I awoke to the faint sound of rustling footsteps just outside the alcove. Instinctively, my body tensed as I strained to listen, every muscle alert. Slowly, I maneuvered myself into a crouched position near the edge of the shelter, careful not to make a sound. The waterfall roared just a foot away, masking the noise; beneath the steady rush of water, I could make out the unmistakable murmur of voices.
Peering out from my hiding spot, I saw faint shadows moving in the dim light. Whoever they were, they were drawing closer. My pulse quickened, my mind racing with possibilities—other contenders, perhaps? Or worse, hunters who saw me as easy prey in the scramble to ascend the mountain?
The cold, damp air seemed to tighten around me as I tried to control my breathing, listening for any clue as to their intentions. The isolation of this place had just become far less certain.
As they made their way toward the cave, I knew I had to control this interaction. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped in this confined alcove with unknown numbers and intentions. Judging by their steady approach, they clearly planned to take refuge here for the night. I had no intention of waiting around for that to happen.
Silently, I stood and gathered myself, my mind already calculating my next move. I couldn't risk being cornered. Moving stealthily along the stone wall, I positioned myself near the exit, ready to slip out and confront them on my terms—out in the open, where I could control the space. I needed to know how many there were and, more importantly, if they were friend or foe.
The voices grew louder as they neared the entrance, their footsteps crunching on loose gravel. My pulse quickened, but I kept my breathing steady. If there was going to be a confrontation, I would be ready for it—on my own terms.
Controlling my nerves, I stepped out of the shadows. The moonlight peaked through the clouds, making the darkness ever so lighter. With this small amount of light, I could see three figures looming about twenty feet away from me.
The three figures loomed at least seven feet tall, their imposing silhouettes advancing steadily. Even through the dim light and the curtain of the waterfall, their features became unmistakably clear—these were Drak'Thar. Tall, humanoid beings with unnervingly elongated limbs, their appearance struck a balance between awe and fear. Their faces bore slitted nostrils, and their large, reptilian eyes glimmered, cold and predatory.
Their foreheads were crowned with curved horns, adding to their intimidating presence, while their dark, leathery skin—hardened like armour—faintly reflected the moonlight. It was clear that their skin was far tougher and more resilient than that of any human.
Their movements were slow but deliberate, each step radiating quiet strength. The Drak'Thar were a species known not only for their raw physical power but for their endurance and ruthlessness.
Steeling myself, I stepped through the thin veil of the waterfall, the cool spray hitting my skin as I approached them. "You three look a little out of place," I called out, keeping my tone casual but firm. "Wandering around in the dark like this... Makes me think you're up to something."
Their heads turned toward me in eerie unison, their large eyes locking onto mine with unsettling intensity. For a moment, silence hung between us, thick and heavy, as they sized me up. I stayed loose, my posture calm but ready, knowing full well this could escalate in seconds.
The one in the middle, clearly their leader, finally broke the silence. "It's safer at night," he said, his deep, gravelly voice rumbling in the stillness. "Fewer people, fewer beasts to deal with. And we see better in the dark." His words were matter-of-fact, but the underlying menace was clear.
The one on the right chimed in a moment later, his voice dripping with disdain. "What's a blind human doing out here?" he said in his native tongue, Tharzen, the clicks and guttural sounds rolling off his tongue effortlessly.
"I'm not blind," I replied, switching to Tharzen myself. "The veil is a sensory device that limits my eyes' exposure to certain... elements." Though I struggled with some of the language's more intricate clicks—sounds difficult for human vocal cords to replicate—the message seemed clear enough. I could see the flicker of surprise pass over their faces. They hadn't expected me to understand, let alone speak their language.
"You speak Tharzen well," the leader, Qorath, remarked, his voice laced with cautious approval. "I am Qorath. The one to my left is Shal," he gestured subtly, "and to my right, Shenak."
"I'm Samuel," I replied, keeping my tone measured and leaving out my family name, knowing that could cause complications. This was one of the very few times that I was happy I lacked the typical appearance of House Solis. The tension between us hung thick in the air, but the fact that neither side had drawn weapons was a positive sign. There was a subtle shift, a quiet acknowledgment that perhaps this encounter didn't need to end in violence.
