2025-11-06 17:37:02Morning came slow, soft, warm — like sunlight had forgotten urgency and decided to stretch lazily across the world. Dust floated in the golden beam spilling through the window, dancing as Rina moved about the room.
Her voice hummed again, not a tune but a habit — the sound people make when peace is fragile and they want to hold it a little tighter. I lay wrapped on a small blanket, watching her grind herbs. Not potions, not magic — simple medicine for ordinary people. A mortar, a pestle, a bowl. In another life it would be mundane. Here? It was love, disguised as routine. Aran stepped in from outside, wiping sweat and dust from his brow. He looked at me first — always first — before placing chopped wood by the door. “He’s awake,” he said softly, like stating the weather but secretly relieved. I blinked up at him. He smiled. I gurgled — intentionally dignified, thank you very much. And then… I tried. Just a small shift at first. Arm pressing down. Tiny muscles trembling. A breath, a push, a wobble — and I rolled from my back to my side. A monumental, heroic, earth-shaking feat. Except my arm got stuck halfway and I froze like a confused potato. Rina gasped and hurried over. “Oh! Did you see? Elior rolled!” Aran blinked like he had just seen a dragon confess its feelings. “He—he did? Already?” I squeaked in triumph. Bow before me, mortals, I declared silently. But my body, traitor that it was, immediately flopped back like an overcooked dumpling. Dignity? Dead. Again. They laughed, warm and bright, and I found myself smiling too — not the baby reflex kind. Something deeper. Real. Tiny victory. Tiny life. Huge meaning. A knock sounded at the door. Aran's smile faded. He exchanged a glance with Rina — one of those silent adult conversations filled with worry and caution. He opened the door. A villager stood outside, bow in hand, quiver slung across his back. Broad shoulders, weather-worn skin. Suspicion sharpened his eyes. “Aran,” he said curtly. “Heard wolves again last night.” Aran nodded. “I stayed on watch. They didn’t come close.” “They’re bold lately.” Eyes drifted toward me. “Still keeping the foundling?” Cold word. Foundling. Like I was a stray animal, not a life. Rina’s hand tightened around my tiny fingers. “He’s our son.” The hunter’s jaw ticked. “Forest spirits don’t just abandon infants. Strange times already — beasts stirring, seasons shifting… and then a baby appears from nowhere.” The air felt colder. For a moment, I tasted danger — not claws or fangs, but human fear and ignorance. Powerless again. Unable to speak, to defend, to explain. The hunter stepped back. “Just be careful. Strange things bring stranger luck.” He left. Aran shut the door slowly, jaw set, voice low. “We can’t hide him forever. People talk.” Rina only lifted me higher, as if daring anyone to take me. “Let them. We know who he is.” You don’t. Not yet. But someday… I would earn it. Not demand it. I blinked up at them and, with monumental effort, forced my body to roll again. I did it. Clumsy. Shaky. But mine. Aran knelt, awe melting his tension. “Little warrior, hmm?” Warrior. Not yet. But the word planted itself in me like a seed drinking sun. The day moved slowly. I practiced small movements. Grip. Release. Wiggle toes. Lift head. Fail. Try again. Pain sparkled through muscles that barely existed. My arms trembled like fragile twigs. More than once, frustration clawed at me. In my old life, weakness meant invisibility. Here, it meant power waiting to grow. Afternoon drifted in with warmth and village chatter outside: Laughter. A cart rolling. A dog barking. Life. A shadow stretched across the window. Something moved beyond the fence — slow, deliberate. Not a villager. My breath caught. A grey shape, low and silent, gliding through tall grass. A wolf. Lean, ribs sharp beneath fur, eyes too intelligent. Watching the house. Watching us. It froze when our gazes met — predator recognizing life. Then it faded back into brush, silent as a memory. My heart hammered hard enough to shake my limbs. Not a threat yet. But soon. Rina didn’t see. Aran didn’t see. But I did. Weak body, sharp mind. Helpless doesn’t mean blind. Night returned. Fire crackled again. Shadows danced again. But warmth held. As I drifted in Rina’s arms, her heartbeat steady beneath my cheek, I whispered into the quiet of my soul: Grow. Not desperate. Not angry. Not afraid. Just… determined. Every roll. Every lift. Every breath. All steps toward standing. Walking. Fighting. Becoming. Not to rule. Not to dominate. But to protect the hands holding me now — the ones that chose me before the world ever knew my name. Sleep tugged at me gently. Before it pulled me under, a faint glow pulsed inside my chest again — tiny, gentle, pure, as if my bloodline exhaled in approval. Not awakening. Not yet. A promise. Patience. Future. I closed my eyes, clutching Rina’s shirt with my tiny fingers. I will grow. I will stand. And when wolves come — beasts or men — I will not cry for help. I will be the one who protects. Someday.
