The world above them roared.
Aren held Snowfang's reins with both hands, leaning forward as the white wolf galloped across the open valley. Lyrin clung tightly behind him, her arms around his waist, her breaths sharp in his ear. The skybeasts shrieked overhead—three massive silhouettes cutting through the clouds like blades of ink.
Their shadows fell over the earth in jagged shapes. Snowfang's paws hammered rapidly, every stride eating the ground beneath them, yet the beasts in the sky were already lowering altitude.
"Snowfang—faster!" Aren yelled.
The wolf snarled, lightning crackling around its claws as it pushed harder.
Lyrin twisted her body around to look at the skybeasts. "They're tracking us by mana," she said quickly. "Your magic is flaring far too strongly!"
Aren grimaced. "Can't help it—I'm still not used to suppressing it."
"Well try!"
"I said I can't—!"
A blast of wind cut between them. A skybeast dove, its talons carving trenches in the ground only a few meters behind Snowfang.
Snow and earth exploded into the air.
Lyrin flinched, gripping Aren even tighter. Snowfang jerked right, narrowly avoiding the creature's snapping beak.
Aren's mind raced.
These things… they're too fast.
Ever since he first used the empowerment rune that morning, his mana had become unstable. It surged like a river trying to break free, bursting from his body through cracks he didn't know he had. The skybeasts—Valkarens, as the guildmaster called them—were drawn to powerful auras.
And Aren was practically a beacon.
Another shriek split the sky. This time, all three Valkarens circled above, their wings folding inward before diving in perfect synchronization.
Aren cursed under his breath. "Okay—this is too much."
Lyrin read the panic on his face. "Use a barrier! Anything!"
"I can't throw magic while riding—!"
"Then let me!"
She thrust her right hand outward. A glowing emerald circle snapped open, runes rotating like clockwork.
"Sylvan Art—Verdant Pulse!"
Mana burst forward in a spiraling shockwave of emerald wind. It collided with the descending Valkarens and made them recoil slightly—but not enough. They roared instead, wings beating harder, growing even more aggressive.
Aren looked back, jaw clenched.
"They're barely slowing down," he muttered.
Lyrin didn't respond. Not because she didn't hear him—but because she was trembling.
Aren felt it instantly.
Lyrin's magic… it's unstable too.
"Hey," he said, voice lower. "Are you out of mana?"
"No! I still have some—just… not enough to throw two spells in a row of that scale!"
He gritted his teeth.
Alright then… if she's running low… I'll just have to force it.
He let go of the reins with one hand, spreading his palm outward.
A spark of raw mana snapped in the air.
Lyrin's eyes widened. "Aren—don't! You can't control that yet—!"
Ribbons of silver energy swirled violently around his arm. The air vibrated with a deep hum, the same sound that echoed back in the cave when he lost control the night before.
The skybeasts sensed his rising mana immediately.
Their shrieks sharpened.
Their wings folded.
Their bodies dove harder, faster.
Aren felt the mana convulse inside him, expanding like boiling water. His vision blurred for a moment, and the world twisted at the edges. But he grit his teeth, forcing the mana outward into a concentrated point on his palm.
"Come on… come on…!"
A silver circle snapped into existence—deformed, flickering, incomplete. But it was enough.
He thrust his hand forward.
"Astra—Burst!"
The silver light exploded outward. It wasn't precise, nor was it elegant—it was raw, violent, uncontrolled. A radiant shockwave blasted upward like a miniature rising sun.
The Valkarens howled, scattering.
Snowfang stumbled slightly as the force pushed back, but he recovered instantly and bolted ahead.
Aren exhaled shakily. "Okay… that bought us a few seconds."
But Lyrin didn't look relieved.
"Aren," she said quietly, "look at your arm."
He turned his head.
The veins on his right arm glowed faintly silver—like tiny lines of molten metal under his skin.
The glow pulsed like a heartbeat.
"...Well that's new," Aren muttered.
Lyrin's expression darkened. "That's not new. That's bad. Very bad."
Aren sighed. "You keep saying that."
"I say it because you keep doing extremely dangerous things!"
But her tone carried more fear than anger.
Aren swallowed.
She's really scared…
The Valkarens regrouped above, circling once more—this time angrier. The air itself grew heavier, each beat of their wings sending ripples across the sky.
"Snowfang!" Aren yelled. "Head toward the ridge!"
The wolf barked and veered left, sprinting toward a series of jagged rocky peaks lining the valley's edge.
Lyrin squinted as wind whipped through her hair. "What's the plan?"
"That ridge is too narrow for them to dive properly."
