In the Town Hall's Council Chamber, five robed figures sat around a crescent-shaped table carved from obsidian-black stone. The air was tense, heavy with unspoken fears and the slow unraveling of old certainties.
At the center sat Elder Mordren Hampton, silver-haired patriarch of the Hampton Family, the oldest and most influential bloodline in Greyveil town. His gaze was sharp, yet burdened by the weight of a storm gathering far faster than expected.
Around him were the heads of the other four great families
Opposite him sat Elder Selwyn Varn of the Varn Trade Syndicate,
And to his left sat Elder Nyla Crestborne of the Crestborne Family, clad in ceremonial guard leathers,
On the other side, Elder Jorah Flint of the Flint Family, broad-shouldered and quiet.
And just beside him sat Elder Mireille Duskmoor, of the Duskmoor Family,
The room was silent but for the crackle of the hearth behind them.
Then Mordren spoke.
"The Fogveil Ring is no longer stable."
Selwyn leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Scouts report the fog grows denser each day. We're seeing pack movements that are too coordinated."
Nyla gritted her teeth. "There was an attack two days ago. A small hunting party was ambushed by a horde of Bloody Hounds. a Horde and not a pack."
"That was the group lead by Gareth, yes?" asked Mireille softly.
Mordren gave a slow nod. "Only three returned. One was left behind. Another… Kael… was presumed dead, but returned yesterday. He survived alone."
Jorah grunted. "Not possible for an Early first rank soul hunter."
"Unless…" Nyla muttered, "something is changing in them too."
They exchanged wary glances.
Mordren placed both palms on the table. "The signs are too clear to ignore. We are witnessing the early stages of a monster tide and this one will be worse because there's movement in the deeper layers and the Ring is mutating."
Selwyn added, "If we wait too long, our shield will fail. We need cores now. Enough to power the barrier until reinforcements from the capital arrive."
Mireille's voice was calm, but ominous. "If they arrive…"
A heavy silence fell.
Then Mordren raised his hand. "We'll issue open-call missions through the Hunter's Guild. Target small clusters. Thin the tide while it still builds. Prioritize gathering beast cores. Pay above standard rates."
Nyla nodded. "Soul Hunters will rise to the call—for coin or for glory."
Jorah added, "Or die trying."
Mordren's fingers curled into the table's edge. "Either way… we buy time."
The decision was unanimous.
Elsewhere...
Kael awoke to the scent of clean linen and morning sun cutting through thin curtains.
His muscles ached with the soreness of true rest which was different from the twitchy fatigue of sleeping in fear while at the fogveil ring. For the first time in days, he hadn't jolted awake at the sound of imagined claws scraping stone.
He lay there a moment, letting the silence settle.
Then, hunger.
He slipped from bed, quickly dressed, and descended to the inn's common room to eat. A plate of scrambled embergrain, fireleaf bread, and roast barnfowl awaited—cheap, but hot and filling.
As he ate, he reached into his pouch and withdrew one of the beast cores he had kept.
Lesser Soul Beast Core.
Holding it to his chest, Kael closed his eyes—and the Chaos System surged to life.
[Absorbing Soul Energy...]
But something was different.
The energy didn't flow the way it once had. it moved faster, and more efficiently.
His soul core pulsed stronger and he could feel his limits expanding, and he knew that this wasn't the natural progression of a Dim Soul potential
The Chaos Energy is changing me.
It's not just a system... it's a catalyst.
After his meal and a quick bath, Kael stepped out into the streets of Greyveil. The sky overhead was clouded, pale gray with distant hints of stormlight. He didn't need anyone to tell him, "something was coming".
He walked until he found a secluded hill just outside the town's southern wall—an abandoned orchard where few ventured now that the soul beasts roamed closer.
There, surrounded by fallen trees and whispering wind, Kael trained.
He repeated every movement: slashes, counters, footwork drills—the scythe cutting through the air in wide, ghostly arcs. The weapon hummed in tune with his energy now, no longer foreign in his hands.
