THE AETHERBORN

Thorne lay flat on the forest floor, his chest rising and falling slowly as he stared up at the patch of sky visible through the canopy. The high-pitched squeals of the dying boar gradually faded, leaving the forest unnervingly quiet. His body was screaming in pain, his muscles weak and trembling, but despite it all, a grin slowly spread across his dirt-streaked face.

He’d done it. He had gained a new skill and—finally—leveled up.

His limbs felt like dead weight, his stamina drained to its lowest point ever. Each breath felt like a struggle, the ache in his side reminding him just how close he’d come to failing. Yet that stinging pain only solidified the satisfaction blooming in his chest. The cost of victory was high, but the reward? Worth every agonizing second.

As he blinked up at the sky, familiar glowing letters appeared in his vision:

Congratulations! You have leveled up!

You have reached level 12!

You have 15 points to distribute.

Thorne couldn't suppress the pride swelling in his chest. Level 12. It had taken him over a year to reach this point. The weight of that achievement pressed down on him even as his body throbbed with exhaustion. His ragged breaths were punctuated by short bursts of laughter—partly from relief, partly from disbelief.

The numbers and symbols from his status page flashed through his mind like old friends, the 15 unassigned points a reminder that he was stronger than he’d been just moments before. But the dull throb in his side dragged him back to the present. His elation was cut short by the sharp sting of his wound, blood still oozing through his fingers. His smile faded as reality settled in.

Tend to the wound first, think later.

Gritting his teeth, Thorne forced himself to sit up, groaning as the movement sent sharp pain rippling through his injured side. He looked down at the gash where the boar's tusk had ripped into him, the sticky warmth of his blood seeping between his fingers. Damn it, he cursed under his breath. He couldn’t afford to sit here bleeding out after all that.

With shaky hands, he tore a strip of fabric from his already ruined shirt and pressed it firmly against the wound, gritting his teeth as pain shot through his body. His vision swam for a moment, but he forced himself to stay alert. He wasn’t out of the woods yet—literally or figuratively.

He needed herbs to treat the injury, but the forest around him was still and unhelpful. The vibrant energy that had hummed through the trees moments earlier now felt distant, indifferent. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar landscape, the golden-hued leaves and red vines painting an otherworldly scene, but nothing nearby would ease his pain.

Focus, Thorne.

He leaned back against the rough bark of a nearby tree, his head spinning. The boar. Its use of aether had been a game-changer, opening a door to a new level of power Thorne hadn't realized he could reach. The way it had manipulated the aether, pulling the red and gray motes together to ignite embers, fascinated him. He had managed to mimic it, somehow. He had figured out how to force the aether into an attack.

That thought alone was enough to reignite his curiosity, but the burning pain in his side refused to let him indulge in that excitement. He wanted to explore this new ability, but his body was screaming for rest.

He let out a slow, measured breath, his muscles relaxing for the first time since the battle began. His eyelids fluttered, heavy with fatigue, but his mind kept replaying the fight. He had done more than just survive—he had won. And the fact that he had unlocked Aether Burst was proof that he was capable of more than he’d ever imagined.

But for now, that would have to wait.

After what felt like an eternity of resting, Thorne forced himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. Every movement was an uphill battle, but he needed to inspect the boar he had slain. Limping over to the carcass, he couldn’t help but stare at the damage his new skill had wrought. Half of the boar’s body looked as though it had been fed through a grinder—flesh mangled, bones jutting out at strange angles, and blood pooling in the dirt around the beast.

A frown tugged at Thorne’s face as he noticed something odd about the bones. They weren’t just broken or cracked—they gleamed with an unusual color, almost glowing under his aether sight. What is this?

The bones were teeming with aether, more than anything he’d encountered before. His tired curiosity got the better of him. Ignoring his exhaustion, he crouched down to cut into the beast's remains for a closer look.

It was harder than expected. The boar’s hide, even in death, resisted his blade with stubborn toughness, and the muscles underneath were like iron. Thorne’s arm shook from the effort, his already taxed muscles screaming in protest, but he pressed on. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he exposed more of the ribcage. The bones beneath were unlike anything he’d seen before—faintly glowing, infused with magic. He wasn’t sure what they were, but he knew they had value.

Snapping two of the thinner ribs off, he fell back against a tree, clutching his prize. The magical bones felt warm in his hands, like they were pulsing with some kind of latent energy. These could be useful... later. For now, all he could do was focus on staying conscious as the bone-deep exhaustion dragged him down.

*

Thorne was jolted awake by the unmistakable sound of heavy hooves pounding the earth. His heart instantly leaped into his throat, and for a second, he was transported back to a nightmare. The clamor of armored men, the screams of his family, the crimson dawn. His breath quickened. But when his eyes fluttered open, the forest greeted him instead of the horrors of his past.

