The Sap Cascade

Vael woke to the faint creak of wagon wheels and the muffled clatter of breakfast pots drifting up from the common room below. The Silver Kettle’s wooden floor was cool against his bare feet as he rose, tugged on his worn trousers, and shrugged into his shirt. His nerves hummed with anticipation—today was their first real assignment, and the unknown pressed at him like a weight.

Downstairs, Frosya was already waiting at a corner table, her hair hastily braided. She flashed him a small, anxious smile. “Sleep well?”

“Well, enough,” Vael replied, settling across from her. The innkeeper’s daughter darted past, placing two bowls of porridge on the table, and two cups of tea, with a clumsy flourish. They ate quickly, exchanging only a few words, neither wanting to dwell on what lay ahead.

Once outside, the air was crisp and still, the streets of Nexara just beginning to stir. The Adventurers Guild’s broad facade loomed down the avenue, banners fluttering in the pale morning light. Standing at the steps, waiting with a relaxed slouch and an easy smile, was Jacob Halvorsen—their assigned mentor for the day.

He was broad-shouldered, clean-shaven but for a stubborn hint of stubble, and wore battered chainmail over a faded tunic. His Guild bracelet gleamed on his wrist. “You two must be the fresh faces,” Jacob called as they approached, voice warm and steady.

“Vael Linden,” Vael said, shaking the man’s hand. “And this is Frosya.”

“Jacob Halvorsen. Pleased to meet you both.” His handshake was firm, his eyes lively beneath his sun-browned brow. “First time out, eh? Don’t worry—I’ve taken out more new recruits than I can count. Most come back in one piece.”

He winked, then gestured for them to follow him to the stables around the corner. Jacob exchanged a few friendly words with the stable master, haggling lightly in the familiar manner of old acquaintances, and soon they each had a sturdy, if unremarkable, horse beneath them.

They rode out through the city gates, the morning sun gilding the rooftops behind them. The fields gave way to open scrub and the beginnings of forest, the path narrowing as it wound toward the last reported sighting of the wolf pack.

Jacob kept up a steady stream of easy conversation as they rode. “You’ll find the life isn’t all glory, but it’s never dull. Rylanor’s full of interesting places, and more trouble than you’d guess from the look of things. Sap’s the real game-changer though. Learning to use it, managing your reserves—that’s what keeps you breathing.”

He grinned sidelong at Vael. “I’m nearly tier four myself. Not that it means much, aside from better pay and more paperwork. But experience helps. And today, I’m hoping to show you both how to bring everyone back safe.”

As they neared the forest, Jacob swung down and led his horse by the reins, his eyes sweeping the ground with practiced care. He paused where the path narrowed and the hush of the trees settled around them. “This is where they were last seen. Watch here—see those prints?” He crouched, pointing out the soft impressions in the dirt—marks almost invisible to an untrained eye. Jacob lingered, his fingers hovering just above the earth as he called on his I Spy skill. For a moment, it seemed as though he was listening with more than his ears, letting the world speak through the ground beneath them. “My skill tells me they were traveling that way. I can see tracks lighting up, five—maybe six wolves—and a big one, likely a Dire Wolf. They’re bad news. Smarter, meaner, and their pack won’t run while they’re still standing.”

He lowered his voice. “Sometimes, when a cultivator uses a skill—especially one tuned to the land—it’s as much about attention as it is about action. Most of what I see comes from practice and a touch of sap, but if you’re present—if you pay attention—the lesson leaves a mark on you too. That’s how we sharpen our instincts together.”

Jacob glanced over his shoulder at Vael and Frosya, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Magic isn’t always about spectacle. Sometimes, growth is a quiet thing—a moment when the world lets you in on a secret. And if you’re watching closely, you’ll pick up a little experience for yourself.”

Jacob paused on the forest path, turning back to Vael and Frosya. “Another trick is the sap blast. Before we get in over our heads, let’s cover the basics. You both awakened affinities, right? Metal, air, and water?”

They nodded. Frosya shifted, fingers twitching at her side.

“Good. A sap blast is the simplest use of your power—the bare minimum, no tricks. It’s like flexing a muscle you didn’t know you had. Watch. Might make a wolf think twice about attacking you.”

He held out his hand, palm open. Jacob drew a slow breath. The air seemed to thicken. For a moment, nothing happened—then, with a flick of his wrist, the ground at his feet shuddered. A ripple of dust and loose debris shot forward, stopping just short of a tree trunk.

“That’s it,” Jacob said, grinning. “Crude, but effective. All you do is reach for the sap inside you and give it the smallest push. Don’t think about form or technique—just focus on the feeling.”

