THE AETHERBORN

Thorne moved cautiously through the dense forest that bordered Caledris and the neighboring Elven kingdoms. Dawn had barely broken when he slipped out of the western gate, unnoticed, blending into the morning mist. His mission was singular and clear: he needed to gain experience, and the only way to do that was to hunt. His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his dagger, ready to find aether beasts.

The trail leading into the forest was barely more than a forgotten path, overgrown and neglected. Since there was no trade between Caledris and the Elven lands, the road had fallen into disrepair, swallowed by time and nature. As he pressed forward, the path became indistinguishable from the rest of the forest floor, forcing him to rely more on his instincts and tracking skill than any visible markers.

The deeper he ventured, the more the atmosphere seemed to change. The air became thicker, heavier with the weight of untold centuries. There was an ancient presence here, one that seemed to watch him from the shadows, lurking just beyond sight. Thorne couldn't shake the feeling that the forest was alive, aware of his every step. A shiver crawled up his spine, but he pressed on, his senses sharpening with each passing moment.

Around him, the forest was awash in hues of red, yellow, and gold, as though trapped in a perpetual autumn. Trees stretched high, their bark a deep, rusted crimson, while vines of blood-red spiraled up their trunks, wrapping them like tendrils. The ground was thick with golden leaves, forming a soft carpet underfoot. It was beautiful, but unnerving—a landscape straight out of a forgotten legend.

Thorne paused, letting his vision blur slightly as he activated his connection to the aether. The motes appeared before him, dancing in the air like sparks from a fire. They mimicked the forest’s vibrant colors, shifting from yellows to reds and browns, blending effortlessly with the environment. For a brief moment, he was mesmerized, watching the motes swirl like living embers in the soft breeze, their movements hypnotic.

He shook off the momentary distraction and continued deeper into the forest, his ears attuned to every rustle, every distant cry of unseen creatures. The further he went, the more the light above seemed to fade, swallowed by the dense canopy. Shadows grew longer, darker, and the forest floor became softer, the thick undergrowth muffling his footsteps.

His hand never strayed far from his dagger. He had heard enough stories about the elven forest to know that it was as dangerous as it was beautiful. Legends spoke of ancient magic still lingering in these woods, a remnant of a time when elves had ruled the land. Now, it was a place of forgotten power and hidden perils, a border between two worlds.

Soon, Thorne stumbled upon a small clearing, where the trees parted just enough to let a single shaft of sunlight pierce the gloom. In the center stood an ancient tree, towering and majestic, its bark a dark, blood-red hue. Its branches reached skyward, adorned with fiery leaves that glowed like molten gold in the sunlight. The aether motes swirled around it in a mesmerizing dance, their colors more vivid than anywhere else in the forest.

For a moment, Thorne was captivated by the sight. The tree was unlike anything he had ever seen, exuding an aura of ancient power. He could feel the magic thrumming through the air, more concentrated here than anywhere else. He took a step closer, his eyes tracing the intricate patterns in the bark, the way the light played off the vibrant leaves. It was as if the tree was alive, a guardian of the forest’s secrets.

But his sense of purpose quickly returned. He wasn’t here to admire the scenery—he needed to gain experience. He reluctantly tore his gaze from the tree and pushed deeper into the forest, his eyes scanning for signs of movement.

As he walked, his tracking skill flared to life, guiding him. His sharp eyes caught the faint imprint of hoof tracks in the soft earth, leading further into the woods. His heart quickened. The tracks were fresh—he was close.

Impatience fueled his steps as he followed the trail, the forest growing denser around him. His excitement turned to fear when the tracks led him to a clearing where a massive beast was lying in wait.

In the center of the clearing stood a massive boar, its tusks long and wickedly sharp, its maroon coat matted with blood. The beast loomed as tall as Thorne, its maw still dripping red from the half-devoured remains of a deer beneath it. Thorne barely stopped in time to avoid running headlong into the beast.

