Jack could feel it too. A crackling in the air, something raw and untamed. Not just the fear of the villagers. Something else. Something… waking up.
“They’re still here,” Jack gasped, pushing himself faster. “The thugs. The same bastards who jumped us.”
“Yeah,” Petros wheezed, “great—maybe let’s—pace—ourselves—so we don’t—die before we get there?”
Jack barely heard him.
The rooftops of Pendle came into view beyond the last bend in the road. A plume of dust and scattered debris marked the heart of the town square, where raised voices clashed with the sound of something heavy smashing into stone.
Then a roar split the morning air. Not a human one.
Jack skidded to a halt just before the final stretch of road, heart hammering. He turned to Petros, who had stopped beside him, wide-eyed.
“Did that sound like a—”
“—A bear?” Petros finished, gulping. “Yeah. A pissed-off one.”
Jack whipped his head back toward the square. The gang of thugs they had sworn revenge on were already in full retreat. They weren’t fighting anymore. They were running.
And chasing them…
Jack’s brain struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. A towering humanoid bear, thick with muscle, slammed a glowing totem into the cobblestones, sending a wave of energy rippling through the air. The thugs closest to it stumbled, their limbs sluggish and heavy, as if an unseen force had wrapped around them.
Then, from the other side of the square, a hammer arced through the air like a falling comet.
It struck the ground inches from a fleeing thug’s foot, exploding in a pulse of golden light. The thug yelped, diving sideways.
Jack barely had time to blink before the wielder of the hammer stepped into view.
Henry. The blacksmith.
But not the Henry Jack had known before. This Henry burned with power. His once-calloused hands now hummed with residual magic, the veins in his forearms glowing faintly. The hammer in his grasp was unlike anything Jack had seen before—runed, alive with some kind of forge-born magic.
The remaining thugs didn’t hesitate. They scattered, fleeing for their lives.
Jack and Petros stood frozen at the edge of town, completely unnecessary.
They had rushed back to fight, to reclaim their pride, to pay the thugs back for the humiliation they suffered days ago.
But the town no longer needed saving.
Jack’s grip on his staff tightened as reality caught up with him.
The people he had accidentally unlocked—he surmised the bear was Raven and Henry—had already stepped up. And judging by the look of things… they didn’t just get a little stronger.
They had become something else entirely.
Petros exhaled sharply, nudging Jack’s arm. “Well… this is awkward.”
Jack smirked, crossing his arms. “Huh. So my little experiment’s already shaking things up.”
As the dust settled in Pendle’s town square, the gathered crowd erupted into cheers. Two of the five thugs lay bound in magical vines, their earlier sluggishness from Raven’s totem still evident in their drooping eyelids and sluggish movements, the other three long gone. A few townsfolk cautiously stepped forward, testing the edges of the vines, as if unsure whether they were real or some lingering dream.
Jack, Petros, and Saul lingered at the edge of the scene, watching as the celebration unfolded. The totem Raven had placed crumbled into motes of fading light, its presence vanishing as its power reached its limit. In the center of it all, Raven—now fully human again—brushed dust from her arms while Henry stood beside her, his hammer still faintly glowing from whatever magic he had channeled into it.
“You know,” Jack murmured, hands on his hips, “I was really looking forward to kicking their asses this time.”
Petros huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, me too. But… they kind of had it handled.”
Jack exhaled, his gaze drifting between Henry and Raven, watching the easy way they held themselves—relaxed, confident, powerful. The people he had connected to the Source weren’t just stepping up to defend Pendle. They were thriving.
Jack’s grin returned, cocky as ever. “Or, and hear me out, I just started the greatest power creep Pendle has ever seen.”
Petros groaned, shaking his head. “That’s not a good thing.”
“Debatable,” Jack shot back, still grinning.
As the commotion settled and the town resumed its normal pace, Henry finally turned toward the bound thugs, his expression shifting from quiet pride to something more resigned. With a practiced hammer swing, he cut through the magical vines binding their feet, though the rest of the restraints remained intact. Two town guards—who had been laid out earlier by the thugs' ambush—had finally regained their footing and approached, ready to take them into custody.
Meanwhile, Raven and Henry spoke in hushed tones, exchanging observations on their newfound strength. Raven studied Henry’s hammer with fascination, tilting her head as she murmured, “The way you move with that thing… it’s like it’s an extension of you.”
Henry smirked, turning the weapon in his grasp. “And you… I’ve never seen a shaman transformation before. You were holding back last time, weren’t you?”
