“Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up today,” Vallen said, not looking up from her desk.

  Her quill scratched across parchment with surgical precision, the sound cutting through the quiet hut like a blade. Candles burned low around her, wax pooled and hardened as if time itself had given up waiting.

  I had arrived early, six thirty sharp, but the training hut already belonged to her. Parchments were stacked in uneven towers, ink bottles uncapped, and her shoulders hunched with the posture of someone who hadn’t slept so much as endured the night.

  “I’m really sorry, Instructor,” I said, bowing slightly. “Something urgent came up.”

  “Mm.” The sound was flat. Uninterested. “And what do you want now?”

  “I want to continue my training with you.”

  Her quill paused mid-stroke.

  For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Not the candles, not the air, not even my breath.

  “No.”

  The word landed cleanly. Final.

  I swallowed. “Then how am I supposed to survive the exploration?” My voice cracked with desperation I hadn’t meant to reveal. “Please.”

  That made her look up.

  Her eyes were deep brown and merciless, settled on me like a scale measuring worth.

  “I’ve already taught the class everything they need to survive,” she said.

  “Then…” I chose my words carefully. “What’s today’s lesson?”

  The quill was set aside. Slowly. Deliberately.

  “You’ll see.”

  “So I can join?” I pressed.

  “Only if you can pass my test.” She nodded toward a one-meter-long wooden staff leaning against the cabinet. “Take it.”

  The polished grain was cool against my palm. “Now what?”

  “Show me what Elder Val’darion has taught you.”

  So the Shaman did tell her.

  I inhaled deeply and called upon my Mana. A soft green glow rippled along my arms.

  Rejuvenation.

  Then another spell layered beneath it.

  Windstride.

  Air stirred faintly around my feet, the energy humming in rhythm with my heartbeat.

  Vallen’s eyebrow rose. “Interesting choices. You’re aware you don’t have any offensive spells, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, reaching into my pouch. “That’s why I rely on these.”

  She studied me for a moment longer. Then, to my surprise, her voice softened. “You must have spent a great deal of time in the forest.”

  “Enough to give me dark circles,” I muttered with a tired grin.

  A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. “You’ll get used to it.”

  That tiny smile… it shouldn’t have meant anything.

  But it did.

  That flicker of acknowledgment hit harder than any praise.

  “So… was that it?” I asked. “Can I join the class?”

  “As long as you stay quiet and let me finish my work.” She tossed a small pouch toward me without ceremony. “Keep it.”

  I caught it midair, bowing slightly. “Thank you, Instructor.”

  She was already back to writing, as though our entire exchange had been a brief distraction between lines of ink. Yet… there was thought behind the gesture. The kind she’d never admit.

  I checked the subspace pouch, and my eyes widened. Alongside the standard exploration supplies were items of real value.

  An enchanted gourd shimmered faintly with cleansing runes.

  A Canopy Pod woven from giant leaf fibers and spider silk.

  And Lunaris, a compass-shaped clock marked not by numbers, but by tiny suns and moons orbiting in slow harmony.

  So this was the benefit of being on her team.

  My gaze drifted to the prepared equipment. Sturdy robes, leather armor, and boots threaded with a faint magical sheen.

  When I slipped them on, the fabric adjusted seamlessly, fitting like a second skin. My body felt lighter, and Mana coursed through me with renewed clarity.

  [Eryndor Leafshade]

  [Soul Capacity: 1

  Vitality: 2 → 4

  Strength: 3 → 4

  Agility: 3 → 5

  Wisdom: 21 → 24

  Willpower: 134]

  [Spells: Rejuvenation, Windstride]

  Warmth spread through me. Not from the gear, but from the quiet gesture behind it.

  ***

  “All newborns, gather up,” Vallen called.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  We formed a loose semicircle in the mist-covered field. Vallen stood before us, crimson robe swaying, presence unshakable.

  “Our race has long been misunderstood,” she began. “They see us as frail. Passive. Helpless. Because they don’t value long, steady growth.”

  Her gaze hardened. “And being weak is not a choice. The Tower devours the weak first.”

  Unease rippled through the group.

  “That’s why my one and only rule exists,” she went on. “Don’t die. Prove that druids can endure. That we can adapt to anything.”

  “Yes, we will!” shouted Alwen, his enthusiasm catching like wildfire. Even Pica, who usually hid behind silence, joined the echo.

  “That’s the spirit,” said Vallen with a faint smile. It was gone as quickly as it appeared.

  “But hear this,” she said, her voice turning cold again, “druids struggle to team up with others. We’re often relegated to support roles, and earn the smallest share.”

  Silence.

  “That’s why we form our own teams,” she went on. “To bridge the gap, to grow stronger together.”

  “So… one big team?” Callen asked, scratching his large ear.

  “No,” Vallen replied immediately. “That would only slow your growth. Three to five members. Small and efficient.”

  She’s right. That’s how it worked in Dreadspire.

  “If survival’s our goal,” Pica ventured timidly, “why not just stay near the safe zone?”

  “That was explained yesterday, you moron,” Alton replied impatiently. “You won’t earn enough for the tax.”

  “No need to be so harsh,” Orin interjected.

  “You’ll stagnate if you play it safe.” Vallen’s tone smoothed the tension before it could spread. “Think long-term. But don’t be reckless. The key is teamwork.”

  Then she stepped aside, pulling a heavy cloth off a large structure behind her.

  Three boar-like beasts stood inside, each the size of a dire wolf, their backs bristling with sharp yellow-green quills. Their eyes glowed faintly green, and their wet snouts twitched as they sniffed the air wildly.

