CHAPTER 8 —The One Who Shouldn’t Exist
Cycle 22,841 of the Dragon Era — Day 122
Evening of the Hunt.
Kael’s Monologue
As I returned from the hunt with the pack, I made sure to bring enough prey for everyone—Cira, Lucan, Fenn, Borin, and Umbra as they were still recovering. Their scents lingered faintly on the wind, familiar and reassuring.
But then—
Something shifted.
A heaviness.
A silence.
A wrongness.
Their life forces… flickering. Weak. Unstable.
My heartbeat sharpened.
“Everyone. Increase speed. Now.”
No one questioned me. They felt it too.
I surged ahead—faster, harder—branches and wind tearing past my fur. The forest was familiar, yet every step grew heavier, colder.
What happened?
Then I saw it.
A massive corpse—larger than any I’d seen this season—its skull shattered, eyes frozen solid.
Even Cira would struggle against a Gorrath this size—yet here it lay, skull split open from within, ice spearing out through the eye sockets.
What unsettled me most wasn’t the kill itself — it was how it was executed. The eyes. A Gorrath never leaves its eyesight undefended. Anything that enters its range is sensed instantly — aura, scent, intent. Only Umbra could approach unseen, yet even he cannot do it from the front. For something with no aura signal to drive fangs directly into its eyes… was impossible. No creature should be able to stand that close without being noticed.
My fur bristled.
I sprinted to the healing sanctum—the sacred pond where injured pack gather.
Their auras flickered like dying embers.
Fear gripped me harder than any enemy ever had.
When I reached the sanctum, I froze.
Cira—my Cira—lay in the water, barely conscious. Lucan and Borin bled heavily into the pond. Umbra’s and Fenn’s breathing was ragged. And the cubs hid behind them, trembling.
Claw marks, stone punctures, frost burn—injuries no simple fight could cause.
My chest tightened.
I stepped forward, voice harsher than intended:
“Cira… what happened?”
She tried to raise her head. Failed. Her voice was only a breath:
Fenn lowered his head, voice strained and hoarse.
“father… I am sorry. I wasn’t strong enough to protect Mother. Forgive me.”
His guilt carried more weight than any wound.
I moved to Cira first, pressing my aura into hers, letting the healing flow.
The water shimmered around her body, and slowly her pain eased.
One by one, I extended my power to the others, stabilizing their breaths, sealing the worst of the bleeding.
When the immediate danger had passed, I finally spoke—voice low, steady.
“None of this was your fault.”
The young ones lifted their heads, though shame still lingered in their eyes.
“On the previous hunt, you were already injured from fighting the Tirax.”
A ripple of silence passed through them.
Cira exhaled shakily.
Fenn’s tail lowered, ears pinned—but not from fear.
From relief.
Only then did I notice it.
A shape lying motionless near the edge of the pond.
Small.
Fragile.
It had no aura—none. It was like staring at an empty shell.
I stepped closer, cautious.
“Is this creature someone you saved from the Gorrath?”
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Cira inhaled—still weak, but able to speak now.
“No… Kael… it was the one who killed the Gorrath and saved us. Without it, we would have fallen..”
Her voice trembled—not from pain, but from disbelief.
My eyes narrowed.
“What? How is that possible? It barely possesses any aura signal at all.”
Umbra and Borin answered together, their voices quiet but firm.
“It is true, Father.”
By then, the rest of the pack had arrived. Lucan stepped forward first, recounting everything they had witnessed.
I listened to Lucan's retelling — every detail, every hesitation, every impossible moment.
Every word carried shock.
Fear.
And something else—respect.
When he finished, silence fell.
The three younglings remained huddled near the unconscious creature, trembling, unsure whether to fear it or protect it.
It looked lifeless—cold, broken, unmoving.
I watched it for a moment longer.
Then I lowered my head and shared my healing with it as well.
As I began healing the creature, something unexpected happened.
Instead of receiving mana like any normal creature, it pulled it from me—instinctively, hungrily—as if its body had never known mana before, yet recognized it as something essential.
Like a vessel encountering mana for the first time.
I narrowed my focus and pushed my senses deeper—past flesh, past bone, into the structure beneath.
And then I froze.
No core.
No mana channels.
For a moment, my thoughts refused to move.
All living beings are born with a mana core.
Without it, life cannot persist for even a moment. Nature does not allow exceptions.
And mana channels form around that core—inevitable, absolute.
This creature had neither.
That simply should not exist.
Without channels, mana has nowhere to flow.
Without a core—there is no life to sustain the body at all.
Yet this creature—
It lived.
It fought.
It adapted.
Not with madness.
Not with desperation.
But with intention.
Its scars proved it—layered injuries older than this battle, proof of survival stacked upon survival.
