One thing Dirga remembered from the quest data:
The beast was territorial.
And docile—as long as you didn’t step inside its domain.
Now, under the gaze of the pale blue sky—the Dusk Forest’s quietest hour—Dirga sat cross-legged beside the dying fire.
He considered his options.
Rush in now, half-prepared?
Or rest, and walk in at his peak?
Preparation was victory’s first breath.
The red eye of this world blinked open in the sky, glaring down through the canopy.
He unlatched his backpack, activated the runes, and collapsed it down.
Then he buried it beneath a mound of twisted roots and soil. No need to bring dead weight into a war zone.
This was a solo hunt.
And he’d walk in light.
With his Crimson Core humming softly around his finger, Dirga moved.
Every step was quiet, deliberate.
Every breath synced with the rhythm of the forest.
He activated his gravity sense.
And immediately—he felt it.
Like space itself was bending unnaturally inward.
This was dense. Crushing. Intentional.
"...That explains it," Dirga muttered, eyes narrowing.
No other apex beasts had been near this region. The gravity field warped too much of the ecosystem.
Even monsters feared it. And so, his journey here had been... oddly smooth.
And the real hunt was about to begin.
He walked deeper—until he stopped short.
Not visible. Not magical in the usual sense. But physical, in a strange way.
The air shimmered faintly, like heat distortion.
When he reached out, it felt like glass under his palm.
Solid. Ancient. Designed to keep intruders out.
But it wasn’t invincible.
Dirga clenched his fist.
His Concept flared—gravity compressing inward, folding the air around his hand until it screamed.
The forest around him went dead quiet.
No birds. No insects.
Even the wind stopped moving.
Dirga exhaled, stepping into the forbidden zone.
He wasn’t announcing himself.
He knew the creature already sensed him.
"...Okay, here I come," he said under his breath.
And the beast—whatever it was—was waiting.
Dirga stepped through the crack in the barrier.
And what he found on the other side—
Wasn’t a battlefield.
A lush, dreamlike biome unfurled before him, vivid with impossible colors.
Trees unlike anything in the natural world stretched high with branches coiling like dancers, leaves shimmering in hues that bent the eye—violet-gold, obsidian-blue, blood-mint green.
Some trees bore fruit that glowed faintly. Others wept nectar onto moss carpets.
"...Did no one ever find this place?" Dirga muttered.
It felt untouched. Preserved. Like a sacred pocket of reality that had bloomed for centuries without interruption.
He took a cautious step forward, the ground unnervingly soft beneath his boots.
Every breath he took was tinged with the scent of ozone and something sweet—like jasmine soaked in starlight.
At the center of the garden stood a golden tree, radiant and ancient.
From its branches hung black fruit—glossy and dark, like a piece of night had been peeled off the sky and dipped in shadow.
The Fruit of Knowledge.
And standing below it—no.
Dirga’s breath caught.
But impossibly small—barely the size of a newborn cub.
And yet... it was floating inside a shimmering bubble of translucent energy, suspended in midair like a holy relic.
The moment their eyes met—
The sound didn’t reach his ears.
It detonated directly into his skull.
Dirga staggered back, mind shattering under the psychic impact. He barely managed to throw up layers of telekinetic shielding around his consciousness—wrapping his mind in a cocoon of invisible force.
But the tiger wasn’t done.
Its tiny silver paw moved—
And a wave burst out—a mental lash, carved from the same raw telekinesis Dirga wielded.
It hit him like a cannon.
His body went flying.
Just a ragdoll flung through paradise.
BANG. His shoulder clipped a twisted tree.
CRACK. He rolled across a fruit-laden root.
THUD. He slammed into a mossy boulder, finally stopping.
The air wheezed out of his lungs. His ring reformed around his finger, trembling.
Dirga groaned, spitting dirt.
"...So it’s like that, huh?"
He pushed himself to his feet, eyes blazing.
That wasn’t just a beast.
That was a telekinetic weapon wrapped in fur and mystery.
And now it had locked onto him.
The silver tiger floated within its shimmering bubble, eyes glowing brighter than before.
A crushing force slammed toward Dirga like a wall of pressure—pure mental weight, shaped into invisible fists.
Dirga rolled to the side, teeth clenched. Another wave followed. Then another.
The ground where he’d been standing cracked open. Trees shattered under the pressure, their trunks splintering like dry bone.
His head pulsed—throbbed.
Not just from the tiger’s attacks, but from something deeper.
A vibration. A resonance.
Like the beast was screaming inside his skull.
Is it Soulcraft? Dirga wondered, stumbling back, dodging left, then right. His movements were sharp but getting slower, heavier.
Concepts were born from self-realization. From clarity of identity. From knowing who you are.
Could something that couldn’t even speak have that?
The tiger hovered higher, tail flicking lazily. Its next strike came without movement—just another mental crush trying to flatten Dirga into paste.
Up into the air, using gravity to flip himself, barely missing the impact zone.
His ears rang. His vision flickered.
Each step closer to the creature made his mind feel like it was splitting at the seams.
It’s like it’s inside my head...
Then the thought struck him.
Wait. What if it’s not a beast at all?
Dirga gritted his teeth, landing behind a warped tree. His breath came in short bursts, his brain fogging fast.
What if it’s a Spirit?
That would explain the barrier, the garden, the aura of ancient stillness.
Spirits weren’t just rare—they were powerful. Entities born from deep emotion, resonance, or sacred ideas. And some people even built entire power systems around them—the Spiritflare path.
That thought crept in like a whisper.
But Dirga crushed it.
"I’m not here to talk theories," he muttered, steadying his ring-hand.