The forest shifted after that fight. I expected it to grant me peace, maybe even some kind of reward. But instead, it offered challenge.
The mark on my hand grew hot again. Not burning, but... insistent. Urging. The Adaptive Soul wasn't content with one evolution. It wanted more.
My body had changed slightly—I noticed it in strange ways. My hearing was sharper. My balance more precise. I could tell which tree branch would break before I stepped on it. I could hear the small heartbeats of insects in the soil. The forest wasn't just dangerous—it was a language. And I was learning to read it.
But every gift came at a price.
Later—though I couldn't tell if it was hours or days—I stumbled upon another clearing. This one didn't feel natural. The trees had been blackened, their bark scorched and split. In the center was a figure, slumped against a massive stone monolith.
A skeleton. Armor fused to its bones. Its hand still bore a faint mark—like mine, but dim and cold.
Another Called. Someone who hadn't made it.
I moved closer, cautiously. The moment I stepped within ten paces, pain stabbed into my chest. I gasped, doubling over. The mark on my hand throbbed violently. Then—a memory not mine—flashed through my thoughts.
A voice whispered in the back of my skull:
"He failed the LAW. Do not mourn. Do not pity. Learn."
The monolith lit up. Ancient script burned across its face, like lava beneath skin. I couldn't read it—until I could. The mark translated it.
Trial Initiated: Echo Hostile. Level: Aberrant.
The ground beneath the skeleton cracked.
Something began to grow.
Not rise—grow. Roots and bone. Flesh and shadow. The dead man's failure twisted into a new creature, animated by the LAW.
Its eyes were hollow. Its mouth was too wide. It wore the armor like a skin, cracked and rusted, and it moved with jerking grace. Wrong. So very wrong.
And it looked at me.
I turned to run—but the forest turned against me.
Vines lashed out to trap my feet. Roots rose like snares. Branches leaned into my path. The forest wasn't a bystander anymore—it was part of the trial. It wanted me to fight.
So I stopped running.
The Echo lunged.
I rolled left, narrowly avoiding its claws. It mimicked my voice as it moved, whispering my fears aloud:
"You will break like I did. You will die forgotten."
No. Not again.
I gripped my knife, the one I had taken from the first Called, and forced myself to breathe. The Adaptive Soul stirred. My panic began to twist. My fear wasn't just a reaction—it was a resource.
I let go.
The world slowed. I saw the Echo's movements before it made them. The way its knee tensed before it leapt. The way its weight shifted before it swung. It wasn't just attacking—it was following a pattern.
A designed trial.
I moved faster. Lower. Smarter.
The knife sank deep into its chest once, then again. Still, it moved. Still, it fought. But I was changing in real-time. Every second, I adapted to it. My body dodged instinctively. My senses surged. My thoughts burned sharp and clean.
Finally, I saw the moment.
It opened wide to scream—to break me with another wave of mimicked memories—and I jammed the blade through its open maw, twisting until its body shuddered and collapsed into ash and bone.
Silence.
I staggered backward. Alive. Shaking. But alive.
The monolith flared.
Evolution Accepted. Trait Advanced: Adaptive Soul – Fragment Stage.
My mark spun and changed. More complex now. A second ring rotated inside the first, humming softly.
I didn't feel proud.
I felt hungry.