Relief flooded through him for a brief moment, only to be replaced by creeping dread. The heavy hoofbeats weren’t just in his dreams—they were real. His blood ran cold as he realized what had woken him. Four massive boars stood in the clearing, their snouts buried in the remains of the one he had killed. Their grotesque feast filled the air with wet, sloshing sounds that turned his stomach. But that wasn’t the worst part.

The boar he had killed was just a youngling.

Before him now stood a monstrous matriarch—three times his size—with three towering piglets beside her. The size alone was enough to make Thorne’s breath hitch, but what made his skin crawl was the thick black smoke curling out of the mother’s nostrils. More aether beasts.

For a moment, Thorne was paralyzed by indecision. His instincts screamed to fight, but one look at the matriarch’s hulking form, and the burning pain in his side told him that he’d be lucky to survive this encounter. His Escape Artist skill flared to life, giving him glimpses of possible escape routes. Yet, each one seemed more dangerous than the last, and the boars blocked the easiest way out of the clearing.

The matriarch’s dark, beady eyes locked onto him with deadly intent. She snorted, pawing at the ground with enough force to send dirt flying into the air. Her piglets mirrored her aggression, their squeals a high-pitched echo of the danger closing in.

Think, Thorne. Move or die.

Fighting wasn’t an option, not this time. Not with his body barely holding together after the last battle. Thorne’s heart raced as the mother boar snorted again, clearly getting ready to charge. He needed to move now.

With a quick breath, Thorne grabbed the magical rib bones, shoving them inside his shirt. His knife was already in his hand, though he knew it would be useless against such massive beasts. His muscles screamed in protest as he took off toward the nearest tree, every ounce of his remaining strength focused on escape.

Behind him, the matriarch bellowed in fury. The sound was deafening, and her piglets squealed in unison, charging after him. Thorne’s heart thundered in his chest as he sprinted through the forest, weaving between trees and leaping over roots with everything he had left. His vision narrowed into a tunnel of focus—his only goal was survival.

The first piglet charged at Thorne, its tusks gleaming in the fading light. Without thinking, he swung his knife, the blade connecting with the boar’s snout in a vicious arc. The piglet let out a shrill squeal, recoiling in pain. Thorne didn’t pause to see if it would recover—his body was already in motion, pushing forward through the underbrush as the world around him became a blur of leaves and shadows.

Behind him, the ground rumbled with the furious advance of the matriarch, her snorts vibrating through the air like a war drum. Thorne’s heart pounded in rhythm with her approach. He knew he couldn’t outrun her forever. His Escape Artist skill kicked in, flashing a desperate route into his mind: a dense thicket, thick enough to slow the monstrous boar. It wasn’t much, but it was his only option.

Without a second thought, Thorne veered off the faint path and hurled himself into the brambles. Branches lashed at his face and arms, thorns tearing at his skin, but he forced himself deeper, ignoring the sting. The sounds of the boars behind him grew muffled, fainter. He pushed through, emerging on the other side of the thicket, gasping for breath, clutching at his wounded side. Every breath was agony.

His lungs burned, his vision swam. I can’t keep going like this. He scanned his surroundings with frantic eyes, and there it was—a hollowed-out tree trunk, half-buried in the earth. Not a perfect hiding spot, but it was all he had.

Thorne didn’t hesitate. He scrambled toward the tree and slipped inside, curling his body into the cramped space. The rough wood pressed against his back, the dark interior filled with the scent of rot. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them tight to his chest, and focused on slowing his ragged breathing. Each gasp of air sent a wave of pain through his body, but he forced himself to remain still.

The forest fell silent.

Too quiet.

Then the snuffling began—low, guttural sounds as the boars searched for him. His muscles tensed. Thorne barely dared to breathe as the matriarch’s grunting grew louder, more determined. He could hear the crunch of leaves and the snapping of twigs under her weight. The sound of her breath, thick and menacing, drew closer. Thorne’s heart raced, each beat loud in his ears.

The minutes dragged on, stretched taut with fear. The boars continued to search, their movements deliberate, as if they could sense he was near but couldn’t quite pinpoint his location. Maybe they’ll give up. For a moment, hope flickered in his chest.

Then, with a sharp snort, the matriarch stopped directly in front of the hollow trunk. Thorne’s stomach dropped. She had found him. He could hear the massive beast sniffing the air, her tusks scraping the bark. Damn it!

The tree trunk exploded as the boar rammed her tusks into the wood, sending shards flying. Splinters rained down on Thorne, piercing his skin as he tried to shield himself. The trunk groaned under the force of the attack, cracking, splintering. Another hit, and she’d tear the whole thing apart.

