The shove was sudden and unexpected. Koby tucked his head instinctively as he fell, his body curling into a protective ball before he hit the soft, leafy ground with a muffled thud. The impact was cushioned by layers of damp moss and decaying ferns, but the shock of it still rattled his teeth.
"Are you crazy?" he shouted, pushing himself up onto his elbows and glaring up at the canopy.
"A little bit, yes," came the girl's voice, bright and unapologetic from above. When she saw the pout on his face, she added with a light laugh, "Oh, come on. It didn't do any real damage."
With a roll of his eyes, Koby dusted himself off and turned his attention toward the stag. He dropped into a low, careful crouch—a stealth position Rowan had drilled into him weeks ago—and began to creep forward. Crawling on hands and knees, he moved silently through the undergrowth, his breaths shallow and controlled. The scent of wet earth and crushed greenery filled his nostrils. Only a few feet now separated him from the animal, which was still nuzzling its wounded leg, unaware.
Then he abandoned stealth entirely. In one sudden motion, he sprang to his feet and lunged forward, arms waving wildly. "Hey! Hey, move!"
The stag's head snapped up, its luminous eyes wide with alarm. For a heartbeat, it froze—then it bolted, breaking away from the herd in a panicked, limping sprint. Koby gave chase, his boots pounding against the soft forest floor, weaving between trees and leaping over fallen logs. The world narrowed to the flash of grey hide ahead, the sound of his own ragged breathing, and the thrill of pursuit.
After only a few moments of running, there was a sharp, whistling cut through the air—a sound like a breath being sliced in half—followed by a wet, solid thump. The stag stumbled, wheezed once, a pained and guttural sound, and then dropped to the ground, motionless. An arrow stood quivering in its chest, the fletching a stark grey against its ashen fur.
Koby slowed to a stop, chest heaving. He looked back toward the tree line as the girl dropped gracefully from the branches, landing in a silent crouch before straightening and walking toward him, her bow held loosely at her side.
"You finally have your dinner," Koby said mockingly, gesturing toward the fallen animal.
"No thanks to you," she quipped, not breaking her stride.
"You're welcome," Koby shot back, slightly infuriated by her tone.
She reached the stag and knelt beside it, her movements efficient and practiced. "You're not so bad yourself," she said without looking up, her voice softening just a touch. "I mean, you suck at hunting, but still… I do hope our paths cross again." She produced a length of tough cord from a pouch at her belt and began tying the stag's legs together.
"I don't," Koby muttered, crossing his arms.
She glanced up, a smirk playing on her lips. "I could not have been that bad."
Koby felt his own mouth twitch in response, and he returned the smirk, the tension between them easing into something almost friendly. Without another word, he turned and started making his way back toward the cottage, the path now familiar beneath his feet.
"See you, uhm…" he called over his shoulder, suddenly realizing he had never learned her name.
Her voice floated back to him, light and teasing, already fading into the depth of the woods. "If we meet again, then I'll tell you."
Koby watched her figure until it vanished between the thick trunks, the stag slung over her shoulders like a hunter's trophy. He stood there for a long moment, listening to the forest settle back into silence. She wasn't that bad, he admitted to himself. Maybe he would love it here in Nyxoria after all.
The thought flashed through his head, warm and unexpected, like a patch of sunlight breaking through the canopy.
The warmth did not last.
"You won't be able to use aura."
The words hit Koby like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs. He stood in the small, cluttered main room of the cottage, the morning light streaming through the dusty window and catching motes of dust in the air. For a full minute, he simply stared at Lyrielle, trying to process what she had just said.
"What?" was all he managed, his voice thin and distant.
"You will not be able to use aura like normal beings," Lyrielle repeated, her tone clinical but not unkind. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, a picture of composed sympathy. "Your pathways were damaged—likely torn during your fight with the serpent. Rowan told me about it."
"Can you fix it?" Koby asked, the words rushing out. "Is there anything you can do to help?"
Lyrielle's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "I'm afraid that would require two things. First, a legendary-tier healing artifact—items of that power are incredibly rare, often guarded or lost. And second, a healer of at least Vanguard rank, someone whose skill can mend spiritual tears, not just physical wounds. Such individuals are… also very rare."
"But if we could get both," Koby pressed, clinging to the sliver of hope like a lifeline, "it would work, right? You could fix me?"
"You can't just 'get' those things," Lyrielle said gently, though her gaze was steady and unflinching. "Not without great cost. Not without someone dying… or you yourself dying in the attempt."
The finality in her voice was a door slamming shut. Koby's eyes drifted away from her, moving across the room to where James, Kai, and Raya stood near the hearth, their expressions a mix of shock and pity. He felt exposed, laid bare under their collective gaze.
"So what does that mean for me?" he asked quietly, his eyes locking with James's.
Lyrielle followed his look. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, but the truth in it was brutal in its clarity. "It means you're not going to be of much help to your friends."
That sentence did it. Something inside Koby crumpled. A volatile mixture of emotions surged up—shame, fear, helplessness—but what rose to the surface, hot and immediate, was a scalding wave of pain and anger.