This creature is something else entirely—not a deviation of nature, but something nature was never meant to account for.
Its heartbeat steadied, but its condition was critical. With wounds like these—frozen limbs, flesh torn open in the perfect shape of claws, bone exposed—waking too soon would break its mind from pain alone.
If I had arrived moments later… it would already be dead.
I continued channeling healing energy.
Slowly—its body responded.
After a while, it coughed violently, forcing out dark, impure blood that had filled its lungs. The sound echoed through the sanctum—raw, painful, yet proof of life.
Its existence balanced on a thin line—but with my power, it could be pulled back.
The others stepped forward—hesitant at first—then resolute. One by one, they offered their healing as well, sharing what strength they had left.
The shattered flesh closed.
The limbs regained shape.
The torn bones disappeared beneath newly formed tissue.
Only deep scars remained—marks that would not vanish, no matter how much power we poured into him. Those scars would stay—a reminder of the battle he survived.
But even healed, the pain would not leave him.
That, not even I could take away.
Kael’s eyes lingered on the unconscious figure, then shifted toward his pack.
“So this is the creature…” he began, tone low, thoughtful.
“The same one that killed the rogue Varok the day Cira guarded the young alone.”
Silence fell—heavy, respectful.
His gaze hardened.
“And today, it saved the young. It saved all of you.”
A breath—steady, authoritative.
“We will decide what to do with it once it wakes.”
He turned to the carcasses he had carried back earlier.
“For now, eat. Restore your energy. The prey will accelerate your healing.”
No one argued. They moved—not eagerly, but with the quiet obedience of those who understood necessity.
But Kael wasn’t finished.
His attention returned to the strange being now resting beside the pond.
“There is one thing I know already.”
His eyes narrowed with something between suspicion and respect.
“If everything you told me is true, Lucan…”
He paused, letting the weight settle.
“…then this creature is highly intelligent.”
A few wolves looked toward the unconscious figure with new wariness.
Kael continued:
“It acted with awareness—intent. It made decisions mid-battle.”
A slow exhale.
“It took the fangs from the fallen Varok and used them as weapons.”
“It used the terrain to its advantage.”
“It understood positioning—movement—and stealth.”
His voice dropped, almost a growl of acknowledgment.
“And above all… it knew it could not be sensed.”
The pack exchanged uneasy glances.
Kael’s final words carried both warning and curiosity:
“Nothing about this creature was accidental. Every action—instinct or design—was deliberate.”
He looked at the being once more.
“This is no ordinary prey.”
Yuu
…Cold.
Darkness pressed around me like deep water.
Where am I?
The thought echoed in the darkness around me. Everything felt weightless—silent.
I remember… killing the bear. And after that…
My memories fractured.
Right. The injuries.
I had taken hits that should’ve killed me. My body had been torn open, bones exposed. I shouldn’t still exist.
Did I die?
The darkness felt endless—like I was sinking in cold, heavy water. My body wouldn’t move. My arms… nothing. Not even a twitch. I couldn’t swim upward. Couldn’t even struggle.
Just sinking.
Deeper.
Colder.
Still.
Then—
A faint glow appeared below me.
Small. Gentle. Flickering.
More lights followed—soft, drifting upward like embers rising through water. They illuminated the void beneath me, pushing the darkness back.
And then…
A voice.
Not loud. Not shouted.
But resonant—firm—undeniable.
“Rha'kur.”
A pause.
“Rha’kur ven.”
That wasn’t a thought.
It wasn’t my voice.
It felt… spoken at me.
Before my eyes even opened, pain slammed into me.
Not dull. Not throbbing.
Sharp.
Violent.
Searing.
I gasped—if it could even be called breathing.
My body felt like it was being torn apart from the inside. My arms burned as if fire and ice were fused beneath the skin. My chest—every heartbeat felt like claws carving into bone.
I had felt broken ribs before.
Dislocated joints.
Deep wounds.
Nothing I had ever felt came close to this.
The pain wasn’t physical anymore—
it was something deeper, older.
It felt like judgement.
A divine punishment carved straight into my soul.
And it forced one truth into my fading thoughts:
If I’m still hurting like this…
…then I’m not dead.
The pain didn’t stop.
It grew.
Sharp agony pulsed through my body—burning, freezing, tearing—until it felt like my nerves were being ripped open thread by thread.
I couldn’t hold it in.
A scream tore out of me—raw, animal, nothing human left in the sound. It echoed through the void, through whatever space my body existed in. I didn’t even recognize my own voice.
And then—
all at once…
Silence.
The pain vanished.
Not faded.
Not eased.
Stopped.
As if someone had cut a thread.
My breathing steadied—slow at first, then deeper. The darkness around me softened. The pressure in my skull eased.
Cautiously—almost afraid of triggering the agony again—I opened my eyes.
