I Chose This Path, Now the Universe Will Know My Name

It had been two days since we left Seraphine's grove.

The air outside her sanctuary felt different—heavier, as if the quadrant itself sensed our return. We passed through a flowering vale one last time before the grove behind us faded into mist, its protective barrier sealing off with a silent ripple of ancient magic.

And just like that, we were back in the open wilds of the Spring Quadrant.

The terrain welcomed us with deceptive beauty—rolling hills blanketed in glowing moss, towering trees with translucent leaves, and rivers of molten pink water. But beauty here was always a lie.

Because now, Zavier had been marked.

The Tree's revelation echoed across the entire multiverse: a prospect had been chosen.

And every step we took after leaving that grove was a step into blood-soaked grass.

We were being hunted.

And not quietly.

Since the Tree's revelation, Zavier Von Drakaryn—the prospect—had become more than a name. He was a title. A symbol. A prize.

Now, others wanted to take that title for themselves.

We'd left the sanctuary of Seraphine's grove only two days ago, and already we'd survived three ambushes. Some came in groups, thinking numbers could smother destiny. Others came alone, arrogant and desperate to claim the spotlight for themselves.

All failed.

But they were getting stronger.

Faster.

Smarter.

We moved in silence now, traveling along a winding river of molten pink water, its surface glittering under the dual suns. Zavier walked ahead, tall and deliberate, his silver-streaked hair swaying like wildfire in the breeze. His white-dragon skin shimmered in the light, his gaze distant but sharp.

He looked… regal. Not in the royal, pampered sense. But like something born to command. His stride was slower these days—measured. The human hesitation he once wore like a second skin had peeled away.

Lyssira was quiet too, but she walked closer to him than ever. Her emerald hair flowed gently behind her, her eyes constantly scanning the terrain with quiet unease.

Freya, ever the restless one, walked behind us with her hands tucked into the pockets of her cropped leather jacket, yellow eyes half-lidded but alert. Her voice was the first to break the silence.

"We're being followed again."

Zavier didn't stop walking. "Three of them?"

"Four this time," she replied, already beginning to shift. Her body flickered, bones elongating beneath her skin. Fur rippled along her arms. "Different scent this time. Faster than the last group."

"Which race?"

"Can't tell," she muttered, crouching slightly. "Could be Kin'Dari. Maybe one of the Stellar Hybrids."

Lyssira frowned. "If they're Kin'Dari, they'll try to blind us first. They use mirrors to split light and illusions."

Zavier exhaled, soft and slow. "Then let them come."

His words weren't prideful. They were final. His hand rose, and with it, a thin shimmer of draconic mana pulsed outward—quietly marking the land with presence.

I remembered when he would flinch under pressure. Now? Now he welcomed it.

Minutes passed. The air began to thicken.

And then—movement.

A ripple of golden light split open a tree, and the attackers emerged, swift and elegant.

Kin'Dari.

Their skin glistened like polished stone, their eyes slitted and pupil-less. One stood out—taller than the rest, draped in red silks woven with shimmering runes.

"The Tree named you a prospect," he hissed, stepping forward. "But that can change."

Zavier tilted his head. "Then change it."

The Kin'Dari charged.

It happened in seconds.

Freya shifted mid-leap, her body warping into a black-furred panther with wings of bone. She hit one of the flanking warriors mid-air, slamming them into the ground with a crunch of shattered ribs.

Lyssira raised both arms, singing under her breath. Ribbons of nature mana flowed around her in a spiral, vines launching from the earth to pin two others before they could blink.

The leader came for Zavier.

Their blades clashed—not metal on metal, but energy against draconic skin. Zavier didn't flinch. He moved like someone who already knew the outcome. His hands flowed into precise motions—half instinct, half memory. He wasn't just fighting anymore.

He was teaching.

"Your illusions are hollow," he said, eyes narrowing. "Your blade trembles."

"I will tear that arrogance from your corpse!"

The Kin'Dari's form split into seven duplicates—light and shadow overlapping with speed. But Zavier didn't move. He closed his eyes, took one step back, and exhaled.

The moment felt… still.

And then a pulse of silver light erupted from him like a sunburst.

All seven images shattered. The real Kin'Dari staggered, dazed—and that's when Zavier struck.

One strike.

Open palm.

No flash.

No explosion.

Just the sound of bones breaking inward and a whisper of finality.

The enemy fell.

The others fled.

The forest quieted once more.

We stood in silence again, watching Zavier lower his hand.

"…How long until the next one?" he asked quietly.

Freya shifted back into her human form, panting. "At this rate? An hour. Maybe less."

Zavier turned to the horizon, where the outline of the Tree still shimmered like a dream. It felt closer now, but also impossibly far.

"They want to test me," he said.

Lyssira stepped forward, placing her hand on his arm. "Then we survive. Together."

Zavier looked down at her, then at Freya.

A faint smile crossed his lips—barely visible, but real.

"For now," he said, "let's make sure they remember what happens when they chase a dragon."