The rain fell like neon needles against the glass roofs of the Adventurer's Hub, turning every surface a slick mirror of the city's pulsing lights. Raiden stood just inside the entrance, the sword at his hip catching a sliver of holographic glow as if it were a trapped star. Heosh—Raiden—stood there with a quiet, stubborn breath, the kind that told you he wasn't planning to run from trouble, not anymore. His cloak clung to him, heavy with damp and memory. Ryle's memory pressed as hard as gravity: the wife he'd failed to save, the life they'd planned that would never be. That memory was a weight and a wind, both, pushing him forward.
He wore Level 1 adventurer badge he didn't want to show off, the sword as his argument with the world, and Dash Level 1 as a stubborn little spark at his heels. Phoenix boost? Not yet. He had work to do, and the system would have to wait a little longer before it shouted at him with its bright, dangerous promises.
The corridor before him sighed with the quiet hum of old data streams. A courier, lean and hurried, leaned over the counter with a weathered folder that rattled softly when it was nudged. The scent of rain, coppery and clean, drifted off the courier's breath as he spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper:
"Forest quest. Data anomaly. A prototype hidden somewhere deep in the woods. Contractors say the forest isn't just a place—it's a pressure chamber for truth and danger. You'll be on your own until you prove you're not just chasing ghosts."
Raiden's fingers brushed the hilt of his blade. A test, yes, but not a test he'd flinch from. He took the folder, flipped it open, eyes skimming the briefing:
- Objective: Investigate a data anomaly swirling through the forest data streams.
- Secondary objective: Reach the rumored prototype before it's bought or broken by corporate hands.
- Risk: High. The forest fights back, and so do those who misuse its secrets.
- Time: The forest's wards tighten with every passing hour. Move carefully, move fast.
The Hub elder, a tall, sun-worn figure named Kairo, appeared from behind a pillar, as if summoned by the rain itself. He wore a calm that felt almost ancient, his eyes holding a patient, knowing glimmer. He didn't smile so much as he let the weight of experience rest in his gaze.
"Raiden," Kairo began, as though they were already old friends meeting after a long journey. "You've set your teeth to this path before you've truly tested your bite. Forests don't forgive hesitation. They test what you think you know about courage."
Raiden met Kairo's gaze with a quiet nod. "I've learned courage isn't a roar. It's the next step you take after you've already fallen once."
Kairo turned the folder in his hands, tapping a finger against a line of glyphs that appeared on the desk's surface, like a heartbeat of light. "The data anomaly will nudge you toward the prototype, but it's the forest what will decide if you're worthy of what you seek. Remember: your memory of Ryle isn't a shield; it's fuel."
A subtle ache, sharp as a blade edge, flickered through Raiden's chest. He pressed his lips together and stepped closer to the window that looked out over the city's rain-drenched labyrinth. In this city, every victory felt like a pause before a louder storm. In the forest, the storm would be unrelenting.
The conversation with Kairo ended as abruptly as it began. The courier's folder lay in Raiden's Adventurer Quantum Watch like a map to both salvation and danger. He closed the Quantum Watch, then looked back at the room—the chatter of other adventurers, the clatter of mugs, the soft glow of screens that offered promises and risks in equal measure.
Outside, the world smelled of earth and rain, of wet pine and something electric—almost as if the forest itself breathed in your ear and whispered, This is where you prove you won't break.
The trek toward the edge of the city was a slow march, a deliberate counterpoint to the pace of the hub. Raiden walked with the rhythm of someone who had learned to let the world push him gently toward danger rather than attempting to shove it aside. His mind drifted, as minds do in the quiet moments before a storm, toward the memory of his wife. He remembered a kitchen lit by a flickering bulb, the ordinary sound of rain on a roof, and a smile he barely dared to hope for. He pressed that memory into his chest like a talisman. It wasn't about revenge, not entirely; it was about making a path that could lead him away from the edge of despair.
The forest loomed as soon as he crossed the threshold of the woods' edge. The trees were tall, the trunks thick and old, their bark scarred with the marks of countless seasons. The air smelled of moss and something sharper, like ozone, a sign of the forest's old electricity—perfect territory for the inmate lightning that slept within him, waiting for a spark to wake it.
The first encounter arrived quickly—a silhouette of a beast, dark and sinewy, its eyes two cold sparks in the dim light that filtered through the canopy. It moved with a hunter's grace, a creature formed by the forest's hunger, and it did not wait for Raiden to declare war. It lunged.
Raiden's training—meager as it was—kicked in. He backed away, not in fear but in the way you back away from something that wants to swallow you whole and still keep you breathing. He dashed once, a quick blur that bought him a breath and a moment to plant his feet. The sword arced in a practiced sweep, catching the Beast at its shoulder, drawing a hiss of anger through the air. The Beast's response was savage, a rip of claws and a low, rolling growl that seemed to shake the leaves from the branches.
The fight was brutal from the start. Raiden wasn't flailing; he was learning the teeth of the forest, how it wanted to test him and how he could push back with the weight of his blade and a dash that felt almost childlike in its simplicity but terrible in its timing. Each strike he landed felt like a trial he had to survive, each dodge a test of his nerve. The Beast wore him down with bone and sinew and the kind of raw force that felt as if it were grown from the earth itself.
He wasn't winning, not yet. He was learning how to stand up while the world pressed in. And then the moment came—the spark that wasn't simply weather.
