Seven were dead, and more than a dozen others were critically injured.

  Worse, the one responsible had escaped.

  The night refused to loosen its grip on my thoughts. Every time I closed my eyes, I could still hear the blast.

  At least Darwyn and Muradin had only been lightly wounded. We’d been farther from the blast.

  Maquina.

  The name echoed relentlessly in my head.

  I thumped my forehead in frustration. If I hadn’t let my guard down at the very last moment, I would have walked away with a massive reward. Instead, I had managed something far worse.

  I had turned a dangerous fugitive into my personal enemy.

  “Brilliant,” I muttered to myself.

  Grumbling, I forced my thoughts elsewhere.

  Now I was back in my room at the Nest, alone. The other druids had already left.

  With renewed determination, I pulled out the Leafweaver Robe I’d received from Orin. The green robe was adorned with intricate ornaments, embroidered runes and silver-threaded veins, far too ornate for my taste, but that didn’t matter.

  This might finally push me over the threshold.

  I stood before the mirror and slipped it on, replacing my worn-out robe.

  The moment the fabric settled against my skin, a wave of cool energy rushed through my body. I shuddered as the chill spread everywhere, lingering for a few seconds before slowly fading.

  [Equipment bonus applied]

  [Wisdom: 44 → 52]

  [Wind Magic Penetration: 10 → 13]

  In its place came a different sensation. My body felt light, refreshed, as if I’d just woken from the best sleep of my life.

  [Wisdom exceeds 50. Enlightenment evolved to Refined Enlightenment]

  I immediately activated Windstride.

  A soft golden-blue sigil briefly appeared above my forehead. At the same time, a thin ring of light expanded outward from my body, then reversed course, flowing back into me.

  The entire sequence took less than a second.

  I didn’t even realize I was smiling until I caught my reflection in the mirror.

  Before, Enlightenment only scaled my spell power with Wisdom. That alone had been strong. Now, it healed me every single time I cast a spell.

  “That’s just unfair,” I whispered, though I wasn’t complaining.

  [Eryndor Leafshade]

  [Soul Capacity: 1

  Vitality: 33

  Strength: 64

  Agility: 18

  Wisdom: 52

  Wind Magic Penetration: 13

  Willpower: 134]

  [Spells: Rejuvenation, Windstride, Wind Cutter

  Passives: Refined Enlightenment, Ooborosk’s Mantle]

  I didn’t know it yet, but this was the last time my growth would come without blood.

  ***

  After finishing my experiments with the new ability, I wasted no time heading toward my next destination. I climbed down the vine ladder and made my way down the winding staircase from the Nest, then followed a narrow path flanked by dense walls of trees.

  The faint scent of burning herbs and damp earth drifted through the air by the time I arrived.

  "Never thought I'd come here this soon."

  A modest wooden structure stood before me, nestled near the Sanctum of Trials. Commonly known as the Shaman’s Hut, it was the residence of Elder Val’darion.

  As if he had sensed my presence, the old druid stepped out of his home.

  “Little bird,” he croaked, squinting at me. “Feathers intact. Bones unbroken. A good omen.”

  The eccentric old Shaman fixed me with his piercing blue eyes, moving slowly with the aid of a gnarled staff in his right hand. “If you’ve come sniffing around for free ingredients again, turn around now.”

  I bowed before replying. “That’s not why I came. Though I wouldn’t complain if you changed your mind. I need to brew a lot of potions.”

  “After you robbed me last time?” he laughed, a dry, rattling sound. “Age dulls the knees, not the memory. Speak. What trouble brings you crawling back to my door?”

  I opened my pouch and checked my Mana Stones. Most were no larger than peppercorns, the kind traded by the loose handful. A few had been fused into marble-sized beads, worth ten times as much.

  I dug deeper and pulled out several golf-ball-sized stones, each worth a thousand.

  The Shaman’s face lit up, caught somewhere between amazement and confusion. “Second fledgling today. Same age. Same hunger. The forest rarely repeats itself. Yet today, it stutters.”

  That surprised me as well. It usually took quite some time before a druid learned their third spell. Whoever the other one was, they had to be exceptional.

  “Was it Orin Sylvas?” I asked.