Raven shrugged, an amused glint in her eye. “A girl’s gotta have a few secrets.”
That was Jack and Petros’s cue.
They strode toward the pair, Saul padding beside them. Jack was about to make some grand entrance, but his thoughts snagged on an odd realization—no one was reacting to the massive wolf at his side.
Not a single townsperson looked twice at Saul. No wary glances. No whispers. Just casual, absent-minded acceptance, as if Jack’s companion had always been there.
Jack blinked. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Petros frowned. “What?”
Jack gestured vaguely at the town around them. “They just… completely accepted that I have a giant wolf. No panic, no questions, nothing. And here I was, sneaking him around like some paranoid idiot.”
Petros smirked. “So, what, you’re mad that people aren’t afraid of you?”
Jack groaned dramatically. “No, I’m mad I didn’t give them enough credit! I could’ve had a badass entrance this whole time, and instead, I’ve been treating Saul like some illegal pet.”
Saul flicked an ear, utterly unbothered.
Before Petros could poke further fun at Jack’s unnecessary theatrics, Henry finally noticed their approach. He glanced between them, brows furrowing in mild surprise. “You two look like you had something to say.”
Jack nodded, all traces of self-pity gone. “Yeah. Let’s talk.”
Henry exchanged a glance with Raven, then jerked his head toward his smithy. “Fine. This way.”
The five of them—Henry, Raven, Jack, Petros, and Saul—made their way toward Henry’s forge. Behind them, the town guards dragged the still-muttering thugs toward the holding cells, their protests falling on deaf ears.
Inside Henry’s smithy, the warmth of the forge wrapped around them like a heavy cloak. Tools lay scattered across the workbenches, half-finished blades resting in various states of completion. Henry leaned against the table, arms crossed, while Raven perched on a stool near the hearth, stretching like she had all the time in the world.
“Alright," he said, planting his staff against the floor. "I need to know what happened. You two went from regular townsfolk to that—” he gestured broadly, indicating the raw power they had displayed—"so start talking."
Henry and Raven exchanged a glance.
“You’re acting like we had a choice,” Raven said, tipping her head. “Like we knew what was happening.” She exhaled through her nose, thoughtful. “It just… started. One morning, I woke up different. Stronger. Like something had shifted inside me.” She frowned. “I felt this pull toward the wild. Like I could hear the land, sense things I never could before.”
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Henry grunted. “For me, it was the forge. I picked up my hammer, and suddenly—I knew I could push magic into the metal. Didn’t read it, didn’t learn it. It was just there.” He paused, his gaze locking onto Jack. “And those runes you carved? I saw you do it once. Next thing I knew, I could do it too.”
Jack blinked. “You learned magic just from watching me?”
Henry nodded, jaw tight. “I’ve been practicing. At first, the magic wouldn’t hold. Then I figured out how to bind it properly. Now my weapons keep the enchantments.” He tapped a half-forged sword resting on his worktable. “Every time I forge, I feel it more.”
Petros tilted his head. “So… you both got stronger in different ways?”
Raven nodded. “I wanted answers. Tested myself in the woods—goblins, mostly. Used to be, I’d have lasted a few minutes at best. Instead, I thrived. The more I fought, the sharper it got. Then the totems started coming.” She gestured vaguely to where hers had dissolved earlier. “Set one down, and it’s like… the earth listens. The energy builds, then releases when I need it.”
Henry exhaled. “Feels like the world itself is waking up. Not just us—everything.”
Jack and Petros exchanged glances. That last statement sent a chill down Jack’s spine.
Jack hesitated before asking, "And this started when? The moment you felt the change?"
Henry thought for a moment, then nodded. "About a week ago."
Raven pursed her lips. "Yeah. Right after you two left town."
Jack’s grip on his staff tightened.
Right after he had connected them to the Source.
After a brief lull in the conversation, Petros spoke first, shifting his weight as he considered his words carefully. “It’s strange, though. You two awakened about a week ago?”
Raven nodded slowly. “Yeah. Right after you left.”
Jack and Petros exchanged glances.
“Well,” Jack said, keeping his tone casual, “we also woke up different. About a week before you did.” He leaned against the workbench, his staff balanced effortlessly in his grip. “The past week, we spent that time hunting goblins in the forests north of Pendle. Training. Getting stronger.”
Henry frowned, rubbing his chin. “So you’re saying… this just happened to all of us, one after the other?”
Raven crossed her arms, suspicion flickering across her face. “That’s a hell of a coincidence.”
