Eden knelt beside him, a still shape in the high grass. The air was damp with crushed stems and earth. Aurelian's body felt strange—still his, but coiled with new muscle, like a bowstring pulled taut.
Above, sprawled along a thick-bough tree, lay a black-furred giant. Panther-shaped, but broader, heavier. Its chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm; jaws parted just enough for a whisper of breath. Yellow eyes glimmered like twin moons through the leaves.
He reached for the faint warmth in his fingertips. Sense.
[System] Feral King Panthlian — Status: Sleeping
Letters shimmered faintly in his vision, like old carvings catching moonlight, then faded, leaving only the quiet weight of the name.
Eden's fingers moved in the Elvish hunting language, a fluid ripple of meaning. Do you feel anything?
He answered without thinking, clumsier but certain. No, what should I feel? I'm not sure I understand.
Animals with echoes hum, she signed. A sound only we hear—a sign they hold something that can strengthen us.
No hum. His fingers twitched. What does this one do?
Speed faster than a griffin. Teleportation. Stealth. Ambush.
He gave a dry flick of his hands. Delicate skills—but no.
Without another sign, she inclined her head toward the deeper trees. He followed, Fayte keeping low, muscles coiled in a quiet prowl.
The forest changed—trunks smooth as flower stems, bark warm to the touch. Where leaves should have been, blooms spilled from long stalks, brushing his shoulder with silk-petal softness.
They eased into an open field where the grass was velvet under his palms. Rabbits of strange colors hopped through the green, chewing quietly. He watched, listening for… something. Nothing came.
Nothing, he signed.
The rabbits are for something else, her fingers replied. We wait. Sometimes predators come.
A rabbit bounded toward him. Eden's mouth quirked. It may not have echoes, but it likes you. A shaggy, rotund, black bird ran forward and chased the rabbit. The rabbit ran as if its life depended on it, and it likely did.
Today, you will hunt. Eden's fingers flicked. Not for need. For balance. Dust fowl. Clumsy in flight, greedy on the ground. They strip the shrubs bare, and in lean seasons, they turn on griffin nests. Hunger teaches them darker appetites, though their talons crush fruit and root.
Aurelian's throat tightened as another bird lunged at a rabbit, catching it by the haunch before the creature wriggled free.
"They endanger the hens," Eden said. "So we thin them. Not to end them, only to remind them they are not the only hunters." She looked at him, gold eyes steady. "You will do it."
His palms were slick. "Me?" His golden eyes locked onto hers, pleading…
"You," Eden confirmed. "Not with steel. Echo Bolt."
He breathed out.
[Quest: Cull the dust fowl — 0/6]
Reward: +1 DEX
[New Soul Echo Detected: Gust]
Fear pressed him flat—but then instinct slipped in like a second mind. His body knew what his doubt refused. As another dust fowl snapped a rabbit on its hind legs, his hand reached out as if to intervene, protect the innocent, and a bolt of transparent energy blasted from his palm. The first dust fowl shrieked as its body blew into ash and dusted the earth. Echoes danced toward him like music.
+12 XP (32/200)
Another bird spread its wings, flaring wildly, then shrieked. He blinked through the haze, felt himself move without thought. His bolt took it as it dashed. Fayte flushed a horde of fowl from cover, and the rhythm carried him—leap, slash, shriek, breath. One ear had a red tinge. Had one fowl bitten him? He reached down, closed his eyes. Mend. The ardentis made a soft cry of pain, but the wound closed, and bleeding ceased.
Eden gave a smile and nodded, watching the care.
When the flock lay broken in the clearing, the system pane tallied what his body already knew…
[Quest Complete] Cull the dust fowl — 6/6
[XP Gained: +60] (92/200)
Reward: +1 DEX (8 → 9)
Echo gained: Gust.
+32 motes — System Shop
Shop? He hasn't seen one on his menu yet. He could feel the power surging through him as it laced threads of air up his spine. As badly as he wanted to explore the shop, it was only a locked panel.
He looked down at his hands, looked at Fayte, then Eden. "We did it…"
She smiled knowingly. "Come."
The ground steepened, the air sharpening as they climbed. Rocks shifted under his boots, minor scrapes sounding loud in the quiet. Fayte scrambled onto his hind legs, trying to pull himself up the steeper rocks. Aurelian smiled and helped him find his footing. He mewed in response and ran ahead.
"Every step leaves an echo," Eden murmured. "Rush, and the mountain remembers impatience. Walk with care, and it remembers respect."
"And if I trip?"
Her mouth curved faintly. "Then it remembers you are mortal… and forgives you."
They slipped between two stone spines. Eden signed, Be silent. If he is here, we don't disturb him.
A hidden valley opened. Mist clung to the grass like breath, cold and delicate on his skin.
There it stood, as if it had always belonged—something beyond reason or memory. Maybe if a feathered serpent from the old temple myths had mated with Sleipnir himself, it would look like this. The stallion was colossal, its coat a living mirror of scales. Equine in frame yet stretched too long, too fluid, it seemed caught between gallop and glide—as if unsure whether it was born for sky or soil.
It bore six limbs—two hind legs shod in stormlight and four forelimbs, the outer pair equine, the inner draconic, slender and scaled like hands sculpted for command. The front claws flexed with deliberate grace, built not only to run but to touch the world. Antlers like a vast deer's rack crowned its head, each branch alive with silver-blue fire. Around it, the air stirred as though the heavens themselves made room for its passing.
Its mane shimmered silver. Antlers crowned its head like woven light. Hooves rested in pools of water that shone like poured moonlight. Each breath was a slow, sonorous chime that rang inside his chest.
The hum was different here—not a note but a chord pressing into blood. For a heartbeat, the air wavered as if the world itself bent and then righted.