After a moment's pause, I decided to push the conversation further. "I was wondering if you three would like to work together," I offered, carefully watching their reactions. "We could make our way up to the Institute faster if we combined our efforts. A fast pace could help us avoid unnecessary... complications."
The suggestion hung in the air as the Drak'Thar exchanged silent glances, their expressions shifting subtly. They were clearly communicating something, but without words. It was a brief interaction, lasting only seconds, but it felt like an eternity as I waited for their response.
Finally, Qorath turned back to me. "We will work together until we reach the Institute," he said, his voice steady. "We've seen groups with larger numbers, so this arrangement benefits us as well."
Relief washed over me, though I kept my face neutral. This alliance, however temporary, may tip the odds in my favour.
As the sun of Aetheris peeked through the clouds, casting its warm glow over the landscape, I took a moment to reflect on the journey so far. Since joining forces with the Drak'Thar, we had moved at an impressive pace, covering vast distances in a short amount of time. Our combined presence seemed to intimidate most of the wildlife in the area—both animals and plants recoiled from us as we advanced.
However, not all creatures could resist the lure of an easy meal. Several times, we were confronted by predators, but they were swiftly dealt with. At this stage of their development, these beasts lacked the intelligence to assess the true threat we posed, their primal instincts driving them to attack despite the odds. Each encounter only served to further solidify the strength of our group.
This section of the mountain was a lush wilderness, teeming with towering forests and winding rivers that cut through the landscape like silver veins. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh pine, broken only by the occasional sound of distant wildlife.
As we moved in relative silence, I decided to break the silence. "Where is your homeworld?" I asked, hoping to spark conversation. "I assume you three are from Lower Perseus."
Shal began to reply, "We are from the—" but his voice cut off abruptly. A sharp whistling sound pierced the air, and before I could process what was happening, I felt a warm liquid hit the side of my face.
I turned, my heart pounding, to see Shal standing there, his body frozen in place. An elongated arrowhead protruded grotesquely from his mouth, its sleek, metallic shaft shimmering in the faint sunlight. His eyes were wide with shock, and for a brief moment, everything stood still.
In the next heartbeat, I withdrew my sword from the folds of my cloak, activating it with a swift motion. The blade sprang to life, becoming a sleek, double-edged sword. Its structure was unlike any traditional metal weapon—it was forged from high matter, a material of immense strength, which allowed it to shimmer with a light silver hue.
The blade extended about two and a half feet in length, with a width spanning three finger lengths. Its edges gleamed with a polished sharpness, ready to cut through almost anything in its path. The high matter material gave the sword an almost ethereal glow, though its weight and balance were perfect for swift, precise movements. The hilt was wrapped in dark, braided leather, providing me a firm grip, with a sleek metallic crossguard that offered protection without hindering my range of motion.
Turning toward the direction from which the arrow had been fired, I saw six human figures emerge from the brush. These were not random attackers; they were candidates like myself, attempting to gain acceptance into the Institute. Judging by their gear, they were well-prepared for this challenge.
Each wore finely crafted armour—sleek and battle-worn- designed for protection and mobility. The dark plating had an almost military-grade look, with intricate designs etched into the metal, symbolizing their allegiance or personal achievements. Unlike my cloak, their armour spoke of privilege and experience, perhaps from noble families or elite youth training academies.
Their swords were equally impressive—high-quality alloy blades gleaming with deadly precision. Though not equal to a high-matter sword, their weapons were clearly more advanced than standard equipment. The swords were balanced for both strength and speed, their hilts wrapped in dark, supple leather. Each pommel bore a symbol, likely representing their house or school, marking them as serious contenders in this exam.
The students moved in tight formation, a clear indication of their training. Their helmets, while offering full protection, revealed eyes sharp with focus and determination. These were not amateurs; they had come prepared for the test, and by the looks of it, they were ready to eliminate any competition that stood in their way—including me and my companions.
It was clear they saw us as another obstacle on their path to the Institute and decided it was best to reduce their competition. Their readiness to resort to violence was a sign of just how high the stakes had become.
"Qoruth, Shenak, we won't be able to escape," I said hurriedly in their native tongue, trying to keep my voice steady. We need to be smart about this—don't let your emotions cloud your judgment." I knew full well they had every right to be furious after what had just happened, but charging blindly into a fight with a group we knew so little about was reckless, and I didn't see an archer among the group.
