The forest was quiet.
Too quiet, in fact.
Lucius Valehart exhaled softly as he stepped over a tangle of roots, his boots sinking into damp earth. Towering oaks loomed above like ancient sentinels, their gnarled branches forming a canopy that filtered out all but the faintest morning light.
No knights followed. No servants hovered. No curious siblings asked where he was going.
Good. He preferred it that way.
This was something he had to do alone.
He adjusted the pack slung over his shoulder, the scent of dried meat, cheese, and fresh-baked loaves wafting faintly from inside. A peculiar offering, perhaps — but that's what the novel had said. And the book had never been wrong before.
He reached a clearing and stopped.
There it was.
An old tree stood in the center of the grove — massive, wide as a cottage, its bark blackened with age and knotted with scars. It didn't glow. It didn't hum. It didn't breathe mystery or menace.
It simply… stood.
Ordinary. Silent.
But Lucius knew better.
This tree was one of the Four Pillars — ancient anchors of power hidden throughout the world. In the novel, they were known as the Four Pathways: Shield, Hellfire, Blood Viper, and Wind of the God.
Each a trial. Each a burden.
And each a potential turning point.
Lucius had chosen the Shield Pathway first.
Not because it was the strongest. Not even because it was the safest.
But because it resonated with something deep inside him.
A desire to endure.
To withstand.
To protect without the need for grand speeches or righteous fury.
He approached the base of the tree. Embedded in its trunk was a hollow — an old wound, shaped like a mouth. Inside, shadow.
According to the novel, this hole was the key. Not a puzzle. Not a fight. A test of humility.
One did not draw power from the Shield.
One earned it by feeding something older and hungrier than ambition.
Lucius knelt and opened the bag.
He placed a loaf of bread inside the hollow.
Then dried meat. Cheese. A flask of spring water. A single apple.
And, after a moment's hesitation… he added a scrap of his own cloak.
Just enough to show sincerity.
Not enough to be sentimental.
He stepped back.
Nothing happened.
For a long time, there was only the rustle of wind through leaves.
Then — the earth trembled, faintly.
Lucius tensed. He didn't draw his dagger. That would be the wrong kind of reaction here.
Instead, he watched.
The bark around the hollow split. Threads of golden light curled outward like veins, pulsing slowly with a heartbeat-like rhythm. From deep within the trunk, something stirred.
A voice — not spoken, but felt — echoed in his mind.
"Who do you wish to protect?"
Lucius didn't answer immediately.
He wasn't the kind of man to blurt out noble lies.
He thought of his father. Of Duke Valehart, who had given him space without fully understanding the shift in his son.
He thought of the beastkin child, curled into a blanket back home, hiding behind feline eyes.
He thought of Rowan — the supposed protagonist, the accidental ally, the storm waiting to explode.
And then he thought of himself.
He didn't want to protect the world.
But if he wanted peace, he would have to protect the small fragments of life that brought him closer to it.
"…Myself," Lucius finally replied. "And those I don't want to lose."
The light pulsed brighter.
"And what will you offer when the cost is too high?"
Lucius stared at the hollow.
"My heart," he said.
He wasn't being poetic.
He already knew. The Shield Pathway didn't ask for blood. It asked for sacrifice in advance. The ability itself would reside in his core — a dormant power coiled around his heart like a second heartbeat.
But if used recklessly, it would eat away at him.
Protection… always had a price.
A low hum rang through the grove.
Then, with a hiss of air, the golden light surged inward — vanishing into the hollow like a breath drawn deep into lungs.
The tree was still again.
Lucius stepped back.
His chest ached.
Not pain — not yet — but awareness. Like something had been planted beneath his ribs. A second pulse, faint and slow, beat in rhythm with his own.
He'd taken the first step.
He didn't feel stronger. His mana didn't surge.
But that wasn't the point.
The Shield Pathway wasn't about explosive power.
It was about resilience.
And he had earned it not through battle or conquest — but patience.
He stood there for a moment longer, listening to the silence.
Then he turned back toward the path.
By the time Lucius returned to the Valehart estate, dusk had draped itself across the sky in a blanket of dark purples and reds. The guards at the gate recognized him and said nothing.
He liked it that way.
Once inside, he passed the kitchens, ignored the startled maids, and made his way toward the inner wing. No grand declaration. No need for praise.
He stopped outside his room.
The door creaked open.
The small beastkin girl — the one he'd found in the forest — looked up from where she'd been dozing atop his bed. She blinked sleepily and yawned, cat ears twitching.
Lucius set the bag down.
"You ate the last of the jerky," he said, eyeing her suspiciously.
She blinked again.
"…Meow," she said innocently.
Lucius exhaled.
He didn't smile.
But he didn't scold her either.
"Just don't expect me to add honey pastries to the next offering," he muttered, collapsing into a chair.
His heart beat slowly.
One. Two.
And beneath it — another rhythm.
Stronger now.
Later that Night
Lucius sat at his desk, quill scratching across parchment as he compiled notes.
He jotted down the pathway names from the novel again, eyes narrowing.
Shield – Found. Cost: Heart strain. Function: Defense through conviction.
Hellfire – Hidden in the volcanic mountains of the western region. Believed to be under dwarven territory. Fire that consumes both enemy and self.
Blood Viper – Rumored to be tied to the dark elves. A curse-based ability that converts pain into power.
Wind of the God – Said to reside deep within the Elven territories. Grants divine speed and awareness.
He tapped the quill against the table.
The other three would not be so simple.
The dwarves did not welcome outsiders. The dark elves were worse — secretive, reclusive, and deadly. And the high elves? They played games older than empires.
He'd need a plan. Favors. Leverage.
But he had time.
He wasn't racing anyone.
Not yet.
His gaze drifted toward the window.
Tomorrow, he'd begin preparing.
But tonight?
He'd rest.
The Shield hummed quietly in his chest, a silent promise