But his focus remained on one thing:
Shadow Flicker.
He activated the skill—just a blur, a flicker of movement—and then again. And again.
Each time, he pushed further, testing how long he could hold the flicker, how rapidly he could chain it, how smoothly he could integrate it with a strike or dodge.
It drained his soul energy, yes—but in return, it gave him unpredictability.
"In the wild, I survived because I was overlooked. That won't work in the tides to come. I need to be fast. I need to vanish… then strike."
He trained until his arms trembled. Until sweat dripped into his eyes and his soul pool ran dry.
Only then did he stop.
He stood atop the hill, chest heaving, the wind catching at his clothing. In the distance, beyond the trees, a black fog pulsed like a living heart.
Kael's gaze hardened.
"I may have survived by chance… but I'll grow by choice."
By the time Kael returned to the inn, the quiet atmosphere from the morning had all but vanished.
The main floor pulsed with life with a crowd of Soul Hunters, some in light gear, others cloaked in armor marked with beast scars. Mugs clinked together in toasts, arguments flared across tables, and the scent of sweat and old ale thickened the air.
Kael paused at the doorway, scanning the faces.
It wasn't this crowded yesterday. Something big happened.
He moved past the door and found a space near the check-in counter where a few hunters stood in a loose half-circle. One of them was tall man with dark braids and a rough-edged leather vest. He was hunched over the bar nursing a half-drained tankard.
Kael approached calmly, keeping his tone even. "Hey, mind if I ask something?"
The man looked up, cautious at first, then nodded. "Depends. You a newblood or just really bad at drinking?"
Kael allowed a half-smile. "Let's go with the first."
The man chuckled, extending a hand. "Name's Brann. Second Rank Hunter and Fogveil veteran."
"Kael," he replied, shaking it firmly. "Trying to survive longer than my last team."
Brann snorted. "Ain't that all of us."
Kael leaned against the counter. "This place wasn't half this loud yesterday. Something change?"
Brann's gaze sharpened. "You really are outta the loop."
Kael shrugged. "That's why I'm asking."
Brann took another swig of his drink, then wiped his mouth. "The town Council dropped the hammer this morning. New wave of missions- hunters are being sent out in parties only and the goal was to thin out the smaller packs and gather as many beast cores as possible."
Kael's brows drew together. "Smaller packs only? That's a fair limit."
Brann nodded. "It's not just about the tide. They want cores in volumes. The shield's soul engine burns energy like crazy, and from the whispers I've heard… that fog's not just spreading—it's getting darker."
Kael was silent a beat, digesting it.
So that's why they're pushing for cores… use the hunters to clean up the edge while feeding the engine… and in return, raise their odds of survival without risking their own.
Brann continued, "They're paying five Sol extra per core above the standard rate. So now every hunter and their parties are lining up to register, recruit, or sell."
Kael gave a thoughtful nod. "Smart move by the council. Push danger on us while painting it like an opportunity."
Brann gave him a sidelong glance. "You talk like someone who's not new at all."
"Let's just say... I'm catching up fast," Kael said, then added with quiet sincerity, "Thanks for the info."
Brann tapped the edge of his mug in farewell. "If you're going out, get a team you trust. The beasts are changing, and trust me, a fancy soul weapon won't save you if the one beside you runs."
Kael made his way up to his room.
The noise from below faded with each step, but his mind didn't quiet.
The tide was real. And it was closer than anyone wanted to admit.
He dropped onto the edge of his bed, pulling out one of the last cores he hadn't used. He stared into its swirling interior just before absorbing it.
His thoughts churned.
I need to get stronger faster. I need more than just a skill or luck. I need to evolve my soul weapon potential.
Resolve tightened in his chest.
The town's fate wasn't his burden, at least not yet. But his survival would be on his terms this time.
And if the system truly wanted him to grow… then he'd push until the world had no choice but to recognize what an awakened Flickering Soul could become.