The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth as Dante and Alaric trekked through the dense forest outside Ravenbrook. The towering trees formed a canopy that blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving the path shrouded in dim light.
"Why are we out here?" Dante asked, breaking the silence. His boots crunched on the uneven ground as he struggled to keep up with Alaric's brisk pace.
"To teach you how to track," Alaric said without looking back.
"Track what?"
Alaric stopped abruptly, turning to face Dante with a piercing gaze. "Your enemies. Your instincts are awakening, but instincts mean nothing if you don't learn to use them. Today, you'll learn to hunt—or be hunted."
Dante frowned, the weight of Alaric's words settling on him. "So, what are we hunting?"
Alaric's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Something small to start. A lesser wraith has been spotted in these woods. It's weak, but dangerous enough if you're careless. Consider this your first real test."
"A wraith? You mean like a ghost?"
"Not quite," Alaric said, continuing down the path. "Wraiths are shadows of their former selves. They feed on fear and hesitation. You'll need to keep your mind sharp—and your blade sharper."
Dante's grip tightened on the dagger at his side. He had sparred and trained with Alaric, but the idea of facing a real threat sent a chill down his spine.
They walked in silence for another hour before Alaric stopped, holding up a hand. "We're close," he said, his voice low.
Dante looked around, his senses suddenly heightened. The forest felt different here—heavier, as if the air itself were charged with something unseen.
"Close your eyes," Alaric instructed.
"What?"
"Close them," Alaric repeated. "Feel the mark. Let it guide you."
Dante hesitated, then shut his eyes. At first, he felt nothing but the cool breeze against his skin. But then, faintly, he sensed something—a pull, like a thread tugging at the edges of his consciousness.
"There," he said, pointing to the left.
Alaric nodded. "Good. Stay alert."
They moved cautiously through the trees, the sense of unease growing stronger with each step. Dante's heart pounded in his chest as he gripped his dagger tightly.
Then, he saw it.
A shadow moved between the trees, barely more than a wisp of darkness. Its form shifted constantly, as though it couldn't decide on a single shape. Eyes like burning coals glared at him from within the darkness, and a low, guttural hiss echoed through the forest.
"Steady," Alaric murmured, drawing his sword.
The wraith lunged, moving faster than Dante expected. He barely had time to raise his dagger before it was upon him. The force of the attack knocked him to the ground, and he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding its razor-sharp claws.
"Focus, Dante!" Alaric barked, engaging the creature with a series of calculated strikes.
Dante scrambled to his feet, his hand instinctively going to the mark. He felt its energy surge through him, hot and wild, but he struggled to control it.
The wraith turned its attention to him, its eyes glowing brighter as it charged. This time, Dante didn't hesitate. He thrust his dagger forward, and the mark flared to life.
The blade connected, and a burst of crimson energy erupted from the dagger, sending the wraith screeching into the air. Its form wavered, then dissolved into a cloud of ash that scattered on the wind.
Dante stood frozen, his chest heaving as the adrenaline coursed through him.
Alaric approached, inspecting the remnants of the creature. "Not bad for your first hunt," he said.
"Not bad? I almost got killed!" Dante snapped.
"And yet, you didn't," Alaric said calmly. "You trusted your instincts. That's the only reason you're standing here now."
Dante wiped the sweat from his brow, his grip on the dagger unsteady. "If that was the weakest thing out there, I don't want to know what else is waiting."
Alaric placed a hand on his shoulder. "You'll face far worse than a wraith, Dante. But today, you proved you're capable of surviving. Remember that."
As they made their way back to the sanctuary, Dante couldn't shake the feeling that the hunt had been more than a test. The power he'd felt when the mark activated was intoxicating, but it also scared him.
"What happens when the Lords come for me?" he asked quietly.
Alaric's expression darkened. "They won't send shadows, Dante. They'll come themselves. And when they do, you'll need more than instinct to survive."
The weight of Alaric's words hung over him as they returned to the sanctuary. Dante knew this was only the beginning. The hunt had started—and he was the prey.