The meat sizzled softly over the dying fire. Neil chewed methodically, not for the taste—there was little of it—but for the fuel. With every bite, he felt the change.
His fatigue, once heavy and creeping, began to lift.
Not slowly, not subtly—rapidly.
It startled him at first. As the meat settled in his stomach, a warmth began to spread outward. His limbs regained strength. His thoughts cleared. His Core stirred, pulsing stronger, more stable.
By the time the fire burned down to embers, he no longer felt tired at all.
He sat back, watching the sky shift colors with the slow crawl of day, and began to connect the dots.
He had gone months—at least in this world's time—without a single meal. No sleep. No drink. The ambient energy had kept him moving, alive, even growing stronger. But now, after this single meal, he felt more refreshed than he had in weeks.
His Core wasn't just steady—it was replenished.
"So I can recover faster by eating," he muttered aloud, eyebrows furrowing.
The realization dug deeper. Maybe the reason his progress had slowed was because he had only been absorbing thin essence from the air. Useful, yes—but diluted. Passive.
The meat, the nutrients—it offered something denser. More direct.
Food didn't replace the ambient essence. It supplemented it.
He made up his mind then and there. From now on, he'd hunt. Regularly. Not just for survival, but to fuel his growth.
The next few days, Neil put this new approach into action.
Using his sharpened but broken sword, he stalked the forests with purpose. He had no skill for traps, no time for trial and error. But he didn't need them.
He had something better.
He could feel them.
The creatures.
Living things carried energy—auras, pulses, unique rhythms. And Neil, attuned as he was now, could sense them. Subtle at first. Then clear. Once he focused, it was as if the world was mapped in patterns of pressure and presence.
He didn't hunt for challenge.
He chose only the easy kills.
Smaller animals with weak, flickering energy. Unaware. Vulnerable. He struck from cover when he could. Swift and quiet. The broken blade found necks and vitals. And when it didn't—when the prey was small enough, and the angle right—he used his fists.
Energy surged through him. Just like in the fight with the wolf.
With a single, focused strike, he shattered skulls and spines. Clean. Efficient.
Every kill was followed by fire. Cooked meat. Eaten fresh. Warmth flooded him each time, restoring what he lost in movement, in training.
He practiced with his Core constantly—drawing energy into his limbs, trying new visualizations. Control. Precision. It all became easier. More natural.
And as the days passed—another twenty day-night cycles—he felt it.
The next breakthrough.
It started in his spine—a low, vibrating ache that built over hours. Then came the deep throbs in his arms, his legs, even his ribs. As if something was shifting inside him. The pain worsened until it was sharp enough to make him drop to his knees.
He clutched his chest as his bones cracked.
Not broken—changing.
Stretching.
Compressing.
Getting denser.
His entire frame trembled as if under the weight of something immense. His joints popped, tendons pulled tight. It reminded him of growing pains from childhood—except now it was magnified, burning from the inside out. His body felt like it was trying to contain something too large for it to hold.
He bit down hard, stifling a cry, sweat pouring down his face.
The transformation didn't last long. Minutes, maybe.
But when it was over—when the pressure eased and his breathing steadied—he knew.
Something was different.
The subtle internal shift, the denser pull of essence into bone and marrow. His muscles coiled tighter. His frame felt heavier but stronger, like rebar woven into his body.
Rank 3. Bone Reinforcer.
He grinned, clenching his fists through the lingering soreness.
The world responded to his strength now. His steps were quieter, more deliberate. His jumps stretched higher. His sprints, faster.
He could move at a speed that once would've drained him in minutes—now, it was his normal pace. A long, effortless run that blurred the trees and flattened the distance.
And for the first time, the green dome…
It was closer.
Not dramatically. But enough to notice.
Enough to feel.
Like the world had finally loosened its grip, and he was gaining on something that had forever stayed out of reach.
One afternoon, after running for what might've been a hundred miles, Neil slowed by a still pond shaded by broad, flat-leaved trees. The sun reflected in calm ripples. He knelt, splashing water onto his face.
The motion broke something inside him.
A thought.
A memory.
His mother's voice. Her smile. The way she used to hum when cooking. The laughter of his younger sisters—Emma, always trying to keep up with Anna, who ran too fast for her tiny legs.
He stared into the pond.
Were they still alive?
Did they even know what had happened to him?
Would they understand if he never came back?
The air around him shifted.
His Core trembled—just slightly.
A pulse. A fluctuation.
Neil stood up sharply, turning toward the green dome, still distant but visible between the trees.
Something was there.
He felt it.
Not ambient. Not beast-like. Not random. The energy was directed, structured—like his own.
A living presence. Powerful. Controlled.
Human?
He didn't know. But it was coming from the direction he was heading.
The dome wasn't just closer now.
It was calling to him.