Kael awoke to something tickling his nose. He opened his eyes—and froze.
A tiny, fluffy creature perched on his chest, its round, black face just inches from his. Snow-white fur covered its body like a cloud, except for its little pink hands and feet, which kneaded curiously at his shirt. Four enormous golden eyes blinked up at him, each one shimmering with childlike wonder. It tilted its head—way too far—until its neck made a soft pop, and then it chirped, a sound like wind chimes and rustling leaves.
Kael didn't move.
The creature's four tiny hands patted his chest, as if checking if he was real. Then, with a sudden gasp, it twisted its entire head backward—180 degrees—toward a distant call in the forest. Kael's stomach lurched. The thing's body stayed perfectly still while its face watched the trees behind it, its twin tails swishing playfully.
Then—snap—it looked back at him and squeaked, a sound so high-pitched it made his ears ring. In a flash, its fur shifted from white to mottled greens and browns, blending seamlessly into the forest. With a gleeful wiggle, it somersaulted off him, bouncing from branch to branch like a living rubber ball before vanishing into the canopy.
Kael sat up slowly, exhaling through his nose.
"Eva, I thought you masked me from detection."
"I have," the artifact murmured, its voice like distant wind chimes. "That creature... sees differently."
Kael's lips curled. So much for an all-powerful artifact. He filed the encounter away—another variable to consider. If it returned, he'd be ready.
By the time his boots touched the forest floor, his mind was already fixed on the hunt.
The deer would come to the river by noon. He had calculated their patterns, memorized their movements. Every step was deliberate, every action purposeful. He dug the pit with mechanical efficiency, the flat stone in his hands a crude but effective tool. Three meters deep. Rugged stones lining the bottom. Not enough to kill a mana beast—just enough to cripple.
He wove the camouflage with meticulous care, layering twigs and leaves until the ground betrayed no hint of the trap beneath. The bait—a cluster of mushrooms and berries—dangled just above, a temptation too ripe to ignore.
Then, he waited.
The herd arrived like clockwork. Their leader, a massive stag with emerald veins pulsing beneath its hide, scanned the clearing with wary precision. Kael remained still, his breathing shallow, his presence erased.
Then—there. A doe's ears twitched. Its nostrils flared. One cautious step, then another, until it stood at the pit's edge. It backed up, hooves glowing faintly with gathered mana.
Kael's fingers flexed. Now.
The doe surged forward—and the ground gave way. A sickening crunch echoed as it hit the stones below. The herd erupted into panicked cries, but Kael's focus never wavered. He observed, detached, as the stag leaped into the pit, heaving its injured kin onto the grass.
The doe was broken. Its legs bent at unnatural angles, one eye swollen shut, blood matting its fur. It thrashed, bleating in desperate, guttural cries as the herd milled in distress. But nature was cruel, and survival was pragmatic. One by one, the deer turned away, abandoning their wounded.
Only then did Kael emerge.
The doe's remaining eye locked onto him, its breath ragged, its body trembling. Kael tilted his head, studying it the way a scholar might examine a specimen. No pity. No hesitation. Just cold assessment.
He drew the sharpened antler from his belt, testing its edge with his thumb.
A smile touched his lips—not cruel, not kind. Simply satisfied.
First blood.