Veyrath did not look back.
The city had fallen into silence.
No more screams.
No more orders.
Just ruins and the whispers of those too broken to leave.
But he was done with them.
Their fear would linger.
Their stories would spread.
And he would move on.
Because his path was not just one of destruction.
It was one of power.
And power did not only come from death.
It came from understanding what was lost.
From reclaiming what had been forgotten.
And so, he walked away from civilization.
Not toward another hunt.
But toward the wildlands.
Toward his next evolution.
The forests beyond the city were deep and ancient.
Veyrath had seen many lands in his time, but few places still held the weight of old magic.
The trees here were twisted, their roots deep, their branches reaching like skeletal hands.
The air was thick with something unseen.
Not human magic.
Something older.
Something untouched by mortals.
And that was exactly what he needed.
Because rituals were not spells.
They were not just incantations and gestures.
They were connections.
To the world.
To power.
To what lay beyond mortal sight.
And this place was alive with it.
After three days of walking deeper into the wildlands, he found it.
A clearing, untouched by time.
Ancient stones stood in a perfect circle, worn by the ages, etched with runes that had long since faded.
A place of power.
A place where rituals had once been performed.
Veyrath ran his clawed fingers along the surface of one of the stones.
It was cold, humming with something buried beneath.
There was something here.
Something waiting to be unlocked.
And he would claim it.
Veyrath knelt in the center of the stone circle.
The symbols he had scratched into the dirt back in his cavern were crude.
But here, the ground was already marked.
The power was already present.
He did not need to force it.
He only needed to awaken it.
He began to carve fresh runes into the earth.
Not out of memory.
But out of instinct.
His hands moved before his mind could question them.
The patterns were simple. Basic.
But they were right.
And as he spoke the words—
The air shifted.
The stones trembled.
And for the first time in centuries,
A ritual answered him.
The earth grew warm beneath his hands.
The runes glowed faintly, flickering like embers.
It was weak.
Unrefined.
Barely a shadow of what he had once commanded.
But it was real.
And it was his.
[Ritual Unlocked: Bloodbinding]
A ritual of control.
A ritual that linked the life of the user to another creature for a short time.
At this level, it was imprecise.
But it had potential.
With time, it could be refined. Strengthened. Used for far more than its current limits.
But for now, it was a beginning.
A first step back into what had been lost.
And Veyrath smiled.
Because now, he knew.
Rituals were not beyond his reach.
They had merely been waiting.
Waiting for him to reclaim them.
Veyrath did not leave immediately.
There was more to learn here.
The wildlands were not empty.
They were filled with ancient places, old magics, creatures that had never known the hand of man.
If he could uncover more…
If he could restore what had once been his…
Then he would not just be a killer.
He would be something greater.
Something stronger.
The forest stretched endlessly before him.
Dense, untamed, untouched by human hands.
This was no ordinary woodland.
This was ancient.
A place where things still lived that had never known the walls of a city.
Where the trees were older than empires.
Where the shadows moved when no one was watching.
Veyrath had no need for civilization.
No need for cities or their games.
Here, in the wildlands, he was not a hunter of men.
He was simply a creature of the land.
And this place?
It would either accept him.
Or devour him.
Either way, he welcomed it.
Each day, Veyrath began with the same motions.
Rituals were not just magic.
They were discipline.
And discipline was what separated the powerful from the weak.
He woke before the sun fully rose.
The first light of day was the best time to study the world.
The air was still cool.
The animals moved cautiously.
The forest had not fully awakened.
And that was when it spoke the most.
He found a secluded clearing, marked by an old, broken stone.
A remnant of something older than memory.
There, he traced new runes into the dirt.
Repeated the incantations he had been refining.
And each time, he felt the ritual take shape a little faster.
Not by much.
But enough to know he was improving.
The first ritual he had unlocked was still weak.
Bloodbinding was a connection.
A link between his life and another.
But at this stage, it was unstable.
He had tested it on small creatures.
A feral hound.
A serpent that had wandered too close.
The bond had been there—but brief, fleeting.
Not strong enough to control.
Not strong enough to use in battle.
But it was a start.
And mastery came only through persistence.
So he continued.
Over and over.
Each morning, he refined it.
Each day, he improved.
Because he would not remain weak forever.
Even a being like him needed sustenance.
His body could endure hunger longer than mortals.
But hunger was a weakness.
And Veyrath did not accept weakness.
The forest provided plenty of prey.
But he did not hunt recklessly.
He studied.
Watched.
Understood.
There were creatures in these woods unlike those found in the lands of men.
Some were small and simple—game unworthy of effort.
Others were twisted, unnatural things, marked by old magic.
Those interested him.
