Kaisel jolted back to his senses.
A wave of dizziness slammed into him like a crashing tide. His knees buckled under the weight of disorientation, and he collapsed to the cold, damp earth. The soil beneath his fingers was slick with moss, soft and spongy, but it did nothing to cushion the impact of his fall. A bitter taste rose in his throat. His stomach churned violently, and without warning, he vomited, retching up the remains of his last meal onto the emerald carpet of the forest floor.
Memories—violent, raw, and not his own—flooded his mind like a dam had burst. Blood splattered across fur. Bone cracking beneath fangs. The guttural snarl of a predator stalking its prey. The wide, terrified eyes of a dying animal. And then the forest—its scent, its terror, the relentless hunger coursing through limbs that weren't his. It was all too much.
His head pounded with each heartbeat. His limbs trembled. Every inch of him felt foreign. Unfamiliar. As if someone had peeled away his skin and stitched him into another creature's body.
He spat, wiping the lingering bile from his lips with a shaking hand. His breaths came short and sharp.
That… that was the dire wolf's memory.
"What... was that thing?" he rasped, voice hoarse from nausea and confusion. He glanced around, half-expecting the forest to answer him.
But it remained silent, its only reply the rustle of wind through high branches.
Whatever that beast was, Kaisel had no desire to see it again.
"Doesn't matter," he muttered to himself, attempting to regulate his ragged breath. "As long as I don't encounter it..."
Slowly, he pushed himself upright. His legs wobbled, but they held. His body screamed in protest, aching from exertion, but he forced himself to stand.
Because despite the pain… he had survived.
He had killed it.
A dire wolf—one of the most feared predators of the Ebonvale. Injured or not, it was still a beast capable of ripping a man apart in seconds. He had come into this cursed forest to test Gluttony's power, expecting to hunt a boar or a horned stag. Something feral, yes, but manageable.
But fate—or perhaps Gluttony's will—had chosen something far more savage.
And Kaisel had lived through it.
"Lucky it was already wounded," he said, voice low and thoughtful. "If it were at full strength... I might not have made it back."
He turned toward the path back home, pushing his way through the persistent mist that blanketed the forest. The air was cold, wet, thick with the scent of moss and decaying wood. His boots sank into soft ground with each step. The ancient trees loomed around him, silent watchers cloaked in veils of fog.
But then he stopped, frozen by something strange.
The shadows weren't as dark anymore.
What had once been an impenetrable curtain of black now shimmered in silvery gradients. The moonlight pierced through the canopy in soft shafts, illuminating leaves, roots, and underbrush. Kaisel blinked, squinting—then widened his eyes in realization.
He could see. Perfectly.
"I can see in the dark..." he whispered.
It wasn't just vision.
Every sound was sharper. He could hear the wind stirring leaves on distant branches. The faint rustle of a squirrel high in the trees. The nearly imperceptible flutter of wings from an owl gliding above the canopy. Even the hum of a beetle crawling across bark reached his ears.
His skin prickled. His body felt lighter. More fluid. Balanced.
His instincts… had changed.
Gluttony had done this. This must be what it meant by "gaining traits."
He broke into a run, testing his new strength. The forest blurred around him as he sprinted between trees, weaving effortlessly through the undergrowth. He was fast—faster than he had ever been. His footfalls were silent. His breath controlled. He moved like a predator, like a creature born of the wild.
He stopped only when he reached the edge of a stream. The water was dark and cold, bubbling gently over rocks. He stared at his reflection for a long moment—mud-streaked face, crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
He didn't look like himself anymore.
---
Morning.
The first light of dawn crept through the velvet curtains of the Ravengard estate, casting pale golden rays across the chamber. The scent of aged wood, candle wax, and parchment lingered in the air. Dust motes danced lazily in the sunlight, swirling above the polished floor.
Kaisel stirred beneath heavy sheets of black and burgundy, the silken fabric rustling faintly as he shifted. The bed was enormous—almost absurdly so—draped in embroidered velvet, its canopy casting deep shadows over the intricately carved headboard.
His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the unfamiliar stillness of his room. For a moment, the memory of the dire wolf, the forest, the blood—it all surged back in a wave. But the soft comfort of the mattress and the faint warmth of dawn helped ground him in the present.
He sat up with a soft grunt, running a hand through his tangled black hair. His body ached, but it was a different sort of pain now. A dull soreness, like growing muscles learning their new form.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the cold marble floor. The fire in the hearth had gone out, but the room retained some warmth. Slowly, he stood and walked toward the tall mirror near the wardrobe.
His reflection stared back at him.
No monstrous change. No visible mutation. Just Kaisel.