He stepped back. “Go on, give it a try. Frosya, aim for that puddle. Vael, see if you can move those stones.”

Frosya concentrated, drawing on the cool, restless current inside her. A jet of water twisted up from the puddle, arcing into the air before splashing back down. Vael, jaw set, channelled his will—one of the stones trembled, then skipped forward with a clink.

Jacob nodded approvingly. “That’s it. A sap blast is just your affinity saying hello to the world. Everything else builds from here.”

He showed them how to follow the trail: paw prints, broken branches, claw marks by a bush. Frosya’s eyes went wide as she knelt to examine the marks, and Vael felt his nerves settle with the focus of the task.

“Five wolves and a Dire,” Jacob confirmed after a long, silent walk along the trail. He cursed under his breath. “If it was just the regular pack, we’d have it easy. The Dire wolf changes things. Makes them bold. But I’ve got a trick—my fissure skill. I can split the earth, maybe trap a couple, give us room to breathe. We’ll have to work together. If it goes well, we split them. If not…” He shrugged. “We run, and live to complain about it.”

He turned, eyeing them both. “You confident? You ready for a real fight?”

Vael nodded, gripping the hilt of his sword as they crept forward. Frosya swallowed and squared her shoulders. Jacob outlined the wolves’ tactics—how they would try to circle, how the Dire wolf’s presence would hold the pack together in the face of danger.

Moving quietly among the trees, the sounds of the forest grew tense and thin. Jacob raised a hand, and they dropped low into the undergrowth. Ahead, through a tangle of roots and bracken, grey shapes flickered in the shadows— agile, attentive, and predatory.

Vael met Frosya’s gaze, gave a tight nod. She answered with a quick, determined smile. Jacob glanced back at them, and together, the three of them prepared to strike.

The forest clearing is eerily quiet as Jacob, Vael, and Frosya step into the dappled morning light. The pack is already there—five wolves, lean and ferocious, eyes glinting, and looming behind them, a Dire Wolf: huge, scarred, every inch the nightmare told in old stories.

Jacob’s hand tightens on his shield. “Vael, on me! Frosya, stay back—call if one circles!”

The pack explodes into motion. Two wolves peel off and flank Jacob, snapping and feinting, testing his guard. The Dire Wolf, with a guttural growl, barrels toward Vael, another wolf racing at its side. The last two wolves hang back, circling the skirmish, eyes locked on Frosya, waiting for their chance.

Jacob ducks a lunging bite, shield edge barely catching the jaw before the second wolf slams into his leg, teeth finding flesh through his boot. He grunts in pain but stands his ground. “Vael—watch your left!”

Vael’s heart pounds as the Dire Wolf crashes into him, the force enough to stagger him backward. He raises his sword, meeting the other wolf’s attack with a practiced parry. Sap tingles under his skin—he channels his skill and lashes out in a precise, metallic arc, slicing through fur and muscle, forcing the wolf to retreat.

Behind them, Frosya keeps low, watching for any sign of movement from the circling wolves. She gathers sap into her hand, conjures a whip of water, and sends it snapping at one of the wolves threatening Vael. The whip catches its flank, making it yelp and falter.

Jacob, battered and bleeding, makes a split-second decision. He slams his longsword into the earth, channelling sap with a desperate shout. The ground shudders and splits—a fissure opens beneath one of his immediate attackers and one of the circling wolves. Jacob jerks backward as both animals vanish in a spray of dirt and roots, muffled yelps echoing from below.

With two wolves down, the battlefield shifts. The Dire Wolf lunges at Jacob, massive jaws snapping shut inches from his face, while the last wolf on him darts in, biting deep into his thigh. Jacob staggers and shouts, “I’ll handle the big one”

Vael faces off against one of the smaller wolves, sword flashing in the dappled light. It’s fast, but his instincts are sharper. He dodges a snapping maw, counters with a quick steel slash that drives the wolf back. Frosya, behind him now, throws another water whip.

The Dire Wolf rears up, claws raking for Jacob’s head. He dives aside, then slams his sword into the ground once more. Another fissure rips open, and this time the Dire Wolf, the wolf attacking him, and the remaining circling wolf disappear beneath the collapsing earth. Jacob gasps, barely able to stand.

Now only one wolf remains—Vael’s opponent. It dodges the crumbling ground, eyes wild. Vael stumbles, he meets the wolf’s gaze, both of them desperate. With a final surge, he drives his sword home, the wolf collapsing at his feet.

The forest is silent but for the ragged sound of their breath. Frosya steadies herself, hands trembling. Their bracelets vibrate—a cold, mechanical confirmation of death.

