Nathan took a slow breath, adjusting the strap of the pack Kaela had handed him. Inside were rations, tools, a stitched map of the surrounding region, and a simple note from Garrick that only read: "Don't die."
The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows over the valley. Grass bent beneath his boots as he walked, a steady rhythm matching the beat of his heart.
He didn't look back.
The first village he encountered was called Bellmare. It sat tucked between hills like a secret, with cobbled streets, mossy rooftops, and a river that glistened with morning light. The people there were quiet at first—watchful, wary. Nathan settled there for a couple of days, helped people out, lifting heavy things.
They offered food. Stories. Smiles.
He learned that the kingdom was not as peaceful as it once was. There were rumors of unrest. Of strange beasts beyond the southern marshes. Of nobles going missing. Of magic flaring up in unnatural ways.
That night, he sat near the village's outer wall, staring up at the sky. The stars stretched endlessly above, a reminder that this was only the beginning. That everything he'd trained for had led to this.
His fingers drifted to the thread pendant around his neck—crafted by Jynn, powered by threadstone, a symbol of the path he now walked.
He still hadn't fully unlocked its potential. But he would.
And soon.
The next morning, Nathan departed again, heading east toward the main city of Aramore. It was said to be the heart of commerce, culture—and guidance.
But Bandits struck two days later.
Six men. Blades drawn. Demanding gold.
Nathan didn't hesitate.
A flicker of light shimmered around his knuckles as he channeled Nova. The leader lunged. Nathan sidestepped, grabbed the man's wrist, and shattered it with a twist. The others fled before the fight even began.
He didn't pursue them.
He wasn't here to impress anyone.
He was here to grow.
By the fifth day, the land grew rockier. Trees thinned. Mountains reappeared on the horizon—low and scattered, like broken teeth.
Nathan found a cave to rest in, but as he started a fire, he felt it—something tugging at his threads.
Danger.
He stood slowly. Eyes sharp.
From the darkness, a creature stepped into the firelight.
It had no eyes. No mouth. Just a swirling void in its center, pulsing with magic.
Nathan's breath hitched. He didn't recognize it.
The system in his head chimed:
"New Entity Detected: "???"
Threat Level: ???
Warning: Unknown Origin.
Proceed with Caution."
He tightened his gloves. The ones forged from ancient threadstone.
"I've been waiting for something like you," he muttered.
The fight began not with a roar—but silence.
________________________________________________________________________________
He should've waited.
He should've studied the terrain, prepared, maybe even warned someone.
But four years of victory had carved a dangerous thought into his mind:
I can handle this.
His cloak barely rustled as he leapt across rooftops and scaled the outer wall. From there, it was a silent sprint across the blackened earth, each step guided by Threadsense. No alarms. No backup. Just him and the target.
The Scar was wide, deeper than he'd imagined. He descended slowly, slipping between broken stone pillars and twisted roots. The further he went, the more his instincts screamed.
Still, he pressed on.
He spotted it. A massive beast, almost feline in posture, but far too large. Its body was layered in charred bone and thick muscle, and its maw dripped with acidic drool. Dozens of eyes blinked across its shoulders and flanks.
Nathan smirked. "Perfect."
He struck first—threads swirling around his arms, condensing into hardened Nova-blades. He dropped from above, aiming to drive them into the monster's spine.
His blades hit.
The monster didn't flinch.
Instead, the creature surged with dark energy, releasing a wave of force that knocked him mid-air. Nathan landed hard, rolling into shattered stone. Before he could recover, the monster moved—faster than anything its size should be. A claw the size of a wagon swiped through the ground and clipped his shoulder.
Pain exploded in his chest. The impact sent him flying into a wall of jagged obsidian.
He coughed, blood trailing down his lip.
No time.
He rose, gloves flickering with unstable energy. Nova surged through his veins, and he called out his newest ability:
"Threadflare."
A burst of radiant light erupted around him, searing through the darkness and sending the beast staggering back. Nathan followed, fists crackling with elemental force—fire and wind swirling into an inferno with each punch. A devastating combo that could tear through solid rock.
But he was sloppy.
In the heat of battle, he overcommitted—one step too deep into his attack pattern. The beast recovered, and this time, it bit down.
Nathan screamed as razor teeth clamped onto his leg, crushing armor and flesh. He lashed out, blasting its mouth with flame, but it held firm, slamming him into the ground like a ragdoll.
Pain flared through his entire body. His bones felt like glass—shattered, splintered. He tried to move, but nothing responded. His limbs were dead weight, his vision fading at the edges.
Was this it?
Was this really how he died?
Alone. Beaten. A mistake born of arrogance.
But—
A column of light dropped from the sky, slamming into the beast with divine force. A wall of golden energy crashed into the creature's chest, sending it hurtling across the crater.
Nathan blinked.
Figures in pristine white and gold armor descended from the cliffs above. Their movements were graceful, controlled—magic radiating from every step. Kaela mentioned this before.
The Holy Order.
"Get him out!" one shouted. A healer slid beside Nathan, hands glowing blue.
"You really thought charging into a Scarspawn den alone was smart?" she muttered as light closed his wounds.
Nathan groaned. "Wasn't trying to be smart…"
She raised a brow. "Clearly."
Two more paladins helped him up as holy magic surged across the battlefield. The monster shrieked—cornered now, surrounded by light and flame that it couldn't devour.
Nathan watched, helpless, as the Order tore through the beast with discipline and precision. His pride burned more than his wounds.
The fight ended in less than five minutes.
He couldn't even finish what he started.