The world was drowning in blood and screams.
Owen stood frozen, the air thick with iron and rot. Around him, the battlefield lay in ruin—a cavernous hall, its stone walls cracked and bleeding shadow. A single obsidian chandelier flickered above, casting dancing reflections on the pools of crimson below.
To his left, Lucy's lifeless body slid to the ground, cleaved diagonally from shoulder to waist. Conner lay a few feet away, his chest split open, frozen in an expression of silent horror. Leon, bloodied and barely breathing, was slumped against a pillar, one arm missing, the other still gripping his blade. A few meters ahead, a senior had just been struck, sent crashing into a wall, limp and unmoving.
And before Owen—towering, terrible, and wreathed in unnatural darkness—stood the Headless Duke. Massive, armored in corrupted steel, and crowned with arcane symbols glowing where a head should be. The creature's blade, too large to be real, dripped with the lives it had taken.
Owen alone remained standing. But his legs trembled.
He tried to move, to shout, to save someone—anyone—but the weight of despair anchored him. The duke raised its weapon again, and as it came crashing down—
Owen jolted awake.
Breathing hard. Drenched in sweat. The walls of his dorm greeted him with the soft blue hue of early morning. His heart pounded like war drums in his ears.
"A dream," he whispered. But it didn't feel like one.
The images were too sharp, the emotions too real.
Shaking the nightmare from his mind, Owen dressed swiftly in the academy-issued combat suit—lightweight yet durable, woven with enchanted threads. He glanced once more at his chain before stepping out.
---
Ground Zero: The Raid Assembly
The training ground was buzzing with energy and tension. Hundreds of students gathered before towering gateways, their shimmering surfaces rippling like water—each portal a path into a different region of the Eastern Wilds. The skies were still tinged with dawnlight, but a storm of anticipation loomed.
Before them stood a line of figures—some familiar, some new.
Headmaster Velian in his long, midnight-blue cloak. Victoria Draeven, stoic and poised. Elowen, their leafy hair glimmering faintly. Ruth, arms folded with that ever-watchful gaze. Edwin, hands in pockets, wearing a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Odin, laughing in excitement while looking at the students
Beside them: a tall lady elf, her silver hair braided tight, a quiver of rune-etched arrows slung across her back. Her amber eyes held the calm of a seasoned hunter. Next to her stood a man with fiery red hair, black gloves, and thin spectacles resting on his nose—his lean form rigid, analytical. A tactician, perhaps.
The Headmaster stepped forward, his voice calm, yet cutting through the crowd like a blade.
"You are not children today. You are seekers of survival, of power, of purpose. The Eastern Wilds are not forgiving. They will test your resolve, your strength, your unity.
But remember this: In the crucible of danger, the faint-hearted perish. Only those who choose to rise—again and again—forge themselves into something greater."
A moment of silence followed.
Then came the distributions.
Each junior received a sleek black pair of glasses—laced with spectral lenses. As Owen slid his on, a faint HUD flickered into place.
Red: Overwhelming threat.
Yellow: Greater than your level.
Blue: Equal footing.
Green: Manageable prey.
With it came a thin, foldable digital slate—a tracking device for nearby exits and safe zones, glowing faintly with arcane circuitry. Owen felt the weight of it—not in grams, but in consequence.
From the ranks of the seniors, a tall, quiet figure approached Owen and his group. Light-purple hair veiled most of his face, though his jawline was sharp, and his presence radiated calm danger. He said little, merely offering a nod.
"That's our senior guide?" Leon muttered. "Looks like a ghost."
Owen, still haunted by the dream, gave a half-nod. "Let's just make sure he doesn't become one". Leon would say
As Owen and his group approached their designated portal, a figure stepped into their path.
A senior student—tall, lean, draped in dark academy blocked their way. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with quiet disdain. Beside him stood the blonde boy Owen remembered the one with the smug smirk and mocking eyes. They exchanged a few words too low to hear, then the senior turned his gaze to Owen.
It was like being struck by a wall of pressure. A death stare sharp and emotionless. Not rage. Not hate. Just the kind of cold indifference that made your instincts scream.
He then muttered, more to the blonde than to them, "Not worth the time."
Then turned on his heel and walked away.
"Let's go," Owen's assigned senior guide said with a nod, not acknowledging the interruption at all. "Portal's ready."
Into the Wilds
The world on the other side of the portal was thick with mist and moss, trees looming like ancient guardians, their branches clawing at the sky. The forest was dense, humid, and eerily quiet—only the crunch of boots on fallen leaves echoed in the silence.
They walked. And walked.
Connor sighed, adjusting the weight of his spear on his back. "Okay, are we just here to hike? I swear we've been walking forever."
Leon grunted, clearly annoyed. "Yeah. No signs of monsters, no traps—just trees, dirt, and more trees."
"Keep your voices low," their senior guide said softly, eyes scanning the treetops.
But the forest didn't stay silent for long.
A low growl sliced through the air. The leaves rustled unnaturally.
From the thicket ahead, a creature stepped out—its presence enough to make the air feel heavier. It resembled a wolf, but larger, sleeker, with elongated limbs and saber-like fangs. Its fur was a deep blood-red, with glowing amber eyes that narrowed on them.
Connor instinctively drew his weapon, but Leon moved faster.
"Finally, something to hit!" he roared, swinging his hammer in a wide arc. It smashed into the beast's side, sending it flying into the trees with a loud CRACK.
The creature yelped and vanished into the underbrush, leaves and dirt scattering in its wake.
Leon turned around, puffing his chest proudly. "Did you see that? Finally, a mon—"
Connor raised a hand and pointed behind him, face paling. "Uh... Leon?"
Leon blinked. "Yeah?"
"I think we've been surrounded."
Lucy's voice dropped to a growl. "You idiot. Those types of wolves always travel in packs. You attack one, the rest come for you. You didn't kill it—you called them."
A chorus of growls echoed from all directions.
Dozens of glowing eyes blinked into existence in the bushes and trees.
Leon turned around slowly. "Oh... shit."
Then, without another word, he bolted.
The others didn't hesitate.
"RUN!" Connor shouted, and all of them tore through the forest path, wolves snarling and bounding after them in a deadly blur of red fur and claws.
Owen's heart thundered as he sprinted, branches whipping past, adrenaline burning away the fog of his earlier dream.
The raid had begun.