The porch of the Aodh estate groaned under Kilian’s weight as he slung the heavy pack from his shoulders, letting it thud against the worn wooden planks with a dull clatter that echoed through the stillness. He stretched, a low groan rumbling from his chest, his broad frame unfurling with the ease of a man who’d faced death and grinned at its teeth. At twenty-four, Kilian moved like a seasoned warrior, confidence bleeding into every step, his dented armor, steel plates lashed with leather, scarred from countless dungeon dives, catching the late afternoon light in faint, weathered gleams. The air wrapped around him, thick with the scent of fresh pine from the surrounding forest and the warm, savory promise of their mother’s stew simmering in the kitchens below, a rare tether to a home he’d long traded for the wilds.
Cahira emerged from the doorway first, her dark hair pulled tight in a braid that swung against her back, her sharp eyes softening briefly as they settled on her eldest son. “You’re late,” she said, her voice steady but warm, a crack in her usual composure. She stepped forward, brushing a speck of dust from Kilian’s pauldron, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. “I’d begun to think the dungeons had claimed you for good this time.”
Kilian flashed a grin, broad and unrepentant. “Takes more than a few monsters to keep me away, Mother.” He dropped his pack fully, rolling his shoulders. “Besides, I promised Fin I’d be here for his first hunt. Couldn’t break that, could I?”
Before Cahira could respond, the thunder of footsteps erupted from within, a storm breaking the quiet. The door banged open, and Fin barreled onto the porch, his grin wide and wild, a spark of chaos lighting his storm-colored eyes. The tantō sheathed across his back, a short, curved blade Donovan had gifted him for his tenth birthday, shifted slightly with his momentum, its dark leather grip peeking over his shoulder like a promise of violence.
“You actually came back,” Fin said, crossing his arms over his chest, though the excitement in his gaze burned bright, sharp and uncontainable. “Figured some dungeon boss finally ate you.”
Kilian smirked, a flash of teeth beneath his dark stubble. “What, and miss my baby brother’s first hunt? Not a chance.” He reached out, ruffling Fin’s already-tangled hair with a rough hand, then ducked back with a laugh as Fin swatted at him, missing by a hair. “Besides, someone’s got to make sure you don’t get yourself mauled out there.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Fin rolled his eyes, his hand brushing the tantō’s hilt instinctively, fingers tracing its familiar curve. “I can handle myself.”
Cahira’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze flicking between her sons, Kilian’s easy confidence and Fin’s restless fire. She stepped closer, her voice lowering, edged with a mother’s quiet worry. “You’d better, Fin. I know you, too eager to throw yourself into the teeth of danger, grinning all the while.” Her eyes lingered on the tantō, a shadow crossing her face. “This isn’t a sparring match. A direwolf won’t hold back, and I won’t have you bleeding out just to prove a point.”
Fin’s grin didn’t waver, though he tilted his head, meeting her stare with a flicker of defiance. “I’ve got this, Mother. It’s just a wolf. I’ll be fine.”
Kilian chuckled, clapping Fin on the shoulder. “He’s got spirit, I’ll give him that. Maybe too much.”
Cahira sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, her composure fraying just enough to show the weight of her concern. “Spirit’s no good if it gets him killed,” she muttered, then straightened, fixing Kilian with a stern look. “Keep him in one piece, Kilian. I mean it.”
Kilian nodded, his smirk softening. “I will. Promise.”
Fin snorted, adjusting the tantō’s strap across his back with a quick tug. “You’re both worrying over nothing.”
Kilian arched a brow, his gaze sharpening, half amusement, half challenge. “We’ll see.”

The forest swallowed them an hour later, its dense canopy a lattice of shadow and frost-kissed green, the air biting with winter’s edge and the tang of pine. Their boots crunched over leaves brittle with cold, a steady rhythm beneath the distant, mournful howl of their quarry. A direwolf, not the skittish packs of the lowlands, but a solitary predator, its bulk forged in the wilds of the Eastern Reaches, faster and deadlier than any mortal wolf. A beast that hunted men as prey.
Kilian led the way, his stride deliberate, his longsword a quiet weight against his back. The forest bent to him, branches snapping under his armored bulk, as if it knew the warrior who’d etched his name into its depths. Fin followed, his smaller frame weaving through the undergrowth with a restless grace, his senses alive with the thrill of the chase. The hunt was an Aodh’s rite, a crucible for every child who bore the name. Kilian had faced his at twelve, felling a bear twice his size with steel and grit, a tale he’d spun with a grin. Now it was Fin’s turn, and the fire in his chest burned hot, urging him toward the fight.
As they pressed deeper, the air thickened with mana, a faint hum that danced along Fin’s skin. His core responded, the steady pull of Convergent Resonance drawing ambient energy into his veins like a river finding its course. He’d felt it since the System awakened it, a ceaseless current, purifying the mana around him, fueling his every step. Now, amidst the forest’s wild pulse, it sharpened. A chime rang in his mind, crisp and clear.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
[Convergent Resonance (Unique) has reached Level 2]
Mana absorption efficiency increased by 10%.
Fin’s grin widened, a flicker of glee sparking in his eyes. “Hey, Kilian,” he called, his voice light with mischief. “My skill just leveled up. Guess I’m getting stronger just walking around.”
Kilian glanced back, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Fancy trick. Hope it’s enough when that wolf’s chewing on your leg.”
Fin laughed, the sound sharp against the forest’s hush. “It’ll be chewing lightning before I’m done.”
The trek stretched on, the terrain growing rougher, roots twisting underfoot, snow deepening in drifts. Fin’s breath plumed in the cold, but his core thrummed warmer, the resonance pulling harder, refining the mana with a precision he could taste. Another chime sounded, softer this time, like a bell muffled by snow.
