Trail by Hunger

The forest loomed before them, a silent behemoth casting long, ominous shadows that danced in the dim morning light. Pyrrhus took a hesitant step forward, his small hand brushing against a gnarled tree trunk. Its rough bark felt cold and unforgiving against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his mother's embrace.

Beside him, Owen trembled, his eyes wide with a fear that mirrored Pyrrhus's own. The other two trainees, Finn and Erik, stood frozen, their bravado from earlier replaced by a palpable unease.

Sera, the oldest and most experienced of the group, trailed behind, her eyes scanning the surroundings with the vigilance of a seasoned scout.

Pyrrhus reached out with his soul sense, a lifeline in this unfamiliar territory. He could feel the presence of small creatures—squirrels, rabbits, birds—their panicked energy a stark contrast to the serene stillness of the trees. No larger predators yet, but the forest held a deeper hum, a primal energy that pulsed through its very heart.

"Move," Finn snapped, his voice barely a whisper but laced with enough venom to sting. He nudged Owen roughly, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "You first, little scaredy-cat."

Owen whimpered, his gaze darting between the menacing forest and Finn's menacing glare. Pyrrhus felt a surge of anger, his own fear momentarily forgotten. "Leave him alone," he snarled, stepping between Owen and Finn. The urge to lash out, to silence the bully with a gust of wind, was almost overwhelming.

Finn's smirk widened. "What are you gonna do, baby? Blow me away with your wind?"

Pyrrhus clenched his fists, the memory of his outburst against the Ravager fueling his anger. He took a deep breath, the wind whispering through the trees seeming to echo his own rising fury. But before he could act, a hand fell on his shoulder, a calming presence amidst the brewing storm.

"Not the right place," Sera said, her voice low and steady. Her gaze flickered between the two boys, a silent warning in her eyes.

Pyrrhus hesitated, his anger warring with his better judgment. He knew Sera was right. This wasn't the time or place for a confrontation. With a frustrated sigh, he turned away, his jaw clenched tight. He would deal with Finn later.

He didn't understand the logic behind Bram's command but he trusted him.

Earlier that day…

Five figures, huddled together against the biting pre-dawn chill, stood before Bram. The warrior's blood-stained armor and the ominous presence of his enchanted blade were a constant reminder of the brutal reality they faced.

A gentle breeze flattened the grass and sent it rustling, the sound only intensifying Pyrrhus's irritation.

A sharp gust of wind cut through the clearing, sending a shiver down the spine of five-year-old Pyrrhus. His stomach growled in unison, a deep, echoing rumble that seemed to reverberate through the entire camp.

The damp grass seeped through his thin clothes, adding to his misery, but it was the relentless gnawing hunger that truly tormented him. He imagined the Spineback Ravager, its flesh roasted over a roaring fire, the succulent aroma filling the air. "Why did it have to be poisonous?" he mumbled.

"What're you doing here, midget?" Finn's voice drawled from beside him, each word dripping with contempt. His friend's laughter echoed the sentiment but it hid a nervous energy.

Apparently, those two joined the morning trainings as well, though Milo, being a "magician," considered it beneath him to train with them.

Pyrrhus forced himself to ignore them, keeping his gaze fixed on Bram, though the effort cost him. Every taunt from Finn was a needle prick, aggravating his already foul mood.

Beside him, Owen fidgeted, his fear palpable. The boy's eyes darted nervously between Finn and the ground, his hands trembling. "What am I doing here?" Owen whispered into Pyrrhus's ear, his voice barely audible and laced with dread.

"Stay still and focus," Pyrrhus hissed, his irritation making his voice sharper than he intended.

Bram stepped forward, his presence a wall of iron and leather. The chatter died, replaced by the nervous shuffle of feet on dry grass. "Manalocks," he began, voice rough as the calluses on his hands, "are a gateway to power."

With a small, almost casual motion, he produced a dagger from his belt. It was a simple blade, the kind used for utility rather than combat.

Bram clenched the dagger in his fist. The metal groaned under the strain, the blade bending as his grip tightened. The trainees watched in awe as Bram continued to apply pressure until, with a sound like a controlled explosion, the blade shattered.

"Magic is like this blade," Bram's voice resonated, each word a hammer blow. "A tool, a weapon, dangerous to the wielder as much as the enemy. Mages hold their mana in check by their lifeforce. But lose control, even for a heartbeat..." He opened his fist, metal shards raining down. "...and it explodes, taking you with it. You become a wraith, a monster."

Pyrrhus's stomach twisted, the gnawing hunger momentarily forgotten. He'd never seen wraiths but heard about them– empty husks, twisted by magic gone wild.

"Manalocks on the other hand," Bram resumed, "are like gates within us. They allow mana to fuse with our bodies, enhancing it. But they are as perilous as they are powerful. One slip, one moment of weakness..." He shook his head, eyes hard. "I'll end you myself before you turn into a wraith and become a danger to others."

Silence hung heavy. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Bram knelt, a shard of metal glinting in his calloused hand. "Magic isn't a toy. It takes sweat, and pain to tame it." He squeezed, crimson welling up around the shard. "But the reward..."

His arm shimmered, veins glowing with an infernal light. It wasn't just heat radiating from him, it was as if fire itself flowed beneath his skin.

With a quiet grunt of effort, Bram's fingers tightened. The metal shrieked and twisted, contorting under inhuman pressure. Then, with a final, almost imperceptible clench, it crumbled into fine dust.

Bram released his grip, and the dust danced, swirling around his hand in a swirling dance. A flick of his wrist, and the cloud dispersed, a silent warning carried on the wind.

"But the reward..." Bram's voice was a low hiss, filled with a promise that sent shivers down Pyrrhus's spine. "...you become more than flesh and bone. Manalocks grant strength, speed... even gifts some never dreamed of."

The trainees exchanged awestruck glances. Even Finn, usually so cocky, was silent.

Bram's voice continued, cutting through the morning air with calm authority. "To unlock your potential, you need to condition your body and reach a certain level of strength. Without proper food, this will be difficult."

He beckoned towards the forest. "As such, you will start by hunting for your food. No food, no training. The forest is your proving ground."

His words sent a murmur of unease among the five.

The forest loomed ahead, a place of both fear and mystery for the community. The very thought of entering it brought everyone's doubts to the forefront. The shadows beneath the trees seemed to pulse with unseen dangers, a living testament to everyone's fears.

Sera, the oldest of the group at 16 and one of the soldiers, directly ventured towards the forest. Her dark eyes, framed by braided black hair, held a steely determination.

Despite the unease gripping him, Pyrrhus knew he had to take risks if he wanted to grow stronger and protect everyone.

He tightened his grip on Owen's arm, adrenaline replacing fear. This is it, he thought, our first step towards becoming the mages and warriors we need to be. With a determined nod, he led the way into the unknown, the forest's whispers both a warning and a promise.

*****

A/N:

Thanks for reading Chapter 12! I hope you're enjoying John's journey as Pyrrhus. Your comments and votes really motivate me to keep writing.

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