He froze. The boar snorted, sending out plumes of thick black smoke that curled ominously from its nostrils. Worse still, its eyes—burning with unnatural rage—locked onto him.

Thorne’s body screamed for him to flee, his Escape Artist skill flaring to life, showing him every possible route to safety. But it was too late. The boar snorted again, and with that infernal smoke billowing from its nostrils, it turned to face him, pawing the ground.

Thorne's initial fear threatened to paralyze him, but he knew he had to act. His heart pounded so hard in his chest it felt like it might break free. Slowly, he backed away, trying to keep his movements calm and measured. The boar snorted again, pawing at the ground as if preparing to charge. Thorne's mind raced for a solution, any way to escape this nightmare.

Taking a deep breath, Thorne remembered his training. He had faced Sid every night for the past month, and he was way more terrifying than this boar. He could do this. His grip tightened on his dagger, his body ready to react to the slightest movement from the boar.

As the boar took a step forward, Thorne’s instincts kicked in.

His heart pounded in his chest, but he tightened his grip on his dagger, knowing he had no choice but to fight. With his dagger skill already at level 11, he had some ingrained knowledge of how to better use his knife, but he knew that a knife was not the best weapon against the tough hide of the boar.

Its hooves pounded against the earth like thunder, the beast barreling toward him with terrifying speed. Thorne’s instincts took over, and he rolled to the side, barely evading the razor-sharp tusks. As the boar thundered past, Thorne lashed out, his dagger slicing across its flank. The blade barely made a mark, leaving only a shallow wound.

The boar bellowed in fury, skidding to a halt before turning to face him once more, more enraged than ever.

Thorne’s mind raced. He needed a strategy. The boar's hide was too tough for his dagger to do significant damage. He had to aim for its weaker points. But before he could think further, the boar charged again. This time, Thorne was ready. He ducked and rolled, managing to score another hit on its side, but the wounds were still superficial.

The boar grew more enraged with each passing moment, its eyes burning with fury. Thorne could see the madness in its gaze, and he realized this fight wouldn't be as easy as he had thought. The beast was relentless, its thick hide protecting it from his attacks.

Then, as the boar pawed the ground for another charge, Thorne’s eyes locked onto its face. The eyes, he thought. They were vulnerable, unprotected by the beast's thick hide. It was a risky move, but he had no choice.

The boar lunged forward, and this time, Thorne didn’t just dodge. He twisted, thrusting his dagger upward in a desperate move, aiming for the beast's eye. The blade sank into flesh, and the boar let out a deafening squeal of pain as blood sprayed from the wound.

It reared back, blinded in one eye, the boar thrashed wildly, its rage reaching new heights. Thorne knew he had to be even more careful now. The beast was unpredictable, and its fury made it even more dangerous.

The boar charged again, and this time it did something unexpected. Mid-charge, it huffed, releasing thick black smoke from its nostrils like a chimney. Along with the smoke, Thorne saw small embers flying toward him. He barely had time to react before the embers singed his clothes, tiny flames catching on the fabric.

Panicked, Thorne patted down his smoking clothes, his focus momentarily diverted. In his haste, he grew careless, and the boar took advantage. With a sudden, powerful lunge, it rammed into him, its tusk scoring a deep wound along his side. Thorne cried out in pain, stumbling backward and clutching his side.

Blood seeped through his fingers, warm and slick, as he tried to regain his composure. The pain was blinding, but he couldn't afford to falter now. The boar, sensing its advantage, snorted and pawed at the ground, preparing for another attack.

Thorne’s vision blurred for a moment, but he forced himself to stay alert. He had to think fast. He checked his status and to his dismay the single wound had halved his heath points in half, leaving him with 180/360 hp. His stamina wasn’t any better, the fight had dragged on longer than he had expected and his stamina had fallen to 200/320.

The beast was relentless, but he had wounded it. He could use that to his advantage. Summoning his remaining strength, he readied his dagger, determined to end this fight.

