Bran didn't stop moving, but he no longer moved the same way.
Every step now carried weight—not just from the terrain, but from awareness. His breathing stayed controlled, his pace measured, his eyes constantly scanning the edges of his surroundings. The field wasn't loud, but it wasn't empty either. Somewhere out there, others were moving. Watching. Choosing.
His wrist pulsed faintly. [Energy: 96 → 95]
Still dropping.
Always dropping.
He slowed slightly as he reached a shallow incline, adjusting his steps to reduce strain. Even that small shift helped.
Barely.
"…So this is how it works."
Not just fighting. Not just surviving.
Managing.
His gaze flickered briefly to his hand.
Ignis. Ventus.
That was all he had.
"…Not enough."
A faint shift in the air snapped his focus.
Behind him.
Closer this time.
Bran didn't turn. He didn't need to. The pressure in the air, the subtle disturbance of movement—he recognized it.
He changed direction without warning, cutting across the slope at an angle meant to break pursuit rhythm.
It didn't.
The distance was closing.
Faster than before.
Bran's jaw tightened as he stepped onto rougher ground. Jagged stone forced his pace to slow just enough to matter.
That was all it took.
The attack came from the side.
The hammer swung through the air with a low, heavy force that bent the ground beneath it before impact. Bran pushed off his back foot, trying to clear the arc—
Too late.
The hammer struck the ground.
The shockwave hit him like a wall.
His balance shattered instantly, his body thrown off center as the force ripped through his legs and up into his chest. Pain followed, sharp and deep, settling into his ribs.
"…Tch—!"
He barely recovered before the next strike came.
Closer.
He raised his arm instinctively, shifting his weight to absorb what he could—
It didn't matter.
The impact never needed to land clean.
The shockwave slammed into him again, heavier this time, throwing him sideways. He hit the ground hard, dust rising around him as his breath caught painfully in his chest.
[Energy: 92 → 89]
Dropping too fast.
Bran pushed himself up immediately.
No pause.
No hesitation.
The ground trembled again as the next step came closer.
Running like this wouldn't work.
That thought settled in fully now.
Clear.
Unavoidable.
So he changed it.
His focus snapped to Ventus—not outward, not as an attack, but downward.
Toward his legs.
He forced the mana to move differently.
The response was unstable. The air gathered unevenly, thin currents slipping around his feet without form or structure.
He stepped anyway.
The wind pushed.
Slight.
Unreliable.
But enough to stretch his stride.
His eyes sharpened.
Again.
He forced it harder.
The air compressed tighter this time, responding faster, forming something closer to intent.
He stepped—
And his body surged forward.
Behind him, the hammer struck again, the ground cracking where he had been. The shockwave chased him, clipping his balance but failing to stop his momentum.
[Energy: 89 → 85]
Dropping.
But it was working.
Bran pushed again, forcing the motion, each step aided by short, unstable bursts of compressed air. It wasn't clean, and it wasn't efficient, but it created distance.
That was enough.
The terrain shifted as he moved, the jagged rock opening into uneven ground that allowed better footing. He slowed only when the pressure behind him thinned, slipping behind a fractured ridge and lowering himself into shadow.
Silence settled.
Not empty.
Waiting.
His breathing was uneven, his ribs still aching, his body heavier than before. He pressed a hand briefly against his side, steadying himself as the pain dulled just enough to ignore.
His wrist pulsed.
[Energy: 82]
Low.
Too low.
But he was still here.
Then—
A pulse.
Runic System Notification
New Skill Created
Rune: Ventus Gradus
Description: Wind-assisted movement through localized compression. Enhances stride and speed.
Current Level: Basic
Efficiency: Low
Bran exhaled slowly.
It wasn't perfect.
But it had worked.
That mattered.
Then—
Voices.
Faint.
Ahead.
He stilled immediately.
"…That's the last of them."
"…They weren't even worth it."
The tone was relaxed.
Unbothered.
Bran shifted slightly, just enough to look past the ridge.
Two figures stood in the open.
At their feet—
Three bodies.
Still.
Their bracelets dim.
Empty.
One of the boys lifted his hand. Water gathered instantly, coiling with smooth control before dispersing.
The other crouched briefly, tapping one of the fallen bracelets.
Energy transferred.
Clean.
Effortless.
"…Pathetic."
Bran lowered himself again, eyes narrowing.
Not just strong.
Comfortable.
Used to this.
His gaze flickered once behind him, toward the direction he had come from.
Then forward again.
Two ahead.
One behind.
A slow breath left him.
Not safe.
Not simple.
But workable.
He didn't need to beat them.
He didn't need to fight any of them.
He just needed to move them.
Position.
Timing.
Distance.
If those aligned—
They would do the rest themselves.
Bran settled deeper into the shadows, his breathing steadying, his mind sharpening.
And he waited.