The dark, narrow corridors of the base blurred as Thorne strode through them, each step driven by the need to escape. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were pale, and his jaw ached from grinding his teeth. Every inch of this place, every shadowed corner, reeked of lies. Of betrayal.

  Not one of them had stopped him as he left. Not the older recruits, not the senior members standing guard at the doors. They had all watched, but no one had dared to speak, to question him. Maybe they saw the cold fury in his eyes. Maybe they knew better than to provoke him right now.

  His heart pounded, his thoughts a storm. Betrayed. Again. Rhea had plotted his death. Vance had put on a fake smile. Rielle had lied to him for years. Everyone around him, snakes. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he imagined drawing his daggers, imagined cutting through the deceit that clung to them all like a second skin.

  He walked faster, almost blindly, feeling like if he didn’t get out, if he didn’t put distance between himself and the place that had shaped him, he would suffocate. The walls seemed closer, the air thicker. Just keep moving.

  He didn’t stop until the cold night air hit his face. The base, that cursed maze of treachery, was behind him, and for the first time in hours, he breathed deeply. But it did little to calm the storm inside.

  The city of Avar lay around him, silent and still. The streets were mostly empty at this hour, save for a few late-night stragglers and the flicker of lamplights casting long shadows on the cobblestones. He walked, unsure of where he was going. He didn’t care. All that mattered was that he wasn’t there anymore.

  His mind raced as he moved aimlessly through the streets. I could go to them. Jonah, Ben, Darius... they’d understand. The thought of seeing his friends flickered in his mind, a momentary solace. They were the only ones left—people he could still trust. But he knew himself too well. The anger inside him wasn’t something he could just bury, not yet. If he saw them now, the rage coursing through his veins might spill over, and he might say something, do something he couldn’t take back.

  They don’t deserve that. They were innocent in all this. Unlike the snakes that coiled in the shadows of the guild, Jonah and the others had never lied to him, never twisted a knife into his back while pretending to care.

  I’ll hurt them if I go now. I’ll ruin everything.

  He clenched his fists tighter, feeling the sting of his nails biting into his palms. His feet carried him farther through the city, the square buildings of Alvar standing ominously against the night sky. The laughter of late-night revelers drifted faintly through the air, but it sounded distant, hollow.

  Somewhere along the way, his aimless walking brought him to the western gate. Thorne stood there for a moment, staring at the iron structure, his breath visible in the cool night air. He hadn’t planned on coming here. He hadn’t planned on anything. Yet here he was, at the edge of the city, staring out toward the dark, wild forest beyond.

  It wasn’t a conscious decision, but the thought hit him like a sudden spark in the darkness. The forest. A midnight hunt. Aether beasts roamed those woods—dangerous, unpredictable, and perfect for venting the fury that roared inside him. Out there, he wouldn’t have to hold back. Out there, no one would betray him. No one would lie. There was only the fight—the rush of adrenaline, the primal satisfaction of letting his blades do the talking.

  Before he knew it, Thorne was slipping past the guards at the gate, his skills in stealth making him a mere shadow against the stone walls. He didn’t need their permission. The guards were nothing to him now. Just another part of this broken city he couldn’t bear to deal with.

  The forest loomed ahead, a dark, beckoning abyss. He felt a strange sense of calm settle over him as he walked into its depths. Here, under the cover of night, surrounded by the whisper of leaves and the distant howls of creatures in the distance, Thorne could finally let the anger out.

  He drew his daggers, the familiar weight of them a comfort in his hands. Come on, he thought, his breath steadying. Show yourselves.

  The beasts were out there, lurking. And tonight, they would be his release.

  Thorne moved swiftly through the dense forest, his steps silent as the night pressed in around him. The thick canopy above blocked out most of the moonlight, casting everything in shadows, but that didn’t bother him. Out here, in the wild, he didn’t need to hold back. No masks, no deceit. It was just him and the creatures lurking in the darkness.

  The anger that had been bubbling inside him since he left the base simmered just beneath the surface. His heart beat steadily, but his mind was on fire—an inferno of rage, betrayal, and frustration that needed an outlet. He welcomed the challenge that the night would bring. Come on, he thought, his grip tightening around his daggers. Give me something to fight.

  And then, he saw them.

  They drifted through the trees like whispers of light—pale, translucent creatures hovering just above the forest floor. Phantom Wisps. Dozens of them, their soft, blue glow a stark contrast to the darkness around them. They seemed peaceful, feeding on the ambient aether in the air, but Thorne knew better. When disturbed, they were anything but harmless.

  He didn't hesitate. His feet moved on their own, charging forward, and with a sharp breath, he activated Aether Surge. His body responded instantly, muscles tightening as aether flooded his system, sharpening his senses and boosting his agility, strength, and reflexes. The world around him seemed to slow, the faint hum of his aetheric power pulsing in his ears like a war drum.

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  One of the wisps turned, sensing him before he even struck, its body flickering as it prepared to phase out. Not fast enough.

  Thorne lashed out with a dagger, his Lethal Flurry activating. His blades danced through the air, cutting through one wisp before it could phase. It let out a faint, almost musical cry as its ethereal body shattered, dissolving into motes of light.

  The others reacted instantly, shifting from peaceful to aggressive in the blink of an eye. A pulse of energy radiated from the nearest wisp— Ethereal Pulse—and Thorne felt a twinge of paralysis begin to creep into his limbs.