  The Shaman ignored my question, though his fingers paused on the stones for half a heartbeat, before plucking five from my hand.

  “What about the next spell?” I asked.

  He fell silent, then seemed to recall something.

  “Whispers reached even my hut,” he murmured. “A little bird striking down a serpent too large for its perch. Nasty thing, snakes. Always leave something behind when they die.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  So news of my duel had already reached him. He must have assumed I had sold my hammer. I didn’t bother correcting him and simply nodded. Suspicion was the last thing I needed.

  He tapped his staff once against the floor. “Twenty thousand. No more, no less. Growth demands sacrifice.”

  I had expected it to be expensive. Still, hearing the number made my fingers tighten around the stones. With a heavy heart, I took out two Mana Stones the size of tennis balls.

  His gnarled fingers hesitated before finally closing around the stones.

  After that, I followed him into the hut and sat cross-legged on a cushion, just like the first time he had examined my Mana, though this time, it was different.

  The Shaman murmured a quiet chant and placed a Mana Stone against my back. A deep hum resonated through the room as the stone melted into pure energy, sending a warm, tingling sensation spreading throughout my body. It was as if a dormant part of me was being awakened, stretching and reshaping itself to accommodate the surge. One by one, the stones vanished, each infusion expanding the reservoir of power inside me.

  The sensation grew overwhelming, like drinking too much water too quickly. My breathing turned uneven, and my hands clenched into fists against my knees.

  “Don’t fight it, Leafshade,” the Shaman said calmly, though his tone allowed no argument. “Let it stretch you.”

  I exhaled slowly, forcing my muscles to relax as the final stone was absorbed. I could feel it now: space where there had been none before.

  “Go,” the Shaman wheezed, dismissively waving a gnarled hand. “The forest doesn’t wait for birds to find their wings. Fly, or fall.”

  I didn't answer; I couldn't. Every step away from his porch felt like wading through chest-high molasses. The ritual hadn't just expanded my capacity, it had turned my veins into pressurized pipes. My skin hummed with an invisible static, the fine hairs on my arms standing on end as my soul struggled to settle into its newly stretched container.

  I leaned against a moss-covered oak for a moment, waiting for the sensation to fade into a manageable thrum before entering the Sanctum of Trials.

  As before, the moment I sat to meditate in the center of the room, the available spells revealed themselves. This time, however, they were more advanced, branching outward from the ones I had already learned, like a living web of possibilities.

  I had made my decision, yet I still took my time, carefully reading through each option, scanning every detail. A single misstep could mean an irreversible mistake, and I had no intention of doing so.

  Some were enticing, promising devastating power or unparalleled utility. Others were more subtle, enhancing my existing abilities in ways that would only reveal their true value over time.

  Still, my heart remained set on my original choices.

  I took a deep breath, steadying my mind. This was it.

  [You have successfully learned Inner Beast]

  A predatory heat flared in my chest, a phantom growl vibrating in my throat. For a split second, power coiled through my forearm.

  [You have successfully learned Tempest Shield]

  Pressure clamped down on the air around me. A condensed sphere of localized high-pressure wind flickered into existence for a heartbeat, its rotation so fast it hummed like a hornet's nest. It was invisible, save for the way it distorted the light. A perfect, violent sanctuary.

  ***

  By the time I finished, the sun had dipped lower, casting long, skeletal shadows across the forest floor. I didn't head back to the Nest. Instead, I turned toward the one place that held the answers I couldn't buy with stones.

  I headed to the Stone Circle Archive.

  Its entrance was marked by a ring of colossal standing stones, looming like silent sentinels. I descended a narrow staircase and stopped at the desk near the entrance to the underground chamber.

  “My instincts were right.”

  A flat, dragging voice drifted out from behind a towering pile of books. “You’re too stubborn to die.”

  That was an unusual way to greet someone.

  “Hey, Myr.” I offered her my friendliest smile. “Hope you’re doing great.”

  Her half-lidded eyes lifted toward me without a flicker of emotion as she lazily twirled a strand of white hair around her finger.

  “What do you want, Leafshade?”

  “Do you know where I can find information about Tharagon?”

  “Be specific,” she replied dryly. “I’m the Circle Keeper, not a fortune teller.”