"And if you're wrong, we get crushed against stone."
Aren forced a grin. "Then let's hope I'm right."
She groaned. "You're impossible."
The Valkarens screamed again—their bodies folding into another deadly dive.
Lyrin reached forward, grabbing Aren's shoulder. "They're coming. Fast."
"Snowfang!"
The wolf roared, lightning bursting beneath his paws as he activated his Burst Sprint. The world blurred. Trees, rocks, and snow became streaks of color.
Aren barely maintained balance, feeling Lyrin cling harder as the sheer speed pressed them backward.
Just a little more—
Just reach the ridge—
The first Valkaren struck.
It crashed into the ground behind them, talons dragging along the earth, ripping up boulders like pebbles.
The shockwave threw Snowfang forward violently, nearly tumbling him.
Aren and Lyrin slammed into his back, clinging for dear life.
Another Valkaren dove.
Another.
The ground shook.
The ridge was only seconds away.
But the Valkarens were already closing the distance again.
Lyrin's breathing turned ragged. "Aren—we can't reach the ridge before they catch us!"
Aren's heart pounded.
Think. Think!
He looked at his arm—the silver glow now spreading faintly toward his wrist. Using another spell like that would worsen it. But doing nothing would get them torn apart.
He closed his eyes for a split second.
Alright… screw it.
He pulled Lyrin closer.
She gasped. "Aren—?!"
"Hold on to me. No matter what."
"I already am—"
"Then hold tighter."
She swallowed but obeyed, burying her face in his shoulder.
Aren inhaled deeply, focusing on the churning storm inside his mana core.
He touched the seal on his neck—the one he awoke with on his first day in this world.
It pulsed faintly.
For a moment, the chaotic mana calmed.
Just enough.
Aren raised both hands.
Two incomplete silver circles flickered into existence—unstable, trembling, but forming.
The Valkarens roared, accelerating toward them with full killing intent.
Aren whispered,
"Astra—Flashbind."
Silver chains of light erupted from the circles, shooting upward like lances. They wrapped around the wings of the two descending Valkarens, binding them in mid-air.
The creatures shrieked violently as the chains tightened.
The third Valkaren swerved, avoiding the spell entirely—
—but that was fine.
Aren never intended to bind all three.
He only needed enough time.
"Snowfang! Jump!"
The wolf leaped, claws gripping the jagged ridge wall as he sprinted vertically for a moment before landing on the narrow trail along its side.
The Valkarens slammed into the valley below, trapped long enough for Aren and Lyrin to escape to higher ground.
Aren fell back against Lyrin, chest heaving. His arms trembled violently, the glowing veins spreading almost to his elbow now.
He winced.
Lyrin quickly grabbed his wrist. "Aren—stop using that magic! It's burning your mana pathways!"
"I know," he replied, voice strained. "But we're alive, aren't we?"
She stared at him, anger and worry mixing in her eyes. "Being alive won't matter if you cripple yourself."
Aren didn't answer.
Snowfang reached the top of the ridge, finally slowing to a normal pace. The ridge was narrow, but stable. From here, they could see the entire valley stretched beneath them. The trapped Valkarens fought against the weakening silver chains, snapping them with enraged roars.
But they weren't climbing the ridge.
Not yet.
Lyrin let out a shaky breath. "We bought time. But they'll come again. And next time, they won't fall for the same tricks."
Aren nodded. "We need shelter."
"Or a distraction," she added softly.
Aren looked at her. "What are you thinking?"
But before she could answer, Snowfang suddenly growled deeply, ears folding backward.
Both Aren and Lyrin froze.
Footsteps echoed behind them.
Slow. Deliberate.
Someone—or something—was approaching along the ridge path.
Aren turned, heart thudding.
A tall figure emerged from the snow mist—lean, efficient, and wrapped in dark forest-green cloth. A longbow rested in their left hand, and strands of white-silver hair fell over pointed ears.
An elf.
Not just any elf.
A warrior.
Their eyes—emerald and sharp—studied Aren and Lyrin without emotion.
Lyrin whispered, voice trembling with disbelief,
"An… Elven Ranger… from the Silverwood."
Aren tensed.
The elf raised their bow slightly—not aimed, but ready.
Then spoke.
"You two are making too much noise."
Their voice was calm, but carried authority.
Aren swallowed. "We were being chased."
"I saw."
The elf looked up at the skybeasts.
Then back at them.
"…Follow me if you don't want to die."
Aren and Lyrin exchanged a glance.
And in that moment—without realizing it—they had just met the second main character.
The one who would change both their fates.