Qoruth's gaze shifted down to Shal's lifeless body, blood still pooling beneath him. His jaw clenched in an inhuman way tightly before his eyes flicked to Shenak, both of them communicating silently in a way only kin could.
"Blood has been spilled among our kin," Qoruth growled, his voice a dark rumble. "A blood debt is owed. And we will collect." Without hesitation, Shenak nodded in agreement.
In an instant, both Drak'Thar warriors reached beneath their long cloaks and drew short tridents, the polished, deadly tips glinting in the fading light. Though compact, the tridents were vicious weapons designed for close combat, their barbed edges promising nothing less than lethal efficiency.
Their movements were swift and fluid—years of battle training evident in the way they squared up against the six figures now standing in their path. The air seemed to crackle with tension, the calm before the inevitable storm of violence.
Not wanting to be left out or to risk becoming the next target if my companions fell, I tightened my grip on my sword. This fight wasn't just about vengeance for the Drak'Thar—it was now a matter of survival. If they lost, I would be next on the killing list.
Without another thought, I rushed forward with them, matching their pace, fully aware that this fight was about to determine more than just the outcome of our climb—it would decide if any of us would make it to the Institute alive.
Qoruth and Shenak lunged toward the group of six with terrifying speed, their long, powerful limbs propelling them forward in a blur. Their race's natural agility made them a deadly force in close combat, each step thundering across the ground like a storm.
I forced myself to keep pace, though it wasn't easy. The Genetic Crafters of my House had engineered my lineage for physical prowess, giving me enhanced strength, speed, and reflexes. Still, keeping up with the Drak'Thar's pace was no small feat. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through me, my body reacting in ways that only epochs of genetic refinement could produce.
As we closed the gap, the six figures quickly realized the oncoming threat. Their armour gleamed in the dim light, and their weapons—sharp, deadly, but still lacking the advanced craftsmanship of highmatter—were raised in preparation for our charge. Despite their preparation, I could see hesitation in their eyes. They knew this wouldn't be a simple skirmish.
The Drak'Thar didn't hesitate. Qoruth aimed his trident with a deadly precision, while Shenak moved with a predatory grace, ready to strike down any who stood in his way.
I tightened my grip on my sword, feeling the familiar hum of its energy coursing through the blade. In the next heartbeat, Qoruth hurled his trident with deadly accuracy toward the two guarding the left flank. The weapon cut through the air like a bolt of lightning, aiming to disable them before they had time to react.
On the right, Shenak moved with frightening speed, a blur of motion as he charged toward the two soldiers stationed there. His trident was already raised, poised to strike.
That left two directly in front of me.
As I advanced, my eyes locked onto them, my blade glowing faintly in the dim tree canopy light. They braced for my attack, gripping their swords tightly. Their armour, wouldn't hold up against highmatter. Still, they were skilled, and determined to prove themselves worthy of the Institute.
I could see it in their eyes—the hunger for acceptance, the fear of failure. It was what made them dangerous.
Without hesitation, I lunged forward, aiming for the gap in their defense.
I slashed downward in a fluid motion, the blade cutting through the air with precision—a move that would have made my combat instructor proud. Every step, every strike was intentional, not born out of haste or brute strength but from a deeper understanding of the craft.
I had been taught from a young age that the true art of combat wasn't about raw speed or overpowering strength. It wasn't even about skill in the traditional sense. No, the essence of combat lay in control. Control the environment—reading every subtle shift in the terrain and turning it to your advantage. Control of one's own body, each movement measured and precise, conserving energy until the perfect moment. Control of emotions, keeping the mind sharp and focused amidst chaos. And perhaps most importantly, control of others—anticipating their actions, manipulating their responses, and forcing them to play your game.
As my blade connected with their defences, I could feel their uncertainty.
My highmatter sword crackled with energy as it collided with the enemy's blade, sending sparks scattering into the air. Surprisingly, the blade didn't cleave through as I had expected. It resisted the cut, a testament to its quality. The weapon must have been forged from a rare alloy, strong enough to withstand the sheer cutting power of highmatter.