Because if they survived here, there was a reason.
And anything that survived in a place of power was worth hunting.
By the third day in the deep forest, Veyrath found a challenge.
Or rather—it found him.
It had been stalking him for hours.
He had known.
Felt its presence moving with him.
Testing him.
Waiting.
But it had made one mistake.
It had assumed he was prey.
Now, it would learn otherwise.
It struck from the trees.
Fast.
Silent.
A blur of dark flesh and jagged fangs.
Not a wolf.
Not a beast of the natural world.
Something else.
Something corrupted by the wildlands themselves.
Veyrath moved a second too late.
A mistake he rarely made.
The creature's claws raked across his shoulder—
A shallow cut, but the pain was sharp.
Poison?
No.
Something worse.
Magic.
It had imbued its attack with something unnatural.
Something that burned like fire but spread like ice.
Veyrath snarled, gripping the wound.
This was not a normal hunt.
But he did not run.
He did not hesitate.
He turned and faced it head-on.
The creature lunged again.
Veyrath sidestepped.
This time, he was ready.
His claws lashed out—
Tearing into the beast's flank, black blood spilling onto the forest floor.
It howled.
Not in pain.
In rage.
It did not fear him.
Not yet.
That would change.
This was the perfect moment.
A real fight.
A real enemy.
A real test of his ritual.
Veyrath slammed his palm against the ground.
Spoke the words he had refined over the past few days.
The air shimmered.
The runes glowed.
And for the first time—the ritual held.
A pulse of energy surged between him and the beast.
A brief, violent link.
Its movements hesitated.
For a split second, it staggered—confused, unsure.
And that was all he needed.
Veyrath moved.
Claws, fangs, pure force.
The battle ended in a single, decisive strike.
The creature collapsed, breath leaving its body in a ragged exhale.
Veyrath stood over the corpse, victorious.
The ritual had worked.
Still weak.
Still unstable.
But better.
And better was enough.
For now.
The fight had not gone unnoticed.
The wildlands were not empty.
And as Veyrath stood over his fallen prey,
He felt it.
The eyes.
The presence.
The forest itself was watching him now.
It had accepted his presence.
Or it had marked him as a threat.
Either way—
The game had changed.
And Veyrath would see it through.
Veyrath stood over the cooling corpse of the beast, his claws still slick with its darkened blood.
The forest had gone silent.
Not the silence of peace.
But the silence of something waiting.
Watching.
He could feel it.
A presence lurking beyond the edge of his senses.
Not hostile.
Not afraid.
Just watching.
Testing him.
And that was unacceptable.
Veyrath did not allow himself to be tested.
If something had set its gaze upon him,
Then he would set his upon it.
And he would find out what it was.
He did not chase blindly.
That was the mistake prey made.
Instead, he waited.
He listened.
The forest had its own language, one most could not hear.
But he was not most.
The rustle of leaves where there was no wind.
The shift of branches without movement.
The faintest pulse of energy beneath the earth.
All of them led in one direction.
North.
Deeper into the wildlands.
Where the trees grew older, the paths less traveled.
Where whatever was watching him had come from.
And so, he moved.
Silent. Patient.
A hunter of the unknown.
It took hours.
The sun had long since set.
The moon hung pale and distant, casting broken light through the canopy.
And then—
He found it.
A place long abandoned by men.
Not a temple.
Not a village.
Something older.
A ruin of stone and bone.
Massive pillars, covered in carvings that no language spoke anymore.
The ground beneath them etched with symbols he almost recognized.
Almost.
And at the center of it all—
A figure.
It stood at the heart of the ruins.
Motionless.
Cloaked in tattered robes that seemed woven from shadow itself.
It had no face.
Only a smooth, featureless surface beneath its hood.
But its presence was undeniable.
Powerful.
Old.
Veyrath did not slow.
Did not cower.
He stepped forward.
And the figure finally moved.
A voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere.
"You are not of this time."
Veyrath's eyes narrowed.
"Neither are you."
The figure tilted its head.
Not in confusion.
In acknowledgment.
"You seek the forgotten ways."
Not a question.
A fact.
Veyrath did not deny it.
"I seek power."
A pause.
Then—
"And if power costs you what remains of your soul?"
Veyrath smiled.
"Then I did not deserve it to begin with."
The figure was silent.
And then, it laughed.
The air shook.
Not with sound.
With force.
The ruins trembled.
The earth cracked.
The presence that had been watching him finally revealed itself in full.
A weight settled upon him—cold, vast, endless.
It was not an attack.
Not a challenge.
It was judgment.
A force that did not break, only crushed.
But Veyrath did not move.
Did not kneel.
Did not falter.
