Hunger was the first warning.
Not the sharp kind that came from skipping a meal—but the deeper kind, the one that settled into muscle and bone and refused to be ignored. Axiom felt it during training, when his legs responded a fraction too slowly, when his breath came heavier than it should have.
Something was missing.
He stopped near the edge of the Galeheart Wilds, hands on his knees, staring at the dirt beneath his feet.
"…My body's asking for something," he muttered.
Esdeath stood beside him, eyes half-closed, listening—not to him, but to the world.
"Food," she said. "Stronger food."
Axiom looked up. "We've been eating."
"Yes," she replied. "But not enough to match what you're forcing your body to become."
That made sense.
Training had changed. Movement had sharpened. Recovery demanded more than ordinary meals could give.
Axiom straightened and looked deeper into the Wilds.
"Then we hunt," he said.
Esdeath smiled faintly.
"Good."
They went in together.
Not recklessly.
Not chasing the first thing that moved.
They tracked.
Axiom followed signs—broken branches, disturbed soil, the faint metallic scent of blood. Esdeath moved silently beside him, eyes sharp, sword ready but restrained.
They found it near dusk.
A Galeback Boar.
Larger than the one they'd seen weeks earlier. Old scars lined its flanks, proof that it had survived more than one failed hunt. Its muscles were dense, powerful, built for explosive bursts rather than long chases.
Axiom's heartbeat steadied.
This wasn't a test of strength.
It was a test of resolve.
The boar noticed them.
It did not flee.
It lowered its head and charged.
"Now," Axiom said.
They moved.
Axiom drew its attention, forcing it to commit. Esdeath struck the ground—not freezing it solid, just enough to rob the boar of traction. It stumbled, momentum breaking.
Axiom struck once.
Not deep.
Not lethal.
Just enough.
The boar crashed into a tree, stunned. Esdeath ended it cleanly.
Silence returned to the Wilds.
Axiom exhaled slowly, hands shaking—not from fear, but from exertion.
"…We did it."
Esdeath wiped her blade. "Yes."
They carried the meat back themselves.
It was heavy.
Every step burned.
But neither complained.
They cooked it simply.
No spices. No ceremony.
The meat was dense, oily, almost bitter—but rich in a way Axiom could feel the moment he swallowed. Warmth spread through his limbs, not pleasant, but grounding.
Recovery came faster.
Strength settled deeper.
Esdeath nodded after finishing her portion.
"This," she said, "is correct."
Axiom lay back against a rock, staring at the darkening sky.
"…So this is what the strong eat."
"Yes," she replied. "What they earn."
They returned to the Wilds the next day.
And the next.
Hunting became part of training—not frequent, not careless, but deliberate. Each successful hunt pushed their bodies harder, demanded more control, more discipline.
Then came the day everything broke open.
They were running a familiar route—roots, stone, uneven ground—when it happened.
Axiom misstepped.
Just slightly.
The ground shifted beneath him, and for a split second, his balance vanished.
The Wilds surged forward.
Not physically.
Presence.
Something ancient, heavy, vast pressed down on him—like the forest itself had decided to test whether he deserved to keep moving forward.
Axiom's breath caught.
Fear tried to rise.
And failed.
Something inside him snapped—not violently, but decisively.
No.
The word didn't leave his mouth.
It exploded outward.
The air trembled.
Birds burst from the trees in a screaming cloud. The ground beneath Axiom cracked faintly—not splitting, not shattering, but reacting. The pressure rolled outward in a wave, unseen yet undeniable.
Esdeath froze.
Her breath hitched.
"…That," she said slowly, "was not mine."
Axiom staggered, heart hammering, vision sharp and painful.
"What… was that?" he whispered.
The Wilds went still.
Not silent.
Submissive.
Creatures that had been watching withdrew. The pressure faded as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind only the echo of its passing.
Axiom dropped to one knee, gasping.
Esdeath was beside him instantly, gripping his shoulder.
"You forced the world to listen," she said.
"I didn't mean to," he replied hoarsely.
She stared at him with something new in her eyes.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"This isn't strength," she said. "It's will."
Axiom clenched his fists, trembling.
"…It felt like refusing to fall."
Esdeath nodded slowly.
"Then remember it," she said. "Because the world will try again."
The wind returned cautiously, rustling the leaves as if nothing had happened.
But the Galeheart Wilds had made its judgment.
Axiom was no longer prey.
And somewhere far beyond Tempest Isle, the sea shifted—unaware that a kingly will had just taken its first, uncontrolled breath.