The inmate lightning inside him flickered to life as his blade connected with the Beast's ribs, a crackle of energy that ran along the steel and into his arms. It was not a controlled, polished surge; it was something raw and dangerous, like a memory suddenly ripping free and screaming for release. The Sword hummed with a bright, unspent voltage, and Raiden felt the power rush through him—an uncontrolled current begging for a channel.
[Lightning Slash] [-50 energy]
The words formed in his mind and the system interface flashed in his eyes with their own stubborn clarity, as if the system itself had whispered them into his blood. The name wasn't a crowning achievement yet, but the idea—the form—felt clear. It would be a blade arc, a slice of electricity that could cut through the Beast if he could learn to wield it without burning himself apart.
He didn't have the luxury to practice. The Beast lunged again, this time with a ferocity that seemed to crack the air in two. Raiden raised his blade, the electric glow tracing along the runes of the weapon's edge. He snapped his wrist in a fast arc, delivering Lightning Slash in a desperate, impulsive strike. The power exploded along the arc, a crack of lightning that snapped toward the Beast and bathed the clearing in pale blue light. The Beast screamed, not just in pain but in a sound that felt almost like a warning—an acknowledgment that it had met something beyond the usual forest's threat.
The strike didn't kill the Beast, not yet. It carved a blistering gash along its flank, a line of fire and frost and wind that smelled of ozone and wet earth. The Beast reeled, smoke curling from its wound, the ground beneath it scorched. It turned, eyes widening with a fear Raiden hadn't seen in any creature since he'd grown up hearing stories about the old forest guardians. Then, as if deciding that Rabid Fury was enough for one encounter, the Beast bolted into the brush and vanished as silently as it had appeared.
Raiden stood there, chest heaving, blade still humming with residual energy, the electric aftertaste of the moment charging his blood.
[Lightning Slash - Level 1 : Covers host's blade with a surge of lightning, damages and stuns enemy]
Lightning Slash existed now—an awakening rather than a perfected art. He tasted the electricity in the air, tasted the risk of what he'd just done, and realized two things with a surprising clarity: first, the forest would not yield its secrets easily; second, he would have to learn to temper a weapon that could burn him if he wasn't careful.
The encounter shifted something within him. It wasn't a victory so much as a declaration—that the forest would push him to the edge, and if he wanted to survive and uncover the prototype, he'd have to push back with everything he had and then some. He could feel the system's quiet, patient influence—the pulse of Phoenix-level potential waiting to wake, the hint of something greater—but for now, he kept the power in check, letting it burn only enough to know it was there, like a fuse lit in a dark room.
He pressed deeper into the woods, the path uncharted and treacherous, the forest's whispers growing louder as if they had anecdotes to tell about every mistake he would make and every injury he would endure. The data anomaly still pulsed somewhere ahead, a heartbeat in the woods that didn't belong to any creature Raiden had ever met. It called to him with a cold curiosity, promising answers and threats in equal measure.
The memory of Silva gnawed at him again, not as a chain but as a wind at his back. He spoke aloud, though there was no one to hear but the trees and the rain:
"I'm not the man who will abandon you, Silva. I'm not the man who will turn away from the storm. If the forest is a test, I'll pass it—one step at a time, one strike at a time, one heartbeat at a time."
The response from the forest was a rustle of leaves, a hiss of wind, a distant, almost eager sound as if it approved or warned, perhaps both. He wasn't sure which. What mattered was that he stood ready, blade still warm with the power he'd awakened, eyes fixed on the path ahead.
A drift of memory flickered—Scene Drift, they might call it later—a moment where Silva's image appeared as if pressed onto the rain itself, laughing softly in a memory they hadn't yet earned. It was a drift, not a collapse of reality, a reminder that home existed somewhere behind the danger and beyond the forest's teeth. He noted it with a dry seriousness, tucked it away, and pressed on. He would not be distracted for long. The forest demanded his focus, demanded his growth, demanded that he become someone who could survive its trials not just once but until they ceased to be trials at all.
By the time Raiden found a stream to drink from and a narrow trail that seemed to lead toward the anomaly's pulse, the sun—what little sun the canopy allowed through—was already slipping toward the west, painting the trees in copper and steel. He checked his status, not that the screen could tell him the exact truth of his spirit, but because the habit of monitoring one's own life was a lifeline when you walked into places that wanted to swallow you whole.
He stood at the threshold of deeper woods, where the data anomaly—whatever it was—would reveal itself in its own strange way. The prototype lay somewhere beyond, guarded or hidden, or perhaps both. He could feel the night creeping closer, the forest's patience thinning, the weight of the path pressing on his shoulders.
Raiden swallowed once, feeling the weight of the road ahead settle into his bones. He wasn't sure if he'd reach Level 5 by the time he emerged from this forest, but he did know this: he had taken a step, and that step had electricity in it. Lightning Slash had become real, and with it came a responsibility to learn, to endure, and to keep moving forward, even when the world pressed in with both hands.
The night would be long. The forest would not be kind. The prototype awaited, not with a warm invitation, but with a challenge. And Raiden, stubborn and relentless, would meet that challenge with a blade that now sang with the life of a storm.
If the forest could test him, he would answer. If the data anomaly could whisper its secrets, he would listen. If the prototype waited in the shadow, he would walk toward it with the precise, dangerous hope of a man who had learned what happens when you refuse to break.
And so, under the rain-slick neon of the world beyond, Raiden pressed deeper into the forest—the first, brutal step on a road that would take him from Level 3 to the threshold of something much larger, something that might finally bring him to the truth he would not admit aloud: that to save what remains of himself, he must first become someone who can stand the storm.