As the Ironhide Boar thrashed in the pit, Kale wasted no time. He lunged forward before it could recover, his heart pounding like war drums in his chest. The Ocean pulsed within him, threads of golden light flickering at the edge of his vision, guiding his hands to the right tools and the best moment to strike. It showed him where to hit—low on the body, where the fur was thinner and the flesh softer.
He drove the sharpened spear down hard, piercing deep. The boar let out a guttural bellow, its powerful limbs twitching once—twice—before collapsing under the weight of the trap and its own injuries. Its eyes stared blankly at the sky, steam rising from the fresh blood spilled onto the forest floor.
Kale stood over it, panting, hands trembling—not from fear, but from exhaustion and adrenaline. He had done it.
For the first time in weeks, he hadn't just survived—he had won. The meat alone would last him days. The thick fur promised warmth against the coming winter chill. And if he cut away the best cuts and sold them in town? That meant coins. Real ones. Enough to buy more than bread or milk this time.
With a grunt, he set to work dragging the beast through the trees. It was heavy, far heavier than he expected, but the Ocean didn't leave him hanging. Golden threads shimmered faintly ahead, weaving a path that avoided thorns, pitfalls, and unstable ground. They guided him toward a nearby river, winding and clear, perfect for washing off the blood and preparing the carcass.
Kale whistled softly as he trudged forward, the sound uneven but filled with genuine happiness. He couldn't remember the last time he'd caught something this big. His stomach growled in anticipation.
At the riverbank, he got to work. With practiced hands, he skinned the boar, separating the thick pelt from flesh. He wrapped the meat in large leaves to keep flies away and bundled the hide carefully—some he would use for himself, some he might trade for supplies.
By the time he reached his shack, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. Shadows stretched long across the clearing as he dropped the bundle on the ground with a tired sigh. He leaned back against the wooden frame of his home, catching his breath before turning to what mattered most—food.
But then he paused.
He suddenly remembered something else. Not seasoning—but flavor. If he could find the right herbs and berries, this wouldn't just be food. It would be a feast.
Pushing himself up despite the ache in his arms, Kale scavenged nearby bushes and undergrowth, following golden threads that led him to small red fruits hidden beneath thick leaves and bundles of wild herbs curling near tree roots. He gathered what he could, bringing it all back to his shack.
Inside, he built a fire using flint and dry bark, watching the flames crackle to life. He skewered the meat and roasted it slowly, letting the scent fill the space around him. The berries were mashed slightly and mixed with crushed herbs, adding depth and richness to the meal.
As he ate, savoring each bite, warmth spread through him—not just from the fire, but from a rare sense of accomplishment.
This wasn't just survival.
It was progress.