  “It’s a hidden monster from the third floor.” I searched her face for any reaction, but it was pointless. She would’ve made a terrifying poker player.

  “Never heard of it.” Without ceremony, she returned to her book.

  “How about Mesa?” I pressed. “Does that ring a bell? It’s also called the Terror of the Mesa.”

  This time, Myr lifted her head.

  “It’s not a real place,” she said. “Just a myth. An isolated land where the God of Lithokult imprisoned the Collosi, the first children of the world.”

  “Where can I read about that?” Even a lead was better than nothing.

  “It’s in the Inner Circle,” she replied. “Out of your reach.”

  “Why would information about a myth be locked away in the forbidden section?” I protested. “That makes no sense.”

  “It’s not the story that’s dangerous,” Myr said, already sounding tired of me. “It’s the Lithokult. That belief was banned for brainwashing its followers.”

  “Is there any other way?” I asked. “I’ll do anything.”

  “Then forget it. Only those personally granted access by the Archdruid may enter the Inner Circle.” She turned another page. “If you don’t mind, I need to finish this.”

  That was that. Pushing further would only damage our already fragile relationship.

  Unwilling to give up entirely, I moved toward the section related to the third floor.

  That was when I spotted a familiar figure.

  Orin sat at one of the benches, completely absorbed in a book. I slipped onto the bench beside her, careful not to interrupt, though I couldn’t resist a little teasing.

  “I didn’t know you were into that kind of topic,” I said, leaning closer with a smirk.

  She jumped. The book snapped shut with a loud thud as she hurriedly covered the title with her arms.

  Too late.

  The Subtle Art of Getting Noticed (Without Looking Like You Care).

  I raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Interesting choice.”

  “A-and what exactly are you doing here?” Orin stammered.

  “What do you think? I’m here to read.”

  “Then go find whatever book you need and leave me alone,” she huffed, turning her head away in a poor attempt to recover.

  “Alright, alright. See you around,” I replied, chuckling as I walked off.

  I hadn’t expected to run into her here, and the timing was almost too perfect. There was something I wanted to ask her, but clearly, this wasn’t the right moment.

  Time slipped by as I buried myself in a growing pile of books. Page after page passed with nothing to show for it. No Tharagon. Not even a hint. I rubbed my temples.

  “Man, this is driving me crazy.”

  “Why do you look so stressed?”

  I looked up to find Orin standing beside me.

  “It’s nothing.” I stood and stretched the stiffness from my limbs. “Some books are just hard to understand. Finished yours? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Shut up.” She shoved me, sending one of the books tumbling to the floor.

  “Hey, don’t get us both kicked out,” I protested. “By the way, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “What?” she snapped, arms crossed, lips puffed out.

  “Have you learned your third spell yet?”

  “Wait. How do you know?” She frowned, genuinely confused.

  “I visited the Shaman earlier,” I explained. “He mentioned another newborn druid who had learned their third spell today. I figured it was you.”

  It wasn’t just a guess. With the number of Mana Stones she had, Orin was the obvious candidate.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Why?”

  “What’s your plan for the next exploration?” I asked. “Joining the elves’ team again?”

  “I don’t think so. We didn’t exactly see eye to eye.”

  “Then how about joining my team?” I watched her closely as I continued. “We’re registering at the Adventurer’s Guild, but we’re one member short. One dwarf and one elf, both experienced. And one newbie elf who’s never entered the Tower.”

  She hesitated. “I’d need to know more about them.”

  “No problem. Join us for the next meeting.”

  “…Alright,” she said after a moment. Then, quieter, “Just so you know, I’m terrible at convincing others.”

  I chuckled. “Good thing they’re not hard to convince. Just be yourself. And maybe don’t look overly excited. Or, you know… too dramatic.”

  “What? Are you saying I’m too dramatic?” Her eyes widened in mock offense.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Kind of like right now.”

  “You’re so mean, Eryndor,” she said, lightly smacking my shoulder. But she didn't move away.

  I looked at her, and then at the shelves of forbidden history. Two druids, two elves, and a dwarf. It sounded like the start of a bad joke told in a tavern.

  In the Tower, it would be a test of whether we survived our first real mistake.

  New spells learned ?

  Personal enemy acquired ?

  MILESTONES

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