Thorne’s mind screamed for a plan, something to give him an edge. As he watched the boar getting ready to charge once again, with blood matting the fur on its face, he noticed the smoke coming from its nostrils thickening. And then it struck him. The black smoke—the embers—the boar was using aether.

Of course, he thought, the realization hitting him like a bolt of lightning.

Like a jolt of lightning, Thorne realized that the boar was using aether! He had been so focused on survival, on the physical battle, that he had completely overlooked the obvious. This wasn’t just any beast. It was channeling magic.

It was so obvious, and yet he hadn't thought of it. For a moment, his pain was forgotten as curiosity took over. He stalled, waiting to see how the aether reacted. He let his aether control free, trying to figure out how the boar used the aether.

When the boar finally charged, it was noticeably slower. As it approached Thorne, it unleashed its attack. Smoke and small embers flew out of its nostrils, but Thorne barely noticed them. His focus was on the small colorful motes. He saw motes of different colors explode out of the beast, like a small hurricane. Red and orange motes with a sprinkling of gray came together forcefully. For a moment, the display brought to his mind his favorite game; they looked like marbles that knocked together in chaotic, mesmerizing patterns.

To his surprise, the motes exploded, leaving only shimmering energy in their place that in turn transformed into small embers. Thorne barely had the presence of mind to jump to the side at the very last moment to avoid the attack just as the embers flew past, grazing his skin. Still on the ground, he couldn't help but smile triumphantly at the boar. He had found a new way to use the aether!

As the boar turned around, huffing from exhaustion, Thorne concentrated on the aether around him. To his dismay, he realized it wouldn't be as easy as he had thought. The air was thick with ambient aether, motes of every imaginable color swirling around him in a dizzying array. The boar had only used red, orange, and gray in its attack. He realized that was because it hadn't used the ambient aether but the one it possessed in its core.

His heart pounded harder, I need to figure this out, he thought, as he saw the boar come dangerously close. He gritted his teeth in frustration and tried to separate the different colors. He didn't have enough time, however, and at the last moment, he tried to replicate the process he had witnessed.

He directed the different motes to collide with each other, not caring if there were more colors than he had seen the boar use. He jumped to the side, falling on the rough ground and skinning his knee. As he stood up once again, he realized the boar was unharmed as it tried to stop its momentum and turn around.

His second attempt was equally ineffective. As was his third and fourth. Frustration flared inside him. Why isn't it working?

Thorne was huffing and puffing just as violently as the boar. Thankfully, the boar seemed to be out of aether and couldn't use its magical attack again. Thorne was getting exhausted though, his stamina plummeting to double digits as the battle continued. His body was trembling from the effort, his heart racing to keep up with his demands as he focused once more on the aether.

He had to try again.

The boar was charging towards him, stumbling really. Thorne tried to separate the different motes, but at that point, his mind was barely able to keep up with the strain. With one last desperate effort, he grabbed as many motes as he could. Before he could do anything further, the boar was upon him. Thorne jumped, but not before he willed every single mote he held to come together.

His heart stopped when he turned midair and saw something incredible.

The motes exploded.

Not in the same way as before—this time, they burst with power. The air shimmered violently, and with a sudden blast, an invisible force slammed into the boar’s side. The beast let out a startled squeal, its massive body launched off the ground like a ragdoll. It hit the forest floor with a bone-jarring crash.

Thorne, still panting, blinked in disbelief. His chest heaved, and his muscles screamed in protest, but he couldn’t look away from the crumpled form of the boar lying motionless in the dirt. Did I just do that?

His vision blurred as glowing letters appeared in front of him.

Congratulations! You Have Unlocked the Skill:

AETHER BURST!

Thorne’s heart soared despite the pain coursing through his body. Aether Burst—he’d done it. He had figured out how to turn the aether into a weapon. His body ached, and his side burned from where the boar had gouged him, but a deep sense of triumph flooded his chest. He had discovered something new.