[Potential Echo Detected: Qirin]
WARNING: MYTH-TIER — Covenant may override lesser bonds
Eden knelt. He followed. Words felt impossible.
The qirin turned its gaze—eyes like molten pearls—and the world narrowed to that look. He felt his pulse in his palms, in his teeth. The pull to step forward was almost unbearable. It took one step closer. The air thickened, sharp with the scent of lightning. He moved as if dreaming until his fingers brushed the cool, metal-slick scales between its antlers. The qirin dipped, pressing its brow to his chest. The hum rose to a near-painful pitch—
A voice swelled in his mind. System screens flared so wildly he stumbled forward— and the qirin caught him, drawing him into its draconic embrace.
"Starbriar," the voice said. Deep, steady, resonant. "I am Rajin, Lord of Storms. I greet thee."
He didn't know how he knew, but the system's reaction seemed to flow from the stallion itself.
"I sensed your birth," Rajin said. "I have waited for thee. I will honor the Mother of Moon and Sky, and walk beside her son."
A song crested the horizon, heat flaring across his cheek as he looked up. A blaze cut the sky—a phoenix trailing ribbons of fire, wings spread in impossible arcs. Its cry split the air, and the qirin turned, mane flashing white in the mist as it vanished.
[Potential Echo Detected: Phoenix]
WARNING: MYTH-TIER — Covenant may override lesser bonds
Fayte flew into the air. His song blessed the mountain, and the songs merged—phoenix and ardentis. While his song was unique, the phoenix matched his flight as if an uncanny dance of greeting was passing between them.
The phoenix's glow lingered, staining clouds gold before fading beyond the ridge. They sat on the ledge until the light settled back into ordinary morning. Wind slid along stone and tugged at the loose end of Eden's braid. Below, the valley kept its breath. Above, the last ash-bright threads dimmed to smoke.
"Two signs in one day," she said. "The world is speaking to you."
He let the words rest between them for a while, like a bowl warming in hands.
"What is it saying?" he asked, breath still tight.
"You are being watched," she said. "And that someone will ask you to answer."
He drew his knees up, folding his arms across them. "Answer how?"
"Some bonds open a thousand small doors. Some open one great gate and lock the rest." Her glance fell to the silver-leaf sprig in his fingers. "Those who can hold a myth often hold only one. It is a strength. It is also a wound."
He rolled the sprig between thumb and forefinger. The stem hummed softly, as if remembering thunder. "If I choose wrong?"
"There is no 'wrong,'" she said, gentler. "Only the shape of the life you carry. The qirin is a covenant with the sky… storm and mercy, cleansing and judgment. It heals as it harms. When it arrives, the air tastes like rain, and old rot loosens its grip." Her gaze lifted. "The phoenix is a covenant with fire. Its ending is a beginning—ash that is seed. It teaches loss and return. It does not ask permission."
He huffed. "Terrifying teachers."
"The best ones are." Her smile was small. "And they are both old. They do not court lightly. For both to mark you in a single day…" She shook her head—not disbelief, but respect. "It is rare."
He looked back toward the hidden valley. "If I took the qirin—if it took me—what would that close?"
"You would become the Lord of Storms. Solaria's earth would flourish under your watch. You'd be giver of life and nourishment; your rains would wash dust, sate thirst," she said. "Smaller echoes would burn out around it. Your days would tilt toward weather, mending, renewal. You would learn when to break what must break—as all storms do." She nodded toward the ridge. "If you chose the phoenix, the Lord of Flames would be your path."
He was quiet, listening to the wind comb the grasses below. He could still feel Rajin in his mind, but did not speak of it. "Which would you choose?"
A humorless exhale. "Once, when I was young, I came to this valley and thought to take the sky. But the fire came first. It turned my face and said, 'Not you. Not yet.' The sky kept its gate locked. The flame taught patience I did not want."
"It turned you away?"
"It set me on a path," she said simply. "I obeyed, or the fire would burn me. Sometimes both."
They sat with that truth. He tipped his head back until rock kissed his skull and closed his eyes. The phantom pressure he'd felt all morning dissipated—no weight. A healer? Something inside him surged—the memory of Rita's care, all those years. Yes. He would offer others what he had once received. He would honor his caregiver, by learning to give care.
Rajin smiled in approval.
"I think…" He opened his eyes to the pale mist. "When the qirin touched me, I didn't feel wrath. I felt shelter. I smelled rain. I saw fields after a storm, clean down to the roots." He swallowed. "I've had enough of burning."
Eden's gaze returned to him, steady and warm. "Then we go back at first light. Not to take, Aurelian." She touched the silver-leaf sprig to his palm. "To be taken."
He nodded. "Walk with care," he said, half to himself, recalling her words. "Let the mountain remember respect."
"Good." She paused. "And remember… storms pass. Fire consumes. If the fire wants you instead, we do not run." Her mouth tilted. "We bow, we listen, and we decide again."
He breathed thin, clean air until his ribs ached. Far below, a griffin's distant chirr echoed from the nesting cliffs—the sound threaded the valley like a bell.
"I could carry storms," he said, soft enough the wind almost took it. "Not to break for breaking's sake. To wash what needs washing."
"Then that is how you will be measured," Eden said. She rose and offered her hand. "Come. We will eat, and you will sleep, and at dawn you will ask the sky if it will have you."
He stood. The sprig buzzed once more against his skin, like a quiet yes. On the far horizon, where the phoenix had vanished, the air wavered with heat that was no longer there. The unseen gaze eased but did not leave.
"Let it remember respect," he said.
Eden's smile was a half-breath wide. "It already does."
Rajin's voice returned, calm as thunder at rest. "Take thy next step, Starbriar—seek and bind thy first high-tier echo."