Thorne had no choice. Now or never.

With his last reserves of strength, Thorne reached out with his mind, focusing on the swirling motes of aether around him. He felt the familiar pull of exhaustion in his bones, but there was no time for hesitation. The matriarch lunged again, her tusks aimed to finish him off. Thorne willed the motes to converge, forcing them into the same collision he had managed before.

The aether burst erupted in a flash of color. Motes collided violently, exploding into a phantom force that slammed into the boar just as it charged. The matriarch let out a deafening squeal of surprise as the invisible force struck her broadside, lifting her off her feet and sending her crashing into the underbrush with a bone-jarring thud.

Thorne’s chest heaved, his vision blurring from the effort. As the dust settled, glowing words blinked across his field of vision:

Skill Level Up: Primal Aether Manipulation!

Skill Level Up: Aether Burst!

The victory felt hollow, though. Every muscle in his body screamed with fatigue, his limbs heavy as if weighted down by stone. The exhilaration of unlocking new abilities was dimmed by the crushing exhaustion that had taken over. His body felt like lead, and his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

He crawled out of the shattered remains of the tree, his side burning with each movement. The world spun around him, the forest blurring as his strength waned. He knew he couldn’t stay here—more predators could be drawn by the scent of blood, or the other boars could return. He had to move.

Thorne dragged himself forward, each inch gained a monumental effort. The trees seemed to close in around him, their shadows stretching long in the dim light. The ground beneath him felt soft, and he struggled to keep his eyes open, his mind clouding with fatigue. But he forced himself onward, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the clearing where the boars had hunted him.

Survive. Just survive.

With every step, Thorne felt his strength slipping away, but he refused to stop.

He staggered through the darkening forest, each step a battle against the exhaustion gnawing at him from the inside out. His limbs felt leaden, muscles trembling violently from the overuse of aether. Every breath seemed heavier than the last, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. He knew in his bones that he couldn’t survive another encounter. The forest, with its shifting colors of red, gold, and brown, had become a nightmarish blur around him.

His mind teetered on the edge of collapse, replaying the last moments of his battle with the boar. The rush of adrenaline had long since faded, leaving only pain and weakness in its wake. His side throbbed from the wound, every pulse of blood a sharp reminder of how close he had come to death.

Each sound—branches creaking, leaves rustling—made him flinch, his body reacting in terror, his senses hyperaware and on edge. But it was his Escape Artist skill that kept him upright, leveling up twice as he forced his battered body through the uneven terrain. The skill’s whispers guided him through the trees, steering him away from hidden roots and rocky outcrops that might send him sprawling to the ground.

Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his feet faltered. He stumbled frequently, catching himself on tree trunks or collapsing to his knees in the dirt. More than once, he had to claw his way back up, his vision blurring as the world spun violently. Every time he forced himself back to his feet, the forest around him seemed darker, more oppressive, as if it were actively trying to swallow him whole.

Time had become meaningless. Thorne had no idea how long he had been walking or how far he had traveled. The forest stretched out endlessly before him, a maze of shadows and towering trees. The once-vibrant hues of autumn leaves had bled together into a dizzying swirl of indistinct color. His world had shrunk to a single, desperate goal: get back to the city.

And then, through the murk of the fading light, he saw them. The city walls loomed in the distance, towering over the horizon, silhouetted against the twilight. Relief surged through him, brief and fleeting, replaced by the desperation to reach safety. His legs carried him toward the gates, but each step was more agonizing than the last. The pain in his side flared, and his vision tunneled, narrowing to the distant walls.

He stumbled through the city gates, barely conscious of the few people still lingering in the streets. The world around him was a blur, familiar faces and places swirling together in an indistinct haze. Voices drifted in and out of focus, but none registered. He didn’t have the strength to care. His body moved on instinct, navigating the twisting alleys and winding streets that led to his attic.

But it was too much. Thorne's legs finally gave out beneath him, his body crumpling to the cold stone of the street. He barely registered the impact, his cheek pressed against the rough ground, the chill seeping into his bones. This is it, he thought, his mind sinking into the darkness that threatened to overtake him. His vision dimmed, and he let the cold, numbing blackness pull him under.

When Thorne finally opened his eyes, the world swam back into focus, blurry at the edges. The stone beneath him was cold and unforgiving, but now there were faces hovering above him. The first was familiar, concerned, relief softening their features. The second face, though, was hard, their eyes sharp and filled with disapproval.

Thorne tried to speak, but his throat was dry and cracked, and only a hoarse croak came out. His mind fought to make sense of where he was and how much time had passed, but the effort only deepened the fog in his head. The faces stayed where they were, one kind and patient, the other stern and unyielding, watching him as he struggled to comprehend what had happened.