The sun rose over the frontier in pale streaks of gold, washing the settlement in light that felt colder than it looked. Moss fastened the harness on his chocobo, Bran, giving the bird's neck a firm pat. The creature cooed softly, feathers ruffling with anticipation. Behind him, Dole checked their gear—rations, water, aether lanterns—while Cid adjusted the straps of his tool belt and muttered about mineral readings and map sketches.
Rosa joined them, her white mage robes bound tight at the waist to allow freer movement. She carried her staff with an ease that hinted at experience, her tone brisk as she gave a last reminder. "We don't know what's out there yet. The healers will stay close, and if anything feels off, we regroup. No heroics."
Dole grinned. "We'll behave. Mostly."
Serra appeared next, walking briskly with her satchel of alchemical tools. From it, she drew out a faintly humming crystal—its surface pulsing with soft, shifting hues. "Take this," she said, handing it to Moss. "It's still a prototype. It can hold small traces of aether for a short time, but it leaks energy. Keep it near when a beast falls, and we might learn something."
Moss turned it over in his hand. "You think it'll collect what escapes?"
"That's the idea," Serra replied, tucking her hair behind one ear. "The aether here isn't the same as inside the Empire's veil. It doesn't settle—it moves, wild and unstable. This might slow the loss."
Rosa frowned. "Just make sure it doesn't explode."
"Only a small chance of that," Serra said, smiling faintly before leaving to brief the next group.
The hunting party of eight set out soon after, following the worn path that curved toward the wooded ridge east of the settlement. They kept formation—two chocobos in the lead, Moss and Dole at point, followed by Cid and Rosa, then the other team of four behind.
The forest grew denser as they moved, light thinning under branches heavy with moss and dew. The sound of their steps mixed with distant rustling, the faint hum of unseen creatures, and the soft jingle of Cid's tools.
"Can't believe we're hunting again," Dole muttered. "Thought we left that behind when we joined the army."
Moss glanced at him. "Different kind of hunt. This time we eat what we kill."
They found signs of life soon enough—a torn tree trunk, deep claw marks, and a lingering blue shimmer across the bark. Aether residue.
"Blue type," Cid murmured, kneeling to study the glow. "Could be water-aspected. Maybe something amphibious."
Before they could move closer, the forest stirred. From the underbrush burst a creature with scales like glass, its body trailing ribbons of blue light. It shrieked, the air turning cold as mist formed around it.
"Contact!" Moss shouted.
The chocobos screeched and kicked up dirt. Dole raised his hand, focusing his aether into a spark that flared along his fingertips. The blast struck the beast's flank, knocking it back just as Moss lunged with his blade, carving deep into its side. The creature thrashed once, then dissolved into vapor, a shimmering cloud of blue drifting upward.
The crystal in Moss's hand pulsed, drawing the vapor inward. But something else happened too—thin threads of light bent toward Dole, wrapping faintly around his arm before sinking beneath his skin. He froze, eyes widening at the faint glow fading along his palm.
"What the hell was that?" Cid said, stepping forward.
Dole flexed his fingers. "Didn't feel bad. Just... cold."
Rosa examined him briefly. "You didn't channel it, did you?"
He shook his head. "Didn't try to. It just came to me."
They stared at the crystal. The light inside had grown slightly brighter, swirling with trapped blue mist.
"Maybe that's why," Moss said. "The aether was drawn to the crystal first, then him. It's like it was trying to return to one place, but Dole got caught in it."
Serra's words echoed in his mind—it doesn't settle; it moves, wild and unstable.
Dole closed his hand, the faint glow finally fading. "Guess that thing works a little too well."
Rosa didn't look convinced. "Or maybe he's more attuned to it than he realizes."
Moss studied his friend. Dole always had a spark in him, a natural draw to magic the way others drew breath. Most mages were born that way—blessed by the aether, molded by it. But what they saw now was different. It wasn't just channeling. The aether had come to him on its own.
"The Empire uses crystals like this to fuel machines," Moss said quietly. "But people like you, Dole... you pull from the same source. Maybe you're closer to the real thing than the Empire ever understood."
Dole gave a half-smile. "Great. Guess that makes me part magitek now."
"Or something rarer," Moss replied.
They packed the remains of the creature—what little physical material it left—and turned back toward camp as the light began to fade. The forest behind them shimmered faintly where the beast had fallen, the air still humming with the residue of spent aether.
None of them said much on the way back. But Moss noticed Dole's eyes flicker every now and then, catching the faintest reflection of blue.
And when night came, as Moss lay beneath his tarp listening to the wind, his heart began to race—not from fear, but from something distant, echoing, as if something vast and ancient had stirred far beyond the trees.