Tracking
The air still carries the ghost of the fire—smoke, scorched earth, the acrid tang of something lost. My campsite, or what’s left of it, looks like a ribcage torn open, blackened beams stabbing upward like broken bones. Beyond it, the meadow hums with a faint pulse of magic, like nature trying to stitch itself back together. Resilient, sure. But it only takes a moment for everything to burn.
I take a slow breath, scanning the wreckage. The cold bites at my skin, my breath curling in the air. My shoulders are tight, my body bracing against something long gone. But the ground beneath me isn’t done suffering—it shudders, vibrating with a low, sick hum. My UI flickers to life, casting its cold blue light over the damage.
Too high. Too damn high. If this spreads, the land is a loss.
“Sprocket, you’re up.” My voice comes out steady, practiced. The massive squirrel beside me shifts, eyes sharp, muscles flexing. “Purge what you can. We’ll clear the rubble.”
He flicks his tail in something close to a salute before bounding off. Green light glows at his paws, seeping into the ruined earth. The ground hisses like an open wound meeting fire. But the corruption resists, writhing beneath the surface, dark veins pulsing as if alive. It never goes easy. Nothing ever does.
Nike’Deimus growls from the edge of the clearing, massive frame tense, golden eyes tracking the shadows. His fur absorbs what little light remains, stretching his silhouette into something darker, larger. I press a hand against his side, grounding myself as much as him. “Go with Twitch. Heavy scraps only. Leave the junk.”
He exhales sharply, somewhere between a sigh and a growl, then moves. Twitch follows, darting between the wreckage. The Nutcrackers are already a blur, flickering in and out of sight as they work, stripping down the debris with [Re-Process]
I kneel, sifting through the soot. My fingers close around something solid—warped metal, still warm to the touch. My UI pings.
Not much. But with a forge…
Right. The forge. I need to rebuild.
“Nutcrackers, prioritize forge materials,” I call out. “Mini-forge by sundown.”
They chirp in acknowledgment, already sorting through the wreckage. I heave a half-melted anvil onto my shoulder, my muscles straining, breath sharp in the cold. Sweat slicks my skin despite the chill.
Then, a chime.
And then—warmth. Not heat, not touch, but something deeper. A pulse, a thread pulling taut inside me. Ember.
I freeze.
She’s out there. They all are. My daughter. My people. My family.
The fire is low, barely more than a whisper, sending lazy tendrils of smoke into the night. The scent of burnt wood and damp earth settles in the air—familiar, grounding. It’s the kind of smell that lingers, the kind that feels like something permanent, even when everything else isn’t. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, watching embers pulse and fade. The meadow stretches beyond the fire’s glow, quiet except for the wind stirring through strange, luminescent plants. They sway like something alive, casting an eerie, flickering light.
Behind me, Twitch is grunting through another set of push-ups. He’s built like a damn bulldozer, but even bulldozers struggle eventually. I smirk.
"Four more," I say without looking back.
He exhales sharply but keeps going, nose to the dirt, muscles shaking. Gotta give it to him—he doesn’t quit.
A few feet away, Sprocket is sprawled against a log, completely lost in whatever manga he’s reading. Kid’s got a gift for tuning out the world. Not even a flinch when Nike’Deimus and the Nutcrackers emerge from the trees. The massive wolf moves like a shadow, muscles shifting under dark fur, and slung across his back—five enormous deer.
They hit the ground with a thud
"Holy shit," I mutter. "That’s deer in this world?"
I mean, I expected something . Everything here is . But these things? These are something else. Stone-plated bodies, thick moss-covered antlers that look like ancient oak branches, hooves cracked like old riverbeds. There’s magic in them, I can feel it, humming faintly, like the land itself shaped them.
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Nike’Deimus tilts his head. “Edible,” he says. “Burgers?”
I snort. "Not exactly... but I can make some killer barbecue sandwiches."
His glowing yellow eyes narrow. "What’s that?"
I grin. "Like a burger. But better."
Nice. Time to work. My inventory flickers open, and I pull out my portable kit. The knife in my hand slices clean through dense muscle, the blade catching in the firelight. The flames roar to life as thick slabs of meat hit the makeshift grill.
