The sun hung low over the academy grounds, casting long shadows across cracked pavement. Two figures waited near the rusted gates, duffel bags at their feet. Their matching uniforms, navy blue with golden trim, fluttered slightly in the breeze, catching the last flickers of light.

Kovan bounced on his heels, chestnut hair sticking out in every direction like it refused to obey gravity or grooming. His grin was irrepressible.

"This is it," he said, elbowing the figure beside him. "Our first step into real hunter life. Been waiting for this since I was ten."

Beside him, Bren stood with his hands in his pockets, gaze distant.

The strange vibration that had haunted him since the assessment... the warped pressure, the phantom heat in his chest, was gone. No flares of pain, no pulsing void, Just... stillness.

He should have felt relief.

Instead, that silence made his skin itch. It wasn't calm. It was absence. Like a room that once hummed with electricity had suddenly gone dead. Not peaceful… empty.

"Don't you feel it?" Kovan asked, glancing at him. "That charge in the air? Like something's about to change?"

Bren offered a vague nod.

Kovan eyed him more closely, then clapped a hand on his shoulder, rough and familiar. "You might feel off now, but I saw what happened back there. You're rare, man. Maybe you're one of those plus ranks… you know, the ones who skip the ladder and just rocket up."

Bren blinked. "Plus rank?"

"Yeah. People born with something the system can't measure. They start anywhere, but with a plus beside it. Like fate gave them a boost. You've got that vibe."

Before Bren could answer, the low growl of an engine echoed down the street.

A sleek, matte-black Jeep turned the corner, tires whispering on asphalt. Its windows were tinted to black. It pulled up in front of them with quiet authority.

An aide stepped out. Black coat sharp and pressed, his presence colder than the air. His gaze was razor-sharp, unreadable. No words. Just a nod.

Kovan grabbed his duffel and hopped in like this was the best day of his life.

Bren hesitated. The Jeep's dark interior yawned before him like the maw of something ancient. Going in felt like closing a door behind him. But he moved anyway, sliding in beside Kovan, and the vehicle began its descent towards the unknown.

They left the metallic skeleton of the city behind, swallowed by the forest's rising green. The road narrowed into winding trails flanked by towering pines, skeletal ash, and ancient oaks hung with moss.

Bren watched trees blur past. Somewhere deep inside, the silence cracked... just for a second. A thrum. Like breath drawn in the dark.

Eventually, the trees parted, revealing a secluded clearing ringed in fog. Cabins stood like sentinels, built from dark wood and stone, their roofs steep and weather-worn. Mana lights glowed along winding paths, soft blue flickers like the spirits of fireflies.

Forest Vale Guild Headquarters.

Though guild by name, it was a village lost to time... quiet, deliberate, and utterly alive.

Kovan whistled as the Jeep slowed. "No way. This place looks like a myth."

They parked near a long lodge inscribed with silver runes. Another aide met them, this one younger and less intimidating, though no less formal.

"You'll be housed here during your training period," the man said, motioning to two smaller cabins just off the main path.

Kovan's door creaked open first. Inside was warmth. Wooden furniture, soft bedding, a stone fireplace with a crackling mana ember. "This is insane," he whispered, already throwing his bag on the bed.

Then came Bren's turn.

When the aide unlocked his cabin, the air shifted.

The room was sharper, colder not in temperature but in presence. The furniture was minimal. Clean lines. No clutter. A desk near the window held three books stacked neatly beside a flickering blue mana lamp. Strange markings lined the walls… faint, silver, almost buried in the grain of the wood.

Not decorative. Protective.

The air watched him.

Bren stepped inside slowly, eyes drawn to the books.

"Silas instructed these be left for you," the aide said, his voice almost hesitant. "He believes they may offer… perspective."

Bren reached out.

The first book: Angelology. The second: Demonology.

The third made him pause.

Field Journal: Silas Vale.

It wasn't printed. Handwritten. The cover worn smooth with time and travel. Ink smudges and margin notes sprawled beside sketched glyphs and intricate sigils. A journal that pulsed with something personal. Dangerous.

A message meant for him.

He turned to the aide, who simply said, "Silas doesn't explain his decisions."

Bren nodded, throat dry. Whatever this was… it wasn't coincidence...

That night, moonlight cut silver lines through the forest canopy. Bren stepped outside just as Kovan exited his own cabin. Their paths crossed naturally, pulled together like magnets.

"Got the feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," Kovan said, smiling. "I found mana stones in my closet. What about you?"

Bren's voice was distant. "Books."

Kovan tilted his head. "What kind?"

"Angelology. Demonology. Silas's personal journal."

Kovan let out a low whistle. "That's… not normal."

Before they could dwell on it, an aide sprinted past them, coat flaring like wings, eyes focused on some unseen emergency.

Moments later, another aide approached them briskly. "You two. Silas's office. Now."

They followed in silence.

The main lodge was cathedral-like. It had vaulted ceilings, beams etched with runes, and relics behind enchanted glass. Swords. Spears. A cracked helm floating mid-air behind a protective seal.

They ascended a narrow staircase to a quiet hallway. At the far end, a plain wooden door waited.

The aide knocked once.

"Enter," came the voice from within.

They stepped into shadow and light.

Silas stood before an open window, twilight painting one side of his face in blue.

He turned, voice low. "Sit."

They obeyed. Kovan tried not to fidget. Bren sat motionless.

Silas's gaze landed on him like a weight. "Have the books sparked anything?"

Bren shook his head. "I haven't had time to read them."

"You'll make time." It wasn't a suggestion.

Silas folded his arms behind his back, studying them both.

"You've been selected not for what you are, but for what you might become. Forest Vale does not recruit carelessly."

Kovan leaned forward, eager. "We won't let you down."

Silas didn't smile. "No. You won't."

He circled the desk. Each footstep silent.

"The trials begin tomorrow. Physical. Magical. Psychological. You'll be ranked against your new squad, pushed past your breaking points."

Then his eyes settled on Bren.

"And some of you… will be measured against yourselves."

The room shifted. Bren felt it again.

The pulse.

Like his bones remembered something he didn't.

Like something dark stirred beneath his skin, breathing slow.

"You do not know who you are yet…"

Nythor's voice whispered like wind through bone. "But soon… soon, you will. The power beneath the skin will awaken."

Silas stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"You don't know who you are yet. But you will. Read the journal. Memorise the runes. When the time comes, it may be the only thing that keeps you alive."

Bren's throat tightened. "What am I?"

Silas paused.

Then, with a voice that sent chills down Bren's spine, he answered:

"Something the world hasn't seen in a long, long time."

[SYSTEM UPDATE]

New Objective: Training begins at dawn.

Study the provided materials. Survive. Rise.

Your path to power starts here.