  But he was ready for this. Drawing on his Resilience, he forced his muscles to respond, shaking off the effects as he darted to the side, narrowly avoiding another wisp that tried to phase through him.

  They were everywhere now, swirling around him like angry hornets. His aether reserves pulsed with energy, but he could already feel the familiar pull as they began to sap his strength with their Aetheric Leech. The wisps fed off aether, draining it from the air and from him, weakening his abilities the longer he stayed in their presence.

  But Thorne had no intention of letting them take control. You want aether? he thought, a dark grin twisting his lips. Take it.

  He called forth his Primal Aether Manipulation, shaping the raw energy around him into a surge of power. With a swift motion, he unleashed an Aether Burst, a shockwave of pure energy that rippled outward, slamming into the nearest wisps and scattering them like leaves in the wind.

  Several of them blinked out of existence as they phased, avoiding the attack, but two more were caught off guard, their forms flickering violently before they dissolved into the night.

  Thorne didn’t give them a chance to regroup. He dove into the fray, spinning through the air as he hurled throwing knives with deadly precision. Knife Fan activated, sending the blades arcing through the air in a wide, sweeping motion. One by one, the knives struck their targets, hitting the wisps just before they could phase. Their ethereal bodies shattered with each hit, disappearing in brief flashes of pale blue light.

  The rest of the swarm retaliated, releasing another wave of Ethereal Pulses. This time, Thorne felt the weight of their attack, his muscles stiffening, slowing him down just enough for them to close in. He cursed under his breath as he felt the aether in his body being drained faster now, the Aetheric Leech pulling at his strength. His reserves were dwindling, and the constant assault was starting to wear him down.

  But Thorne wasn’t done yet. He shifted into Shadow Meld, his form blending into the darkness of the forest as the wisps momentarily lost sight of him. Silent and unseen, he darted between the trees, his Stealth Strike ready for the kill. As he moved, he focused on the wisps' patterns, watching for the moments when they solidified between phases. Timing was everything.

  He reappeared behind one of the wisps, his dagger plunging into its core before it could react. Another blinked into existence to his left, and Thorne was ready, delivering a swift strike to its exposed form with his other blade. He moved fluidly, every strike precise, each step calculated. He was in his element—no more masks, no more hiding.

  The wisps were thinning now, their numbers reduced by half, but they weren’t finished. The remaining creatures circled around him, and he could feel their combined energy building, preparing for a final, coordinated attack.

  No more games. Thorne used Invisible Threads, the threads of aether snaking out from his hands and wrapping around the wisps. With a sharp pull, he yanked them toward him, forcing them to materialize.

  They struggled, flickering as they tried to phase out, but Thorne didn’t give them a chance. His daggers flashed, and with one final, devastating Lethal Flurry, he cut through the remaining wisps, shattering them into nothingness.

  The forest fell silent. The soft glow of the Phantom Wisps had vanished, leaving Thorne standing alone in the dark, his breath coming in slow, steady gasps. His muscles ached, and his aether reserves were low, but the fury that had been raging inside him had finally started to subside.

  Out here, there were no lies. No betrayals. Just him and the night. And for a brief moment, that was enough.

  Thorne was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as the effects of the battle settled over him. His muscles burned, his stamina drained, and his aether reserves felt dangerously low. Each strike, every surge of energy, had come at a cost. The glow of his Aether Surge faded, leaving a familiar fatigue in its wake. Despite the weariness, there was a small satisfaction in knowing that the battle had pushed him further. The familiar ping of notifications echoed in his mind.

  Skill level up: Aether Surge!

  Skill level up: Knife Fan!

  Skill level up: Stealth Strike!

  Skill level up: Invisible Threads!

  The strain on his body was undeniable, but the results spoke for themselves. Thorne had honed his abilities under pressure, and now he was stronger for it.

  As the forest around him settled into silence, a new sensation flickered in the back of his mind. His Hunter's Insight flared to life, casting a faint golden glow over the scene before him. The remains of the Phantom Wisps—ethereal, glittering particles—floated just above the ground, their essence hanging in the air like the afterglow of a distant star.

  "Harvestable…" Thorne muttered under his breath, the information from Hunter’s Insight feeding directly into his thoughts. These creatures, though dangerous, left behind valuable materials that could be used for aether-based potions, enhancements, or even trade. Jonah, with his new shop, would appreciate these ingredients. Thorne imagined his friend’s face lighting up with a mix of gratitude and excitement at the haul.

  Pushing past the fatigue gnawing at him, Thorne began gathering the materials. The wisps' remains shimmered with translucent beauty, delicate but potent. He collected them with practiced ease, using Sleight of Hand to carefully handle each piece without damaging their fragile forms. His hands moved swiftly, collecting what looked like small pearls of condensed aether essence, and wisps of energy that trailed between his fingers like strands of silk.

  “These will fetch a good price,” Thorne muttered to himself. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he pictured Jonah’s grin at the sight of the rare aether-infused remains.

  Just as he turned to leave, he heard it—a rustle behind him. His body tensed, instincts flaring. The forest had been silent, too silent. Now something was there, watching, waiting.

  Before he could react, a heavy force slammed into him from behind, sending him crashing to the ground. His breath left him in a sharp gasp, dirt grinding against his skin as he rolled with the impact.

  Thorne sprang to his feet, daggers in hand, eyes scanning the darkness. Whatever had hit him was fast—too fast. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, circling, stalking.

  Heart pounding, he tightened his grip on his blades.

  The next attack was coming.

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