The beast stared at Avin.

And Avin stared back.

The lake rippled between them—quiet, heavy, waiting.

It was enormous. The creature's body rose from the crimson water like a coiled mountain, its length unending, vanishing into the lake's depths. Sunlight struck its scales and scattered across them like light through stained glass. Each scale shimmered with an iridescent spectrum—green and blue, violet and gold—arranged in perfect hexagonal patterns that looked more like gemstones than armor.

Two long whiskers hung beside its jaw, swaying in the wind like banners of war. The beast opened its jaws, rows of teeth gleaming like knives forged from crystal. Its nostrils flared. The sound it made wasn't a growl—it was a rumble that came from the depths of the earth itself.

Avin swallowed, his heart thundering in his chest. His wounds throbbed, every breath a knife in his ribs. But his instincts screamed what his mind could barely process.

It's about to attack.

He staggered to his feet, one hand gripping his sword where it stood buried in the sand. With a shaky breath, he pulled energy through his arm, forcing it down through the veins that still obeyed him. The sword shimmered, its golden hue deepening, the blade stretching longer and darker. It wasn't the perfected weapon he'd once wielded—its glow flickered and wavered, like an ember trying to remember what it was to burn—but it was enough.

He didn't need perfection.

He only needed to live.

The beast drew in a breath so deep the water around it dipped. Avin could feel the air pressure shifting, the way the trees behind him bowed toward the lake as if kneeling.

He didn't wait.

Avin wrenched the sword from the sand and swung upward in a single, desperate motion. A vertical wave of golden energy tore from the blade, cutting through the air with a sound like thunder cracking through glass. The slash curved toward the monster—nine feet long, wide as a man's body—and bright enough to burn the reflection of the sun into Avin's eyes.

The creature opened its mouth.

And exhaled.

A torrent of water blasted from its jaws, dense and fast enough to split stone. It wasn't just a stream—it was a cannon, a column of compressed pressure that churned the air white. Had it touched Avin, he'd have been erased from existence.

But his attack met it halfway.

The golden slash cleaved the torrent in two. The water erupted outward, exploding into two great curtains on either side of him. The shockwave hurled sand, branches, and shards of stone into the air. The forest screamed in protest.

Avin braced himself, teeth clenched, his body shaking under the recoil.

And when the spray cleared—he saw it.

His attack hadn't vanished.

It had cut through.

The creature's long neck was split open. The line glowed gold for a second before blood erupted, painting the lake in scarlet once more. The beast froze, still towering above him, before its massive body slid apart, one half sinking into the water, the other collapsing backward with a deafening crash.

Avin stood frozen, his chest heaving, eyes wide in disbelief.

He'd actually done it.

The blade trembled in his hand, faint motes of light rising from its surface. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to breathe—to feel that fragile spark of victory.

And then—

The water stirred again.

His relief turned to dread as he watched thin cords of flesh sprout from the severed halves. Wet strands of sinew and muscle snaked across the gap, connecting, pulling, weaving the two halves together like puppet strings.

"Oh… shit."

The words left him in a whisper.

He could see it rebuilding itself—each muscle strand writhing and knitting the beast whole again. It wasn't regeneration. It was reconstruction, precise and purposeful. The wounds smoothed over as though they had never existed. The glimmering scales reformed, replacing the gaps.

Within seconds, the monster was whole again.

And angrier.

It reared up, letting out a roar that shattered the lake's calm. The water convulsed, rising in chaotic columns, boiling and twisting as if alive. The sound was so loud Avin could feel it in his teeth, in his bones.

He could barely move. His limbs were heavy, his energy drained, his breath shallow. His eyes darted across the water—and then he saw something move.

Ripples.

Dozens. Hundreds.

Something small and fast broke the surface.

A shape Avin recognized immediately: slick green skin, gills flaring, teeth sharp as daggers.

It was the same species that had torn into his leg—the lake's unseen predators.

A single one shot toward him like a bullet. Avin's instincts screamed. He dropped his sword, letting gravity pull him flat to the ground. The creature soared over him, close enough for him to smell its rancid, fishlike stench, and crashed into the thicket behind him.

The bushes shook violently. The creature flailed, snarling, its teeth flashing as it tried to escape the tangle of roots. Avin rolled to his side, grabbed his sword, and with one quick thrust, stabbed the beast through the skull.

The creature twitched, tail slapping the dirt. Then it went still.

Avin barely had time to exhale.

A new sound came from the lake.

A low, vibrating growl that wasn't just from one throat.

He turned—and froze.

The surface of the lake was boiling with movement. Hundreds—no, thousands—of those creatures surged to the top, their heads breaking the surface, eyes glowing red in unison. For a moment, they floated in eerie silence, the reflection of the sky dancing across their slick bodies.

Then they lunged.

A wave of teeth and muscle, thousands strong, shot toward the shore. Avin's heart stopped. His mind went blank. There was no way to fight them—not like this, not alone, not bleeding and broken.

He closed his eyes.

If this was how it ended, maybe at least he'd rest.

But before the swarm reached him—

The world flashed white.

A single, clean line of light cut through the air, slicing through every single creature mid-lunge. The sound that followed wasn't an explosion but something sharper, a tearing of air and water—a symphony of violence too fast for the ear to follow.

Time itself seemed to pause.

The monsters froze midair.

Then came the sound.

A crack, deep and heavy, like the sky itself splitting open.

The water fell still.

The swarm dropped in unison—hundreds of bodies slapping the ground, each one neatly divided from head to tail. Blood misted the air. The stench of iron filled Avin's lungs.

And there, standing between him and the lake, was a figure.

Silhouetted against the blazing sky, she stood at the water's edge, her back to him, sword in hand. The blade still glowed white, humming like it was alive. The breeze caught her hair, flaring it out in a cascade of fiery red.

Avin blinked, disbelief tightening his chest.

That stance—

That sword—

That aura of absolute composure—

He knew it.

The figure turned slightly, the sunlight catching her profile. Sharp features, a calm, cold expression. Eyes like amber glass, glowing faintly. Her combat uniform was a refined camouflage pattern, every seam pristine, her posture radiating control.

Avin's breath hitched.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

The woman who had just cleaved an army of monsters in half was no stranger. He'd seen her before—twice. Once at the dinner table, smiling faintly beside their parents. Once again, in fleeting memories of a world that now felt like a dream.

His sister.

She lowered her sword, letting its light fade, the hum dying into silence. The air still rippled with the aftermath of her attack, a faint shimmer of energy twisting through the mist that hung over the lake.

Avin stared, frozen, his mind blank. The forest, the pain, the blood—all of it blurred around the single shape of the woman standing before him.

The silence stretched long and thin.

He exhaled one word, soft, half-in disbelief, half-in awe.

"...Woah."

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