Bran didn't run. He moved with control, every step measured against the terrain. The heat pressed steadily against his skin, dry and patient, draining him without urgency. His wrist pulsed faintly. [Energy: 105 → 104] Still falling. Still counting.
The earlier fight lingered in his body. His ribs stung when he breathed too deep, his shoulder felt tight, slower than it should be. That boy had been better. Faster. More efficient. And he had used his ability without hesitation.
Bran glanced at his hand as he moved. Ignis. Ventus. That was all he had. Both offensive. Both unreliable under pressure. "…Not enough," he murmured. He needed something else. Something simple. Something that didn't demand perfect timing. Speed. Just a push to his legs, something to close distance or create it. Because right now, every time he ran, it was just him. And against people like that… that wouldn't be enough.
A faint sound broke his thoughts.
Behind him.
Soft. Controlled.
Bran didn't turn. He listened. Gravel shifting under careful weight. Not random. Not careless.
"…So it starts."
He shifted sideways, slow, deliberate. The presence followed. No hesitation. No rush. Tracking.
His heartbeat steadied. This wasn't like before. The first fight had been direct. This one was patient.
He changed direction sharply. The presence adjusted instantly.
Confirmed.
He was being hunted.
Bran exhaled slowly and angled toward a narrow passage between two rock formations. A funnel. Limited space. Limited angles. Dangerous—but predictable.
He stepped in.
One step. Two. Three—
The attack came from above.
A figure dropped silently from the rock, a heavy weapon crashing down toward him. Bran twisted just in time. The impact struck the ground beside him with a violent crack, sending a tremor through the earth.
Not a blade.
A hammer.
Bran stumbled back, eyes snapping upward.
The attacker landed cleanly.
A boy.
Broad-shouldered. Solid. Around his age.
Calm.
Watching.
"…You noticed," the boy said.
Bran steadied himself. "…You weren't subtle."
A lie.
The boy's lips curved faintly. "Didn't need to."
His wrist flickered. [Energy: 129]
Bran's eyes narrowed.
Higher.
Much higher.
"…You've been collecting."
No denial.
The boy stepped forward. Heavy. Each step carried weight, something beneath it pressing into the ground itself.
Bran shifted back immediately.
Not speed.
Force.
The boy swung.
Bran dodged—but the impact still reached him. The ground fractured, a shockwave rippling outward. It hit Bran mid-step, knocking his balance off.
"…What—"
The boy stepped again. Another swing.
Bran retreated—too late.
The shock hit again.
His footing slipped.
[Energy: 101]
Dropping fast.
Bran's mind raced. Not just strength. A core ability. Earth. Or something close. Every strike didn't need to land. It reached him anyway.
He couldn't block it. Couldn't trade with it. And running like this wouldn't create enough distance.
That earlier thought returned.
If I had something for speed…
A push. A burst.
Anything.
But he didn't.
So he had to create it.
The boy stepped in again, closing distance with quiet certainty.
Bran inhaled sharply.
Now.
He reached for Ventus.
Not fully formed. Not controlled.
But enough.
A thin surge of air gathered in his palm—not outward, not explosive, just focused.
Low.
Close.
He dragged his hand sharply across the ground.
The wind kicked up dust.
Not wide.
Not powerful.
Just enough to lift the loose particles at the boy's feet and drive them upward—straight into his face.
The boy didn't expect it.
Not because it was strong.
Because it was pointless.
Dust.
That was all it was.
His eyes narrowed instinctively as the particles struck.
A reflex.
A blink.
A fraction of a second.
"…What—"
Bran moved.
Ignis flared in his palm immediately after.
No delay.
No hesitation.
He released it.
A burst of flame shot forward—small, unstable, barely enough to threaten.
The boy saw it.
And almost scoffed.
Too weak.
Too shallow.
He didn't step back.
He stepped through it.
But his vision was still clearing.
And that—
That was the point.
The fire wasn't meant to stop him.
It was meant to complete the distraction.
Bran didn't stay.
The moment the flame left his hand, he shifted direction completely, cutting across the boy's blind side and driving forward with everything he had.
Not toward safety.
Toward distance.
He ran.
Not clean.
Not efficient.
But fast enough.
Behind him, the boy broke through the flame, the dust already settling.
He turned.
Just in time to see Bran disappearing across the uneven terrain.
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then—
A faint smile touched his face.
"…Clever."
Not strong.
Not fast.
But—
Interesting.
He adjusted his grip on the hammer.
And began walking.
Bran didn't stop until the terrain shifted again, the rocks widening, the space opening just enough to breathe.
He slowed.
Then stopped.
Turned.
Nothing.
But the feeling remained.
Watching.
Tracking.
Waiting.
His wrist pulsed. [Energy: 96]
Still dropping.
He looked down at his hand.
"…That worked."
Barely.
Ventus… Ignis…
Not strong enough to win.
But enough to survive.
He closed his fist slowly.
"…I need more."
Because next time—
Running might not be an option.
And somewhere behind him—
The hunt hadn't ended.