Rex stepped into the training chamber, the familiar scent of brine and faint metal filling his senses. Today was different—he could feel it. His amber-energized tattoos pulsed lightly beneath his skin, the snake coiling faintly as if aware of the challenge ahead. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his dagger, letting it hum with latent energy, and felt a surge of anticipation.
Master Varrun was waiting, spear in hand, eyes calm yet sharp. Without a word, the master lunged, striking fast and precise, testing Rex's reactions. Rex dodged, rolled, and countered, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as his gills flared amber, boosting his strength and stamina. His movements were more fluid, more instinctive than ever, and when he landed a solid hit on the master's side, Varrun gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod.
The duel intensified. Water sloshed around them as Rex spun, parried, and thrust, landing a few more blows that seemed to surprise even himself. Yet, as the battle wore on, Master Varrun's expression shifted—a dark, unsettling glare that Rex had never seen before. A strange tension coiled in his stomach, but he shoved it aside, refusing to let doubt creep in.
They moved with a rhythm that was both dance and battle, Rex striking and dodging, the master flowing effortlessly with every attack. The snake tattoo pulsed beneath his skin, guiding his movements, his amber gills glowing brighter, the familiar surge of power pushing him to his limits. A well-timed thrust scored him another hit, and for a brief instant, Rex felt a spark of triumph.
Then, Master Varrun escalated. A sweeping strike sent Rex flying across the chamber, crashing into the wall of the pressure chamber with bone-jarring force. Pain radiated through his ribs and limbs, and for a moment, the chamber spun around him. When he sat up, winded and tense, the master's figure was already moving away, silent, eyes never meeting his. Rex clenched his jaw, chest heaving, the strange unease lingering like a shadow over his exhaustion.
Hours later, the chamber empty, Rex wandered the corridors of Dumrakar'uun, mind replaying the duel. A small group of hunters was preparing to leave—a mix of young, strong fighters and the newly marked hunter from the recent ceremony. Rex's instincts pricked; he sensed something in the air, a tension, a quiet warning that set his nerves on edge.
Without making a sound, he followed them. He moved through shadows and shallow pools, careful to remain unseen. The hunters proceeded with practiced precision, their glances brief, their movements efficient, but Rex could feel the shift in energy as they entered the open water beyond the safety of the valley. The world outside was larger, stranger, and far more dangerous than any training chamber.
Trailing them at a distance, Rex's amber-tinged gills pulsed steadily, his snake tattoo coiling in anticipation. He tightened his grip on his dagger, feeling its latent energy hum in rhythm with his own. The hunt promised danger, and the strange tension he sensed was more than instinct—it was a warning of forces waiting, unseen, that would test everything he had learned in Dumrakar'uun.
As the hunters disappeared into the murky depths, Rex pushed forward silently, determination hardening in his chest.