[Convergent Resonance (Unique) has reached Level 3]
Mana purification rate increased by 15%.
He let out a low whoop, punching the air. “Level three! Told you I’m a natural.”
Kilian snorted, not breaking stride. “Keep crowing, little brother. The wolf won’t care how shiny your System is.”
Fin’s grin didn’t falter. The skill’s growth was a quiet thrill, a promise of power stacking with every step, a foundation for the chaos he craved.
Kilian slowed, raising a hand for silence. The forest hushed, its rustling leaves and chittering birds falling away, leaving only the whisper of their breath against the cold. “Alright,” he said, his voice low, a blade sheathed in calm. “Lesson one, what do you see?”
Fin crouched, knees sinking into the frost-dusted earth, his grin tugging wider as he scanned the forest floor. Deep claw marks gouged the bark of a gnarled oak, fresh and splintered, sap weeping like blood. Patches of snow lay churned into muddy streaks, heavy and deliberate. A musky scent curled into his lungs, primal and thick, a promise of violence that set his pulse racing.
“Territorial marking,” Fin murmured, his voice steady, tinged with a giddy edge. “It’s close.”
Kilian nodded, a glint of approval in his dark eyes. “Good. And?”
Fin tilted his head, his grin sharpening as he let his mana flow outward, a thread of awareness unfurling from his core. The air answered, a static charge prickling his skin, sharper here, alive with intent. “It’s circling us,” he said, his eyes glinting with anticipation.
A slow grin spread across Kilian’s face, sharp and proud. “Not bad, little brother. Not bad at all.” He stepped back, leaning casually against a tree, its trunk bowing slightly under his weight. “Alright, let’s see how you do against it.”
Fin blinked, the words igniting a spark in his chest. “Wait, you’re not helping?”
Kilian’s grin widened, a wolf’s baring of teeth. “Think of this as a test. Show me what you’ve got.”
Before Fin could retort, a low growl rumbled from the underbrush, deep and guttural, vibrating through the earth and into his bones. The direwolf pounced.

It erupted from the shadows, a blur of gray fur and gleaming fangs, its bulk a mountain of muscle hurtling toward him. Fin twisted, instinct kicking in, and rolled beneath the sweep of its claws, his grin flashing wide even as his heart pounded with exhilaration. The beast landed with a heavy thud, snow exploding around it, its snarl a jagged tear in the silence. Muscles rippled beneath its thick hide, its yellow eyes locking onto him with a hunger that only stoked the fire in his veins.
This wasn’t the yard, with Kilian’s blunted steel or Donovan’s steady corrections. This was raw, uncontrolled, a dance of death with no safety net. And Fin loved it. His grin held, wild and unyielding, as he scrambled to his feet, hand snapping to the tantō on his back, drawing it with a smooth, practiced motion.
The direwolf lunged again, jaws snapping shut an inch from his throat. Fin dodged, boots slipping on the icy ground, his laughter bubbling up as he barely evaded the strike. He slashed out, the tantō’s curved blade skidding off the beast’s hide with a useless scrape, the jolt rattling his arm. Too slow. Too weak. And yet the thrill surged through him, electric and alive, his pulse singing with every near miss.
Kilian watched from his perch, arms crossed, his expression a mask of calm, a brother betting on Fin’s fire, offering no aid. Fin’s grin widened. Good. He didn’t want help. He wanted the fight.
The direwolf wheeled, claws raking the air, and Fin stumbled back, breath clouding in the frigid air, his laughter sharp against the beast’s growl. Brute force wouldn’t win this, not yet, not at Tier One. But he didn’t need to overpower it. He just needed to outthink it. His mind raced, gleeful and sharp, pulling from a life before Aetherys, Earth’s lessons, where lightning wasn’t magic but a force to be shaped.
Electricity crackled along his fingertips, wild and unrefined, his Lightning affinity surging with a hunger that matched his own. Most Lightning mages started with Spark, Cahira called it a safe little burst, controlled and tame. But tame wouldn’t do. Not here. Not now. He wanted something that cut, something that roared.
A memory flashed, science lessons in a sterile room, a teacher’s voice droning about circuits. Electricity followed the path of least resistance. Focus it, direct it, and it could pierce anything. His grin turned wicked as he molded the idea to the mana thrumming in his veins, the fight fueling his focus.
The direwolf circled, its growl a low rumble, sizing him up. Fin planted his feet against the frozen earth, his stance steady despite the chaos, and drew his power inward. He pictured it, not a scattered burst, but lightning forged into a spear, a refined edge born of will and joy. The air hummed, static rising like a chorus. Sparks danced around his hand, chaotic, then tightened, coalescing into a blade of lightning, jagged, buzzing with unstable energy, alive with the same reckless glee that burned in his chest.
The System chimed, its voice slicing through the storm of his delight like a bell in a quiet hall.
[Skill Offer: Thunderfang (Unique)]
Lightning mana coalesced into the palm of the user. Creating a penetrating blade of lighting.
Fin exhaled, his grin stretching ear to ear as he locked eyes with the direwolf. The beast tensed, hackles rising, sensing the shift. He raised the glowing blade, its light casting sharp shadows across the snow, and let the energy surge through him, a song of power, of chaos, of a boy who craved the storm and laughed in its teeth.
“Bring it,” he said, his voice a taunt, a dare flung into the wild.
[Thunderfang (Unique) Acquired]
The direwolf leapt, claws outstretched, jaws wide. Fin stepped forward, meeting it head-on, his grin blazing as he thrust the Thunderfang into its path, the fight a dance he’d never tire of.