Petros shrugged. “Maybe. But considering what we’ve seen in this world, maybe not.” He gave Raven a meaningful look. “You ever hear of something like this happening before? People suddenly changing like this?”
Raven hesitated. “No,” she admitted. “At least, not in Pendle. Magic’s been dead here for centuries. Then suddenly, we’re out here throwing around enchanted weapons and totems?”
Henry let out a slow breath. “Feels like the world’s waking up. Not just us—everything.”
Jack ran a hand through his hair, keeping his expression neutral. “Well, either way, it’s happening. And now that we’re all getting stronger, we need to figure out what to do next.”
Raven narrowed her eyes slightly, but Jack met her gaze with a casual grin, as if none of this concerned him in the slightest.
“Guess we’re not the only ones grinding levels,” he said, flashing a cocky smirk. “Good to know we’re not alone in this.”
Henry leaned back against his workbench, arms crossed over his broad chest, while Raven absentmindedly twirled a loose thread from her sleeve. Jack and Petros had just finished outlining their plan—heading toward the Shadow Realm, pushing their limits, and seeing how far their newfound powers could take them.
Raven frowned. “You’re really leaving Pendle again?”
Jack shrugged. “We need to get stronger. There’s a whole world out there, and sitting around isn’t going to help us level up.”
Henry exhaled through his nose. “We’ll stay.”
Jack arched an eyebrow. “You sure?”
Henry nodded. “That gang’s not done with us. Not by a long shot. I don’t know how many they have, but I know how men like them think. They’ll lick their wounds, find reinforcements, and return worse than before.”
Raven folded her arms, gaze distant. “Someone must ensure Pendle isn’t caught off guard next time.”
Petros adjusted his pouch strap. “You’ll need to get stronger too, then.”
“Obviously,” Raven deadpanned. “We’re not just going to sit around waiting. We’ll train while you’re off gallivanting in the Shadow Realm. Plenty of goblins south of Pendle. We’ll start there.”
Henry ran a hand through his thick beard. “It’s strange, though. We barely saw goblins for decades—stories, maybe. The occasional traveler claimed they ran into one deep in the woods, but that was it. Now? They’re everywhere.”
Petros glanced at Jack, then back at Henry. “What do you think changed?”
Henry tapped the pommel of his hammer against the wooden bench, brows furrowed. “Hard to say. But if magic’s waking up again, maybe it’s waking everything up. If goblins were part of the Demon God’s army, maybe they’re rallying again.”
Raven muttered a curse under her breath. “Great. Just what we need—Pendle caught between a bandit gang and an army of goblins.”
Jack forced a chuckle. “Don’t worry. We’ll check in when we can. You can count on us if the gang returns with more numbers than you can handle.”
Raven gave him a pointed look. “You better.”
Henry smirked. “And while we’re clearing out goblins, we’ll watch for any signs of where those bastards are hiding. They had to come from somewhere.”
The deal was set. They would each carve their own paths, but with the unspoken promise that if things got bad, they’d regroup.
Saul let out a small huff, and Raven’s expression softened. She crouched down, running a hand through his fur before pulling him into a brief hug.
She whispered something into the wolf’s ear. He flicked his tail and gave her a slow blink, as if understanding. Then she stood and wiped her hands on her tunic.
Jack tilted his head. “What’d you say?”
Raven smirked. “That’s between me and Saul.”
Jack snorted but let it slide. He turned back to Henry and extended a hand. “See you around, big guy.”
Henry gripped Jack’s forearm, a firm shake between them. “Stay alive out there.”
Petros waved at Raven, who leaned in without warning and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. The boy froze, his face heating instantly. Before she could see him turn bright red, he muttered a hasty farewell and all but fled toward Jack, leaving Raven smirking behind him.
With that, Jack, Petros, and Saul made their way out of the smithy, stepping back into the bright morning air. Their path led north—toward the Shadow Realm and whatever lay beyond.
Behind them, Henry and Raven stood in the doorway, watching them go. The moment they disappeared into the street, Henry grunted. “You think they’ll be okay?”
Raven stretched her arms above her head, cracking her knuckles. “No idea. But if they can’t handle themselves, they’ll be back soon enough.”
Henry chuckled. “Fair point. Let’s go hunt some goblins.”
Raven grinned. “Now that is something I can get behind.”
With that, the two turned south, heading toward the forests where trouble was already waiting.
