choose patience before blood.
At the time, he hadn't understood. Now he did.
Later that day, Fenrik sat alone on a park bench, watching people pass by. Students laughed, vendors shouted, couples argued over nothing important. The world went on, unaware of dungeons, devils, or chosen ones.
And that scared him more than any enemy.
Because if things went wrong, they wouldn't even know why.
He looked down at his hands. They were steady. Too steady.
"Am I changing?" he asked quietly.
No answer came.
But the air around him felt… thinner.
Fenrik stood and walked home, locking the axe away again. He didn't want to rely on it. Not yet. If he leaned on power too early, he knew he'd lose something important.
That night, sleep came slowly.
When it finally did, the dream followed.
He stood in a vast black field beneath a moon that wasn't whole. It was cracked, fractured like broken glass. Pale light spilled through the fractures, illuminating the silhouette of a massive wolf standing in the distance.
Its eyes glowed faintly.
Not hostile.
Not friendly.
Judging.
Fenrik took a step forward.
The ground beneath his feet rippled like water.
A path must be earned, a voice echoed—not loud, not threatening. Calm.
Fenrik clenched his fists. "I don't want shortcuts."
The wolf's ears twitched.
Good.
The figure turned and began to walk away, fading into the darkness.
"Wait!" Fenrik called out. "What am I supposed to do?"
The voice came one last time, quieter now.
Survive long enough to choose.
Fenrik woke up drenched in sweat.
His heart pounded, but there was no fear—only resolve.
The next few days passed quietly.
Too quietly.
Fenrik attended classes, trained lightly at night, and avoided pushing his limits. But everywhere he went, he felt watched—not by enemies, but by something deeper. Like the world itself was measuring him.
One evening, as he practiced basic footwork in his room, the air suddenly shifted.
Not violently.
Subtly.
Fenrik stopped.
The familiar light did not appear, but the presence did.
"You're learning restraint," the sage's voice said calmly.
Fenrik didn't turn around. "I'm trying not to die."
A soft chuckle echoed. "A wise goal."
Fenrik faced the empty room. "You said there are others. Chosen ones."
"Yes."
"How many?"
The sage paused.
"More than you think. Fewer than you hope."
Fenrik swallowed. "And the devils?"
"They are watching as well."
Fenrik's grip tightened. "So what am I supposed to do now?"
The sage's presence began to fade.
"Train. Observe. Build bonds."
"And the axe?" Fenrik asked quickly.
A faint glow flickered around the wrapped weapon.
"The axe will grow when you do," the sage replied. "Not before."
The room fell silent.
Fenrik sat on the floor, back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
No enemies yet.
No battles yet.
No clear path.
But for the first time, that didn't scare him.
Because somewhere out there—
Allies were waiting.
Devils were preparing.
And something far stronger than both was watching.
Fenrik closed his eyes.
"Then I'll be ready," he said quietly.
Outside, the moon slipped behind clouds, hiding its fractures—for now.
Behind- Someone is roaring.