The wooden walls of the cottage groaned softly as the wind battered against it, the faint howl barely muffled by the flimsy structure. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wood and smoldering embers from the fireplace. Aaron sat on the creaking floor, absently running his hand over the pommel of a sword he didn't fully understand yet. Across from him, Serena leaned casually against the wall, her spiked bat resting at her side. Seth was perched on the windowsill, sharpening a knife with meticulous precision, his calm demeanor a sharp contrast to the dark intent that hung in the room like a low mist.
Aaron's thoughts churned, but his face betrayed none of it. Resonance, he thought. He didn't fully understand it yet, but it was everything in this world. Power, survival, dominance—all of it revolved around this mysterious force. He leaned back against the wall, letting his mind wander as he pieced together what he had learned so far.
Resonance… a power within someone, unique to every individual, shaped by personality, honed by experience. His fingers twitched, faint ripples of chaotic energy buzzing under his skin. It felt untamed, wild, like a beast lurking in his very core. And yet, it obeyed him—barely.
"There are five classes of Resonance," Aaron began to murmur aloud, his voice low and contemplative. Serena's eyes flicked toward him, and Seth paused his sharpening to listen, though neither said a word.
"The first is Fishermen. Brutes. They rely on raw, overwhelming force. Up close, personal, unrelenting. They throw themselves into the fray like a wave crashing against a cliff. Effective… if blunt."
He paused, his eyes drifting to Seth. "Then, there are Assassins. Shadows in human form. They strike from unseen angles, use tricks and deception, always three moves ahead of their prey."
Seth smirked but said nothing, his knife scraping softly against the whetstone.
"Mages," Aaron continued, shifting his gaze to the dying fire in the hearth, "are masters of Resonance manipulation. They bend it to their will like an artist shapes clay, weaving their abilities into something elegant—and dangerous."
"Controllers," Serena added, her voice cutting through the quiet. Aaron raised a brow, but she continued, "Shape the battlefield. They dominate the flow of combat, forcing their enemies into checkmate before the fight even begins."
"And finally," Aaron said, "there are Monks and Scholars. They aren't necessarily the strongest, but they're quick to learn. Their adaptability and deep understanding of Resonance make them dangerous in the long game."
He fell silent for a moment, staring at his own hands. "But then… there's me." The air in the room seemed to grow heavier as he spoke. "Chaos. I don't know what it is yet. It doesn't feel like it belongs to any of these classes. It's—different." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Unpredictable. Destructive. Overwhelming."
A tense silence followed his words. Neither Serena nor Seth responded, though their expressions hinted at unease.
As they prepared to leave the cottage, Aaron's mind wandered back to how he'd ended up here. His past life felt like a distant dream now, blurred and faint. He remembered the hollow ache of illness, the slow, suffocating decline. The day he died, he thought he'd finally escaped the pain. Instead, he awoke here, in this strange, brutal world, inhabiting a body that was both foreign and familiar. Strong. Powerful. And he'd wasted no time putting it to use.
The three of them trudged through the forest, the dense canopy above blocking out most of the sunlight. Their breath came in soft puffs, visible in the chill air.
"We'll head toward the village outskirts," Seth said, his voice calm but sharp. "Easy pickings. Maybe a caravan."
Aaron followed in silence, his thoughts a churning storm. He'd quickly adapted to this life of hunting and gathering—not for food, but for survival. They didn't just hunt animals; they hunted people. It was kill or be killed out here, and Aaron had embraced it far too easily.
Serena glanced back at him. "You're quiet," she said, her voice steady but wary.
"Just thinking," Aaron replied, forcing a smirk.
In truth, his thoughts were darker. They're useful for now, he thought, eyeing his companions. Serena's raw strength and Seth's cunning had kept them alive this long. But Aaron's ambitions stretched far beyond surviving in the shadows of the world. Chaos pulsed within him, whispering promises of power, domination, destruction. Soon, he would leave them. He would carve his name into this world, one broken life at a time.
Hours later, the trio stumbled upon it—a massive mansion standing alone in the clearing. It loomed against the gray sky, its shadow long and foreboding. Balloons of various colors floated lazily above the roof, tethered by strings that swayed in the wind.
"What the hell?" Serena muttered, tightening her grip on her bat.
A faint scream carried on the wind, muffled but unmistakable. Seth's knife was already in his hand, his eyes scanning the building's perimeter.
"Looks like we've found our next hunt," Aaron said, a dangerous glint in his eye.
They approached the mansion cautiously, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the eerie stillness. The air grew colder, heavier, as they neared the entrance. The screams grew louder, more desperate.
Aaron reached for the door, a wicked smile tugging at his lips. Whatever lay beyond it, he was ready to unleash Chaos.