I adjusted my grip, feeling the subtle shift in balance as our blades locked. Whoever this opponent was, they had come prepared, wielding more than just ordinary steel. This was no accident. They knew what they were up against.
I slid my blade down the length of my opponent's weapon with precision, forcing it to clash against the guard. The highmatter sliced through the guard effortlessly, the material too weak to hold against its cutting edge. My opponent barely had time to react before my sword cut clean through his arm, a sharp scream following as his limb fell to the ground.
Turning my head swiftly, I caught sight of another attacker's blade arcing toward me. Instinct kicked in—I leaned back just in time to dodge the strike, the blade missing by mere inches. Without hesitation, I launched a quick jab with my free hand, striking the second assailant square in the jaw. His eyes widened in shock as he staggered back, clearly unprepared for the sudden counter.
Not wanting to give up my advantageous position, I rushed toward the one-armed individual who was trying desperately to pick up his fallen sword that lay within the grasp of his severed arm—slashing center mass before he could pick up the sword. I bisected the man from hip to upper shoulder.
The scene disgusted me. It was my first kill, but I suppressed my emotions and focused on what needed to be done.
"Who sent you?" I asked, my voice cold and calculated. "You're too organized for this to have been a random meetup during the examination. And judging by your equipment, you were prepared to face individuals wielding highmatter weapons."
The situation felt increasingly off. At first, I assumed they were just another group looking to eliminate the competition on their way up the mountain. But as the fight dragged on, something didn't add up. With their numbers and skill, they could have easily ascended without needing to engage in such a reckless confrontation. They weren't desperate enough for this. There was no reason for them to target us unless... that had been there goal. It felt like they had been lying in wait, anticipating something—or someone.
"Fuck off. Like I would tell you shit after you just butchered Randolf," replied the young man whose green eyes flared with rage beneath his helm.
In the next moment, he charged towards me with ferocious vigour. Once again, our swords sparked as they collided.
I parried the next devastating blow and slashed towards his unguarded side. He was fast—fast enough to guard the strike.
He parried my sword with brutal efficiency. It didn't matter, though; I quickly slashed downwards and connected just above his liver. The wound was a shallow, superficial cut, but that didn't stop him from flinching, which created an opening.
Before I could exploit this opening, I felt unimaginable pain. The pain was excruciating; I knew pain—the feel of it. But this was on another level. Looking down towards the source of this agony, I saw a sleek metallic arrowhead that glistened with blood—My blood.
The arrow must have penetrated through my upper back until it semi-exited through my upper chest. I couldn't help but think If that arrow had perforated a few inches over it would have pierced through my heart.
Snapping myself out of my internal contemplation, I fought to steady my emotions. It was difficult. The fear of what had just happened gripped me tightly in its grasp, and the realization that I wasn't out of this situation yet loomed over me. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through me, my muscles tensing involuntarily, every hair on my body standing on end.
I knew the direction of the arrow, so if I couldn't control my emotions, I would make sure I controlled the environment. The battle around us rampaged. Qoruth had already dealt with one of his assailants and was attacking the other one with a ferocity that was widely known among the Drak'Thar.
Over the next few seconds, I slowly retreated in a manner that positioned me towards the direction in which the arrow had managed to perforate through my right lounge.
My breathing came in short, wheezing gasps, each one a struggle that sent a sharp, stabbing pain through my chest. The tightness settled over me like a vice, and I could feel the panic clawing up my throat, worsened by the shallow ache of my collapsed right lung. Every attempt to fill my lungs felt impossible, as if the air itself resisted, feeding the nervous tremor in my hands.
I Slashed toward the green-eyed man, forcing myself to be the aggressor. The assailant looked confused, unsure how I could attack with such vigour, even though I had an arrow protruding from me. I didn't give him a chance to figure it out as I swatted his blade aside with my open palm and lunged my high matter sword through the chest of the wide-eyed man.
As I withdrew the blade, the light behind his eyes slowly faded, swallowed by the dark abyss. The man was no more. In that hollow silence, I felt the weight of it—the fragility of life, the swiftness with which it could be extinguished. Moments like these forced a stark clarity, pressing the reminder that every breath, every heartbeat, was a fleeting gift—one that shouldn't be taken for granted.