The journey north was quiet—too quiet. Jack and Petros had spent the past week eradicating the goblin camps in this region, and now the woods seemed eerily empty. No patrols. No scattered scouts. Just the rustling wind through leafless branches and the occasional snap of twigs beneath their boots. Jack didn’t like it. It felt like the world was holding its breath.
Saul’s ears twitched first. Jack barely had time to register the shift before a low chorus of growls rippled through the underbrush.
Another wolf pack.
Petros tensed, but Jack raised a hand, silently signaling him to stay put. Saul stepped forward, hackles raised, not in aggression, but in dominance. The pack hesitated at the tree line, their golden eyes reflecting the dimming daylight. Then, one by one, the wolves bowed—forelimbs stretched forward, tails low in submission. Their leader, a massive gray-furred alpha, rolled onto his back, exposing his stomach in reverence.
Jack exhaled, shoulders easing. “Looks like Saul’s been spreading the word,” he murmured, scratching his wolf behind the ears.
Petros let out a nervous chuckle. “You’re not just a magic user, Jack. You’re a damn folk tale waiting to happen.”
Ignoring the comment, Jack pressed forward, eyes locking onto the massive oak ahead. The tree stood as he remembered—towering, leafless, its gnarled branches stretching toward the sky like skeletal fingers. Yet, despite its winter-bare appearance, it didn’t seem dead. If anything, the thick, twisting bark pulsed with something ancient, something waiting.
They circled the tree cautiously, boots crunching over frost-laced grass. The air was heavier here. Not in a way that choked—more like stepping into a place where time forgot to keep up.
Then Petros halted, his gaze locked on the base of the tree. “Jack…” he breathed, pointing.
At first, Jack didn’t see it. Just another tangle of roots and bark. But as he stepped closer, the shape became clear—an iron door embedded in the trunk.
The tree hadn’t grown around it. No, this door belonged here.
Petros ran his fingers along the surface. “How is this even possible? It’s fused with the bark, but it has hinges—old ones.”
Jack’s fingers brushed the metal, testing its resistance. Cold and unmoving. He frowned and yanked harder. The door didn’t budge.
Then a thought struck him.
Closing his eyes, he let his mana flow into his palm. The iron hummed beneath his touch, warmth threading through the hidden veins of magic within the metal.
A low, pulsing glow spread outward. Faint, dust-covered runes surfaced along the edges of the door, their shapes twisting and rearranging as if waking from centuries of sleep.
With a soft click, the door swung open.
Jack and Petros exchanged a glance. Neither spoke, but the message was clear: No turning back.
Jack stepped through first.
Darkness swallowed them instantly. For a moment, Jack swore they were still outside—the shift was so seamless. But as Saul’s paws padded in behind him, a distant torch sputtered to life, its light chasing away the void.
They weren’t in a tree.
The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, lined on both sides with identical iron doors, just like the one they’d stepped through. The walls weren’t wood—they were stone, cold and ancient, bearing faint carvings of symbols Jack didn’t recognize. A deep, foreboding silence settled over them, thick as a graveyard fog.
Petros turned, glancing back the way they came. “Jack—”
The door slammed shut.
The sound rang like a hammer against an anvil, the echo stretching impossibly long through the corridor. Jack’s stomach clenched as he whirled, already reaching for the handle.
It turned easily.
But on the other side…
The rolling hills and the towering oak were gone. Instead, stone walls loomed—a dead-end room within this fortress, dust swirling in the dim torchlight.
Jack’s pulse pounded. “No.” He yanked the door open wider, expecting—hoping—the wrong image would flicker away, that the world outside would return. But it was real. They were trapped.
Then something shoved back.
The door exploded outward, slamming into Jack with enough force to throw him off his feet. Instinct kicked in—he braced with a pulse of mana, cushioning his landing just before hitting the wall. Even still, the impact sent a sharp jolt through his bones.
Saul growled—a deep, primal warning.
Jack pushed himself up, eyes snapping to Petros. The boy was trembling, his hands clutching the journal at his side, eyes locked on the threshold.
Jack turned.
A silhouette stood just beyond the ruined doorframe, hulking, its shape wrong—as if something massive had been stuffed into a space too small for it. Shadow and sinew twisted unnaturally, long arms dragging against the stone floor.
A choked sound caught in Petros’s throat. Saul’s fur bristled, tail stiff, half-growling, half-whining—like even he couldn’t decide whether to fight or flee.
Then, in the space between heartbeats, a journal page flashed behind Jack’s eyes.
Greater Demogorgon – Level 13.
The torchlight flickered. The creature lunged.