Without a word, he turned and stormed out of the cottage, letting the wooden door swing shut with a bang behind him. He marched to the rough-hewn wooden table they used for meals, its surface scarred and stained, and sank onto the bench. He dropped his head into his hands, and the tears came—not a sob, but a silent, insistent flow he couldn't stop. He tried to choke them back, to swallow the humiliation, but they just kept coming, hot and betraying.
"Why are you crying?"
Rowan's voice came from directly behind him, so close it made Koby jump. He hastily scrubbed his face with the sleeve of his tunic, the rough fabric scratching his skin.
"Would you stop doing that?" Koby snapped, not turning around
"Look," Rowan began, his footsteps quiet on the grass as he moved around the table. He took a seat on the bench beside Koby, close but not crowding him. The morning birdsong sounded obscenely cheerful. "I know how bad this must be for you. But you have to understand—life isn't particularly fair."
"You would know that?" Koby asked, the sarcasm a brittle shield.
"Much more than you could ever imagine," Rowan replied, his voice carrying a weight of old, weathered sorrow. "You just have to learn to live with the good and the bad, and make them have meaning in the end."
"But isn't aura vitally essential? For a player? For anything here?"
"It is," Rowan conceded. "But that doesn't mean I can't train you. I can teach you to master the little aura your body can still hold. To use it with precision, not power. It won't be what you imagined, but it won't be nothing."
Koby was silent for a long moment, staring at a crack in the wooden table. "You know," he began, his voice raw, "I felt a sense of relief when Lyrielle said I couldn't use aura. And I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's true. For a second, I was relieved… because I didn't have anything to prove anymore."
"Don't you want to go home anymore?" Rowan asked, watching him carefully.
"I want to go home so badly it hurts," Koby whispered. "But I can't help myself. I feel… defeated."
"Then you still have something to prove. To yourself, if not to Nyxoria." Rowan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "One thing I'll tell you, though: don't use the fact that you're not going to be like everybody else as the reason you fail your friends. That's a choice, not a destiny."
"I need some time," Koby said, the fight draining out of him, leaving only a hollow exhaustion. "To think. Alone, please."
Rowan studied him for another second, then nodded. He stood, placed a hand briefly on Koby's shoulder—a firm, wordless pressure—and walked back toward the cottage, leaving Koby alone with the whispering trees and the weight of his own thoughts.
The next morning, the cottage stirred with its usual routine. The others woke, dressed, and gathered outside in the clearing for another training session, the air filled with the sound of stretching limbs and low, determined conversation.
Everyone except Koby.
He woke, dressed mechanically, and headed straight for the tree line, his mind set on the deep, quiet solitude of the woods.
"Where are you going?"
Kai's voice stopped him. He had intercepted Koby at the edge of the clearing, his arms crossed, blocking the path into the forest.
"I'm going out," Koby replied flatly, trying to sidestep him.
Kai shifted, blocking him again. "It's training time."
"And?" Koby's voice was dangerously calm.
"And, you're missing it."
"You were there when Lyrielle said what she said, weren't you?" Koby asked, a sharp edge of irritation cutting through his numbness.
"So what if you can't use aura well? You were doing just fine before she revealed it. And Rowan said he can train you to use what you have." Kai's expression was stubborn, his jaw set.
"Listen, Kai. I'm just tired. I need to clear my head. Let me pass."
"I know what you're doing," Kai said, his voice dropping. He began tightening the leather straps on his training gloves, a deliberate, focused motion. "Deflecting. Running. But I'm not going to allow you to do that this time."
"Deflecting?" Koby let out a short, bitter laugh. "It's more like facing reality. But you wouldn't get that. You can't relate. You have a fully functional pathway. You have a future here."
He hadn't meant to shout, but his voice had risen, carrying across the clearing. James and Raya looked over from their warm-up drills, their movements faltering.
Kai didn't flinch. "Do what you want. But just know that if you choose this—if you walk away from us now—then you're not sticking together. You'll be no different than Rachael."
The name hung in the air, cold and accusatory.
Koby's eyes flashed. "Yeah, well," he said, his voice low and venomous. "Maybe Rachael made the right decision, after all."
With that, he shoved past Kai, his shoulder knocking hard against the other boy's. He didn't look back as he disappeared into the shadowy embrace of the woods, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
Kai stood frozen for a long moment, staring at the space where Koby had vanished, his fists clenched at his sides. Finally, he took a slow breath and looked up—only to find James standing a few feet away, arms folded, his gaze sharp and judgmental.
"What?" Kai asked, his tone nonchalant, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
"You didn't have to confront him like that," James said quietly.
"Well, somebody had to call him out on his stupidity," Kai retorted, walking up to James. "And clearly you weren't going to."
"He just got terrible news concerning his very survival," James reasoned, his calm a stark contrast to Kai's simmering frustration. "He's going to need time to process it."
"And we all know what happens when he processes terrible news on his own," Kai interjected, his voice tight.
A brief, heavy silence fell between them. The memory of what happened last time—the isolation, the rash decisions—hung unspoken in the air.
"That was a really long time ago," James said finally, understanding dawning in his eyes. "He's changed."
Kai met his gaze, his own expression weary and resolved. "How sure are you?" he asked quietly.
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away, leaving James alone to watch the forest, where the shadows had already swallowed their friend whole.