Then the smell hits—rich, seared venison mingling with smoky spices. That’s all it takes. One by one, they start drifting in, drawn by the scent. Even Sprocket peeks up from his book, ears twitching.
We eat until we can’t anymore, bellies full, fire burning low, embers glowing like scattered stars. Eventually, they start slipping off to sleep.
Except me.
I close my eyes. Slow my breathing. And reach out—not with my hands, but with something deeper.
There. A pulse. Faint. Distant.
I feel them.
Chonk. Nibbler. Scrap. Rocky. Mr. Spuds… Ember.
My daughter.
A knot tightens in my gut. They’re alive. I know that much. But they’re far. Too far. The connection is weak, stretched thin like a whisper on the wind. I pull up my map. No exact location. Just a direction. A tug on my soul, steady and insistent.
I drop a marker. My jaw tightens.
I’m coming.
Morning drifts in, soft and slow, but Twitch is already grinding through push-ups, his tail flicking with each rep. The little guy’s a coil of energy, wound tight, relentless. A few feet away, Sprocket is draped over a log, nose buried in his manga, absorbed in a world of ink and paper.
The contrast hits me.
I run a hand over my face, fingertips grazing rough callouses. The more time I spend with them, the clearer it gets—they’re not just allies. They’re reflections. Pieces of something larger. Twitch, always moving, always pushing. Sprocket, sharp, quiet, lost in thought. The Nutcrackers, disciplined, methodical. Nike’Deimus—wild, powerful, unpredictable.
Just like me.
The fire’s burned down to embers, the scent of charred wood fading into the crisp morning air. Time to move.
We take the trail, boots sinking into damp earth, moss swallowing each step. Sunlight filters through the canopy, gold spilling across the forest floor. The air is thick with the scent of rain-soaked bark, rich loam, the distant murmur of a stream tumbling over stone.
Nike’Deimus leads, massive paws gliding over the terrain without a sound. His ears flick, always listening, always scanning. A beast like him should be running free, yet he stays close, tethered by something I can’t name. Loyalty? Instinct? Maybe both.
Twitch and Sprocket keep pace, small but surefooted, as if they’ve always belonged in this world. Overhead, the Nutcrackers flicker between branches, slipping through the leaves like shadows.
The campsite fades behind us, fire and rest shrinking into memory. A pause. Nothing more.
I sigh and flick open my UI. The text shimmers in my vision.
The weight of those words settles in my chest. Last night, I had skill points to burn. This morning, everything’s different. Not just the numbers.
Twitch, evolving from warrior to samurai. He lost the shield, but I gave him a ronin’s steel-brimmed hat—part armor, part warning. A walking fortress. Sprocket, shifting from druid to sage. The healing stayed, but now he’s something more—a scholar of life and death. The Nutcrackers? Assassins through and through. Now, it’s just official.
Nike’Deimus was the hard one. Siege Runner. A frontline charger, built for brutal, hit-and-run tactics. It keeps him moving, keeps him from being swallowed by whatever primal instinct simmers beneath his skin.
Better to control the chaos than let it control me.
I close the menu and roll my shoulders as we crest a hill. The forest falls away into an open meadow, waves of green rippling in the breeze. A thick lilac scent hangs in the air, cloying.
Something’s wrong.
Nike’Deimus growls. Twitch’s tail fluffs out. The Nutcrackers freeze, barely breathing.
I kneel, pressing a palm to the dirt. The magic here is sharp, foreign—like a scar carved into the land. The meadow is cratered, grass burned and twisted, the earth gouged deep. A battle tore through here, something massive, violent.
“What the hell happened?”
My fingers tighten around my sword hilt. Whatever did this is long gone, but the wound remains.
“Stay sharp,”
A shadow flickers. Too fast. Too close.
“BOSS!”
Luna. Out of nowhere, crouched in front of me, grinning like she didn’t just scare the hell out of me.
“Damn it, Luna—what?”
She holds up a dagger. My stomach drops.
“That’s—”
She nods, expression grim. “It belongs to Lady Ember.”
I snap to Nike’Deimus. “Find her.”
He’s already moving, nose to the ground, muscles coiling.
No hesitation.
We run. The unknown stretches before us, waiting.