His black hair was messier than usual, falling in unkempt waves across his forehead. His eyes, blood-red as always, held a faint glimmer—a quiet intensity that hadn't been there before.
Then he noticed the bruises.
A faint, purplish blotch on his right forearm—likely from the fight with the dire wolf last night. He narrowed his eyes, pulling his sleeve down to cover it.
"Nothing I can't hide," he muttered.
After dressing in a crisp white linen shirt with ruffled cuffs, a deep blue velvet waistcoat embroidered with silver thread, and tailored trousers tucked neatly into polished leather boots, he made his way to the dining hall. A soft silk cravat was tied loosely at his neck—more ceremonial than practical. The estate was quiet at this hour. Servants moved like whispers, offering respectful nods as he passed.
Breakfast was simple—buttered bread, a slice of smoked meat, and warm porridge with a touch of spice. He ate quietly, his thoughts already drifting elsewhere.
After the meal, Kaisel made his way to the library.
The Ravengard library was large . Rows upon rows of shelves stretched toward the high, vaulted ceiling, packed with tomes of every size and subject. Dust clung to the older volumes like a second skin. The air smelled of parchment and ink.
He walked the aisles slowly, fingers brushing across spines as he scanned titles. Books on beasts , Regional histories ,and Ebonvale was mentioned in several—but only in vague, cautionary tones.
Cursed land. No man's ground. Fog-born death.
There were no maps, only vague records of exploration.
....
Kaisel spent most of his days in quiet discipline—sharpening his swordsmanship under the cold stone arches of the estate's courtyard, reading through various books in the library, and wandering the shadowed chambers of the hidden underground hall. His body was growing stronger, more refined with each passing day, but his mind remained restless.
As the nights deepened, he began making attempts to return to Ebonvale. The first time, he stepped through the forest's edge cautiously, senses sharp—but the woods were silent. Not a single beast stirred, not even the faint rustle of prey in the underbrush. Fog clung low to the ground, thick and unmoving. With nothing to hunt, he returned.
The next night, he tried again. And again the night after that. Still, the forest seemed abandoned—empty, yet watching. Once, he thought about going deeper, past the familiar markers, beyond where even the mist grew thick enough to blind him. But the moment he recalled the twisted flashes of memory from the dire wolf—the blood, the terror, the thing that lurked just out of sight—he hesitated. A deep instinct clawed at him, warning him against it.
He turned back.
.....
The next morning, during breakfast, the long dining table was quieter than usual. Seated with Kaisel were his grandfather, Arthur; his younger brother, Anton; and his little sister, Nerrisa. Steam curled up from their plates as soft light filtered in through the frost-glazed windows.
Midway through the meal, Arthur set down his cup and spoke, his tone calm but firm.
"Tomorrow night, there will be a blood moon. None of you are to stay up late. Even if it doesn't affect you, take no chances."
"Yes, Grandfather," Anton and Nerrisa replied in unison, nodding obediently.
The blood moon was a rare but ominous phenomenon that occurred several times a year. On such nights, the moon turned a deep crimson, and even the Empire's strongest cities fell silent. Streets emptied. Doors were barred. Even the homeless found places to hide. It was known as the time when the veil between worlds thinned—when evil spirits, wandering ghosts, paranormal forces, and demonic beasts became more active.
Those foolish enough to be out during a blood moon were often the ones found cursed, mad, or worse—possessed.
And yet, for reasons unknown, the Ravengard family had always remained untouched by its influence.
As Arthur spoke, Kaisel said nothing—but his mind was already turning. He was planning something.
At that moment, the butler entered the dining hall and leaned in to whisper something into Arthur's ear. Arthur's expression shifted—not surprised, but grim, like someone who had expected bad news all along. He quietly wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and looked toward Kaisel.
"Kaisel, come with me after you finish your meal."
"Yes, Grandfather," Kaisel replied, puzzled. He had no idea why he was being summoned.
....
Kaisel walked beside Arthur through the winding hallways of the estate. Their footsteps echoed softly against the polished stone floor. They eventually reached the study—a richly furnished room lined with bookshelves and the scent of old leather and pipe smoke.
Inside stood the current knight captain. He was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with neatly combed brown hair and a trimmed mustache. His eyes were sharp, but there was a weariness behind them. He had taken the post after the previous captain—loyal to the Ravengards—had been killed in the ambush where Kaisel's mother lost her life.
Arthur gestured for Kaisel to take a seat on the deep-cushioned sofa while he moved behind the large oak desk.
"So… you and the others are leaving, huh," Arthur said, his voice low and heavy with meaning.
To be continued.