  They screamed and rammed the bars the moment the cloth fell away.

  “I knew it,” Callen said smugly. “Told you there was something under there.”

  “And that ‘something’ looks just like you,” Fenric said dryly.

  “Don’t say that,” I cut in, grinning. “You’ll hurt their feelings being compared to Callen.”

  Laughter rippled briefly before Vallen’s sharp tone cut through it. “Focus.”

  Silence fell like a curtain.

  “Your task,” she said, striking the cage lightly to quiet the beasts, “is to subdue these Bramblehogs. Three members per team. Choose your own.”

  She struck the cage again, making the beasts sit back in silence.

  “You have thirty minutes to prepare,” she added. “Starting now.”

  The field erupted into motion.

  “Eryndor, let’s team up,” said Alwen, sliding over with a grin. “Orin told me about your spells. They should work well with mine. I’ve got Tether and Overload.”

  “So she did tell everyone,” I muttered.

  “Tether is a spell with multiple—” Alwen started, but I cut him off.

  “I know both of them,” I said.

  “Great.” He smiled, rubbing his nose absentmindedly. “That’s a yes, right?”

  “Only if you stop rubbing it.”

  “...Fair.” He grinned sheepishly.

  We scanned for a third, but almost everyone had already paired up. Callen, Orin, and Sable were huddled together, whispering excitedly, while Riven had his arm around Fenric’s shoulder, and Alton was walking toward them.

  That left Pica.

  She sat alone in silence, fidgeting with the hem of her robe. The disappointment in her eyes was impossible to miss.

  “Pica,” I called. “Join us.”

  She blinked, looking startled, then rose hesitantly.

  “Why the long face?” Alwen said lightly. “Show a little spirit!”

  “Thanks… I-I just hope I won’t be a burden,” she murmured.

  “You won’t,” I said, offering a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure this out together.”

  She managed a small nod. Her voice was timid, but when she began explaining her spell, it was steady. Alwen and I took turns sharing ours, the three of us slowly weaving a plan from nerves and trust.

  “Alright, time’s up,” Vallen announced as the preparation period ended. “Let’s split up.” She pointed toward three separate spots on the training field. Each team quickly took their position.

  “Remember, your task is only to subdue the Bramblehog. It has sharp instincts and will submit once it senses a stronger opponent,” Vallen said. “The fastest team will receive a special prize.”

  “Let’s do this!” Callen exclaimed, grinning. “Can’t wait for that prize.”

  “It’s nice to have high expectations,” Alton called back dryly from across the field. “But maybe know your place first.”

  “The same applies to you,” Sable shot back.

  “Yeah, yeah, keep yapping,” Riven replied. “Just don’t cry later.”

  “C’mon, guys, grow up,” Vallen cut in sharply, her tone enough to make everyone fall silent and look down.

  “Now, get ready,” she said, hands poised to release the cage. “And fight!”

  The cages burst open, and the Bramblehogs charged out like wild beasts. As if trained, each one darted in a different direction, locking onto a team.

  Pica immediately raised her staff.

  Roots ripped through the ground in a flash of green light.

  Bark knit itself around twisting vines, branches locking into crude limbs as glowing eyes flickered beneath a crown of leaves. The Treant finished forming with a low, uneven creak and stepped forward.

  It stood barely chest-high with stubby limbs and looked painfully weak.

  My stomach sank. Growth-type summons scaled with the caster’s stats, and this one looked like it had been starved at birth.

  Still, it planted itself between us and the charging Bramblehog, wooden arms raised in defiance.

  Alwen followed up with Tether.

  A blue thread of Mana snapped into existence, linking him to the Treant. The creature straightened slightly as the spell took hold, its movements sharpening.

  “Your turn, Pica!” I yelled.

  Pica didn’t hesitate.

  [Living Armor cast]

  Golden-green vines slithered across the Treant’s bark, wrapping it in pulsing Mana. The glow spread through the Tether, coating Alwen in the same shimmering layer. His eyes lit up.

  The Bramblehog struck like a battering ram.

  The Treant staggered, gouging trenches into the dirt. Alwen cried out, clutching his side as he felt half the force through the link.

  I was already moving. Rejuvenation flowed, stitching pain and splintered bark together, but it wasn’t enough.

  Alwen grunted, forcing a grin, then thrust his staff forward.

  [Overload cast]

  Electricity crackled along his arms and down the Treant’s body as the summon swung wildly. Lightning burst from its limbs and exploded against the Bramblehog’s flank. The beast shrieked, momentarily stunned.

  Alwen followed up with another jolt. Yellow-green quills shimmered under the blast.

  The Bramblehog faltered, its quills drooping. The Treant stepped forward and brought its arm down hard. Bark cracked against bone.

  The Bramblehog retaliated. Its tusks punched straight through the Treant’s torso.

  Alwen screamed. The Tether flickered violently.

  “Deactivate it!” I shouted.

  He raised his staff, but it was too late. His body jerked, a raw scream tearing from his throat as the spell collapsed mid-cast.

  The Bramblehog was already attacking again.

  It rammed its tusks into the fallen Treant, tearing through bark and vine. The little guardian gave one final shudder before breaking apart, its body unraveling into a rain of leaves and splintered wood.

  And just like that… our only shield was gone.

  The beast turned, its glowing gaze locking onto us. Quills rose once more, humming with deadly energy. The ground quaked beneath its hooves as it stomped its foot.

  “Alwen…” I whispered. “Can you still fight?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Then the Bramblehog screeched and charged straight at us. And in that split second, I knew we were fucked.

  this close to sending a Bramblehog to your house if you didn’t appear.