Lorian’s gaze lingered on the crowd, their laughter and chatter a distant echo, when a memory flickered to life in his mind—unbidden, sharp, like a shard of glass from a life he didn’t fully own. He was a kid again, small and scrawny, standing alone in a dusty corner. Around him, classmates clustered in tight little groups, their voices buzzing with plans for some school event. He’d watched them, hands shoved in his pockets, a quiet ache in his chest. Always alone, even back then—a boy who’d lost his mother too soon, who’d never known the warmth of her arms or the sound of her voice calling him home.

  He blinked, the memory fading, and a faint, crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Guess that’s my story, huh?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Always the odd one out, drifting apart while everyone else finds their place.” He tilted his head back, staring up at the endless blue sky stretching over the plaza. “It’s just how it is—how it’s always been.”

  The announcer’s voice cut through his thoughts, crisp and final. “The survival test begins now.”

  Lorian’s eyes stayed on the sky, tracing a lazy cloud, when a professor stepped forward, hands raised. A low hum filled the air, and a massive ring of yellow light flared to life overhead, pulsing with raw mana. Before he could brace himself, a flash swallowed everything—sight, sound, the ground beneath his feet—and in an instant, he was somewhere else.

  The jungle hit him all at once. Thick, humid air clung to his skin, heavy with the scent of moss and damp earth. Towering trees loomed overhead, their gnarled branches weaving a canopy that fractured the sunlight into jagged slivers. Somewhere in the distance, a beast’s roar rumbled through the undergrowth, low and guttural. This was the island—teeming with mana beasts, a wild sprawl of danger where every shadow hid teeth or claws.

  He’d been teleported alone, of course. No teammates, no backup. Just him, dumped in the heart of the forest, surrounded by nowhere and nothing but the wild. The others had landed elsewhere, scattered across the island in their little packs, while he stood solitary, a speck in the chaos.

  Lorian exhaled, a slow, steady breath, and adjusted his grip on Shade of the Night. “Beasts, huh?” he said to himself, voice steady despite the faint tremor in his chest. “Guess it’s not much different from dealing with me. Shouldn’t be a problem… probably.”

  He took a step forward, boots sinking into the soft earth, and let his senses stretch out. The jungle pulsed with life—rustling leaves, distant snarls, the faint hum of mana threading through it all. Alone again, he thought, a wry edge to it. But maybe that’s where I’m strongest. No one to lean on, no one to let down—just me and the fight ahead.

  The sky above was hidden now, swallowed by the canopy, but he didn’t need it. He’d find his way through this, one beast at a time.

  The jungle thrummed with a restless heartbeat—leaves rustling like whispers, distant roars weaving through the humid air. Lorian stood poised in a small clearing, the earth soft and treacherous beneath his boots. His black hair clung to his sweat-slicked forehead, and his breath came steady, deliberate, as if he were counting down to something inevitable. Shade of the Night gleamed faintly in his grip, its dark edge catching slivers of sunlight that pierced the canopy above.

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  A low growl rumbled from the shadows ahead, deep and guttural, vibrating through the ground. The underbrush shuddered, then parted as an A-tier Haulingwolf burst into view—massive, sinewy, its fur a matted gray streaked with scars. Its eyes burned red, feral and unyielding, jaws snapping with a hunger that promised no mercy. Claws gouged the dirt as it charged, a blur of muscle and menace, the air splitting with its howl.

  Lorian’s lips twitched into a grim half-smile. Time to dance. He shifted his stance—one foot sliding forward, weight low, muscles coiled like a spring. His grip tightened on the hilt, the blade an extension of his will. The wolf lunged, fangs bared, close enough that he could smell its rancid breath—and then he moved.

  In a heartbeat, the world sharpened. His arm snapped forward, Shade of the Night slashing through the air in a streak of midnight. A flash of light erupted where steel met flesh, a single, clean arc that sang with lethal precision. The Haulingwolf’s howl cut off mid-roar, its head parting from its body in a spray of dark blood that painted the ferns red. The massive form crashed to the ground, momentum carrying it a few feet before it stilled, a lifeless heap at Lorian’s boots.

  He exhaled, a slow plume of breath in the humid air, and lowered his sword. The clearing fell silent, save for the drip of blood from the blade’s tip and the faint rustle of leaves overhead. One down, he thought, flicking the gore off Shade with a casual twist of his wrist. How many more to go?

  Then he felt it—a pull, a whisper at the edge of his senses. He closed his eyes, letting the Emptiness unfurl within him. The world shifted, colors bleeding away into a muted haze of indigo and cerulean. Time didn’t stop, not fully, but it slowed, stretching thin like a thread about to snap. His awareness expanded, a ripple spreading through the jungle, brushing against every living thing in its reach.

  Beasts glowed faintly in his mind’s eye—snarling, prowling shapes of mana, scattered through the trees. A C-tier Razorclaw to his left, stalking prey. A pair of B-tier Mistvipers slithering north, their presence slick and cold. Closer, a handful of candidates flickered like candles—some dim, some steady, their mana pulsing as they fought or fled. But beyond them, far in the distance, three presences blazed like bonfires against the dark, their auras so dense they seemed to warp the air around them.

  Lorian’s eyes snapped open, the Emptiness receding as color flooded back. He tilted his head, staring through the canopy toward those distant lights. “That’s got to be them,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “Zephyr Valken, Yenika Lunavar, Arsin Nicova—the top dogs of this madhouse.”

  He could almost picture them: Zephyr, the wind-wielding prodigy, cutting through beasts like a storm; Yenika, her silver hair flashing as she carved her path to first place; Arsin, calm and polite even as he dismantled anything in his way. Their mana sang across the island, a trio of forces that dwarfed the rest, untouchable and unrelenting.

  Lorian shifted his stance, planting Shade’s tip in the dirt for a moment as he caught his breath. They’re leagues ahead, he thought, a flicker of something—envy, maybe, or defiance—tightening his chest. But I’m still here. Still standing. He glanced at the Haulingwolf’s corpse, its severed head staring blankly at the sky. And I’ve got my own fight to win.

  The jungle growled again, a new threat stirring in the shadows. Lorian lifted his blade, ready this time, and stepped forward into the fray.