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Faurin's inferno
Faurin moved through the jagged cliffs of his assigned region like a predator walking among startled prey. Every step was deliberate. The wind carried a faint heat from his presence. Flames curled lightly at the edges of his flaming sword as if sensing the blood and coin pulses in the air. The cultivators of this region had already learned through instinct that his path was not to be crossed. Those who tried to evade him were often too slow.A young cultivator darted out from behind a rock, his face pale, hands trembling, clutching three coins as though they were a life raft. Faurin paused. His eyes, bright and sharp as molten metal, studied the boy. The pulse of coin energy from this one human was weak, but it drew Faurin’s attention like a faint signal to a hunter.“Please,” the boy whispered, voice shaking, “I beg you… do not take my coins. I have trained my whole life for this. Please spare me.”Faurin’s lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly. He did not answer. His entire bod
illusions of the hunt
Aeris moved silently through the pale forest of her isolated region, her robes brushing against mist-laden branches as she walked. The trees around her stretched and twisted naturally, but she allowed her subtle illusions to layer over the world. Rocks appeared broken where none were, pathways folded upon themselves, and distant glimmers of light shifted with every step. To a passerby, the forest seemed disorienting, almost alive, yet Aeris’s presence remained calm, deliberate, and unhurried.Her hand hovered over the coins at her belt. Its resonance was quiet, almost imperceptible to anyone not close enough. It was not a beacon that pulled people toward her. It was a signal that someone nearby carried value. She had learned long ago that perception could shape behavior. Contestants would hesitate if they sensed it, and hesitation could be manipulated.Movement caught her eye. A lone cultivator, walking cautiously, entered her illusion. He wore the garments of a minor sect, his blue r
Region domination begins
The forest stretched out before Elior, broken only by jagged rocks and shallow gullies that marked the uneven terrain of his region. He moved steadily, almost leisurely, though every step carried intent. His coin, now faintly pulsing with the energy of five companions, remained nestled against his chest. Its subtle resonance no longer whispered, but hummed like a quiet heartbeat of warning.He had learned the rhythm of the realm. Contestants moved cautiously, skirting around him without realizing why. Even now, he could feel the wary avoidance of others as he passed through the undergrowth. Their hesitation brought a faint smile to his face.“People are smart,” he murmured softly. “They feel the danger before they see it. That will make the hunt easier.”The first target appeared shortly after noon, a young cultivator with a short, crooked staff and two coins dangling from a belt at his waist. The man’s expression twisted with suspicion as he noticed Elior. His body tensed, ready to s
The hunt begins
Elior walked steadily through the uneven terrain of his region, his steps quiet but deliberate. He could feel the subtle shifts in the environment, the way the ground responded beneath his feet, the faint brush of wind carrying scents of earth and stone. The Fractured Coin Realm had been strange and chaotic, but now it had settled into a rhythm. A rhythm he intended to exploit.He had remained patient until now, waiting for the right moment to begin actively hunting. Until this point, he had observed, measured, and ensured his own survival, but the time for caution had passed. He was ready.The thought brought a smile to his face. He could feel it in his chest, the single coin he had acquired earlier, faintly pulsing. A low hum, almost imperceptible, but enough to anchor his attention. There was no rush yet. He had not needed to chase coins before, but now, the hunt would be deliberate, controlled, and thorough.As he moved through a cluster of jagged rocks and low trees, he noticed t
First coin hunts
Elior had known this moment would come.He had delayed it long enough to understand the realm, to feel its rhythm, to observe how others moved within it like fish in unfamiliar waters. But observation had its limits. There was a point where standing still became a decision of its own.And Elior had never been fond of stagnation.He stood atop a slanted stone ridge, overlooking a stretch of forest that dipped into shallow valleys and rose again in broken hills. The Fractured Coin Realm looked peaceful from here. Almost deceptively so.He placed a hand over his chest.One coin rested there.It was not heavy. It did not burn. It did not pulse loudly or call out to anything beyond its immediate existence. Yet it was enough. Enough to place him within the rules of this place. Enough to make him prey or predator, depending on how he chose to move.Elior closed his eyes briefly.I’m done waiting.When he opened them again, his intent had settled.He stepped down from the ridge and entered th
Ripples beneath the surface
Rolan woke to silence.Not the gentle kind that followed rest, but the hollow kind that pressed against his senses and made his breath feel too loud. For a moment, he did not move. His body felt wrong, as though something essential had been stretched thin and never fully returned. His limbs were heavy, his meridians sluggish, and his essence circulation moved with the hesitance of a river after drought.He inhaled slowly, then exhaled.Pain existed, but it was distant. Exhaustion was what ruled him now. A deep, bone settled weariness that made even opening his eyes feel like effort.When he finally did, rough stone greeted him.A shallow cave. Narrow. Natural. The air inside was cool and faintly damp, carrying the scent of earth rather than blood. That alone made his brow tighten.He remembered blood.Fragments surfaced slowly, not as a clean sequence but as impressions. The spiked python erupting from the undergrowth. Its metallic hide catching the light. The crushing pressure of its
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