He simply stood.
And smiled.
"If this is meant to frighten me, you have already failed."
The pressure lifted.
And the figure spoke again.
"Good."
The robed figure raised a hand.
The ground between them split.
A small pedestal rose from the earth.
Upon it—
A stone tablet, covered in runes too old to be spoken aloud.
"Take it."
Veyrath did not hesitate.
The moment his hand touched the stone,
A shockwave of knowledge surged through his mind.
Not words.
Not spells.
Something deeper.
Something older than magic.
Rituals.
True rituals.
And at the heart of it all—
A name.
A name he had never heard, yet somehow had always known.
The name of the force that had once ruled these lands.
And the name of the power he would reclaim.
The figure began to fade.
Its presence slipping back into the void from which it had come.
But before it disappeared completely,
It spoke one last time.
"You walk the path of those who were unmade."
"Do not stray, or you will share their fate."
And then—
It was gone.
The ruins were silent once more.
Veyrath stood alone in the ruins.
The forest had fallen silent.
The strange presence that had watched him was gone.
But its warning remained.
"Do not stray, or you will share their fate."
He did not fear fate.
Fate was a shackle for the weak.
Power belonged to those who tore it from the hands of the world.
And in his grasp, he held power.
A stone tablet, covered in runes too old to be spoken aloud.
A piece of a lost era.
Something that had survived when its creators had not.
Something that had been left behind for a reason.
And now, it belonged to him.
Veyrath did not rush.
Knowledge was not consumed like flesh.
It was measured.
Understood.
Tamed.
He placed the tablet upon the ground before him, kneeling over it.
His fingers traced the etchings, the symbols carved into the cold stone.
Some of them were familiar.
Fragments of ritualistic markings he had once known.
But others—
Others were unlike anything he had seen before.
They were not just inscriptions.
They were bindings.
The knowledge was locked.
Guarded by something far older than ink and stone.
And if he wanted to unlock it,
He would have to prove he was worthy.
Veyrath had encountered powerful magic before.
The bindings on the tablet were different.
Not designed to keep knowledge safe.
But to keep it buried.
A warning.
A prison.
But prisons were meant to be broken.
He began to replicate the symbols, carving them into the dirt around him.
He did not know what they meant yet.
But magic recognized itself.
It responded to familiar patterns.
And as the final symbol was completed—
The air shifted.
The forest trembled.
And the tablet reacted.
The runes flared to life, glowing a deep crimson, pulsing like a heartbeat.
A whisper rose from the stone.
Not words.
Not language.
Something older.
A feeling.
A pull.
A demand.
It was not asking to be read.
It was asking to be understood.
And that was far more dangerous.
The moment Veyrath's mind connected with the tablet's knowledge, he felt it.
A force pressing against his thoughts.
A presence woven into the very fabric of the stone.
Not a living being.
Something else.
A memory?
A curse?
Or perhaps, a warning from those who had come before.
It did not care who he was.
Did not care why he sought this power.
It only offered a choice.
To see.
Or to turn away.
Veyrath chose to see.
And the world changed.
Darkness swallowed him.
Not the shadows he controlled.
Not the absence of light.
This was deeper.
A void beyond the physical world.
And in that void, he saw them.
Figures kneeling before an altar of black stone.
Their bodies covered in the same runes that marked the tablet.
Their voices whispering in a language lost to time.
They were not weak.
Not ignorant fools seeking forbidden magic.
They had been masters.
Keepers of true power.
And yet, they had been unmade.
Their bodies crumbled.
Their magic torn from them.
Not by an enemy.
Not by a curse.
By the rituals themselves.
The power they had sought had devoured them.
And as Veyrath watched their destruction unfold—
He heard the whisper again.
"Do not stray, or you will share their fate."
And then—
The vision was gone.
Veyrath's eyes snapped open.
The ruins were silent once more.
The tablet lay before him, its glow now dim.
But its knowledge had been granted.
It had not warned him away.
It had tested him.
And he had survived.
He had seen what awaited those who sought too much, too quickly.
He had seen what happened to those who did not master their power—
But let their power master them.
And he had no intention of repeating their mistakes.
This knowledge would not consume him.
He would control it.
Shape it.
Refine it.
Because the path before him had already been walked once.
And he would not fall where others had.
He would succeed where they had failed.
Because he was not like them.
He was stronger.
And now, he was one step closer to becoming something greater.
New Ritual Unlocked: Voidbinding
[Ritual Unlocked: Voidbinding]
A ritual designed to tether the user's soul to a point in space, allowing them to momentarily exist outside reality.
At this level, it is unstable and can only be used for brief moments before failing.
More refinement is needed before it can reach true mastery.