But it’s not over. The earth where Jacob dropped the Dire Wolf begins to tremble, then heave. Frosya, with the best view from the back, sees soil spray and a massive paw break the surface. “Jacob! the fissure!”

Jacob, shaking, lifts his sword again, slamming it down with every last ounce of sap and strength. The earth gives way, rocks and roots collapsing back onto the Dire Wolf as it tries to claw free. A muffled, furious snarl—then silence.

They barely dare to breathe. Jacob keeps his eyes on the trembling earth. “It’s not over yet,” he says, voice hoarse.

A final time, the Dire Wolf forces its huge head and forelegs above ground, fangs bared and eyes wild. Vael slashes at it, but the blade glances off thick hide. Frosya, conjures a desperate water whip and sends it crashing into the beast’s head. The Dire Wolf, battered and exhausted, collapses back into the earth. The ground settles, and this time, it stays still.

Each of their bracelets vibrate. The clearing is scarred, silent but for the wind through the trees and their pounding hearts. They survived.

Jacob let out a low whistle as he surveyed the aftermath, a wolf sprawled in the undergrowth, cracks in the ground half full of loose soil, broken trees. The final echoes of the fight still humming in Vael’s veins. “For a first battle, you both did extremely well,” he said, pride roughening his voice. “Meaning neither of you ran away.” He snorted, the sound half amusement, half genuine respect.

Jacob knelt beside the fallen wolf, his brow furrowing as he observed the creature’s trembling form. Instead of skinning it as expected, he watched in disbelief as the wolf suddenly shook and imploded, leaving behind only a shimmering Spirit Stone. He glanced at Vael and Frosya, his mind racing. “This… was a rift beast,” he said, the weight of realization dawning on him.

“There must be a burst rift nearby,” he concluded, his tone laced with urgency. “These wolves are rift spawn—manifestations of sap itself.” He shook his head, still grappling with the implications. “If they’re appearing out here…” He trailed off, eyes locked on the stone, a mix of opportunity and dread swirling within him. “We’d better let the Guild know, and we need to be careful. Let’s collect up these Spirit Stones, they’re small but still have a value. The Adventurers Guild will buy them.”

When they were ready to leave, Vael asked, glancing at the gleaming bracelet on his wrist. “Can you explain how tiers and experience work?” 

Jacob picked up his pack, still deep in thought. “You gain experience from anything that pushes you forward—fighting, training, learning, crafting, and completing difficult tasks. In this case, your bracelet records the wolf kills, and you gain experience towards your next tier, especially when it’s your first time facing such challenges. At certain thresholds, you accumulate enough experience for your soul to evolve to its next tier. We call it the path of Cultivation—the growth of your soul. This is when you gain those wonderful skill choices. Then the process begins again. Your bracelet tracks your progress by monitoring your soul, giving you a clearer picture of where you stand on your path. How much experience you gain, though, depends on a lot of factors. For example, you will have earned more experience out of this fight than I did.”

Frosya frowned. “Why’s that?”

Jacob grinned. “I’ve been through it before—more times than I can count. My muscles remember the work, and I know what to expect. While familiarity means I gain less experience, it also increases my chances of survival.”

He continued, “Take a shoemaker. The first pair of shoes he makes—tons of experience, right? The two-hundredth pair? Not so much. But if both shoemakers saw a pair of magical flying shoes for the first time, the veteran would get more out of it—he’d notice how it’s made, how it might react in wet weather, whether the magic’s in the sole or the stitching. Better insights. So, experience works both ways.”

He rummaged in his pack and handed them both a small tin. “Here, put some salve on those scratches. Wouldn’t do to take you back all beat up.”

Frosya dabbed the ointment on a fresh scrape, her hands trembling a bit. “That fight was terrifying. We could have so easily died.”

Jacob’s expression softened. “Yes, it was rough. I’ll admit—even for me.”

He settled back on his heels. “This brings me back to experience and tiers. Adventurers level up fast because they’re always facing life and death, exploring crypts, ruins, strange magics. The pace is faster, more diverse, more dangerous. We learn, quickly, or we don’t last.”

They washed up by a small stream, retrieved their horses and rode back towards Nexara, the sky burning gold and violet as dusk fell.

As they passed the Cities Western Gates, Jacob pointed out the sprawling training grounds where adventurers sparred in the fading light. “Good place to practice, just show them your Adventurers Guild bracelet, and it’s free to enter” he noted. “You’ll find it’s always busy.”

Inside the Guilds hall, they registered the completion of their assignment. The clerk nodded, tallied up the credits, and paid them with a smile and a stamped receipt. 

Jacob looked solemn as he pulled out the Spirit Stones from the wolves. “I need to report that they were rift spawn wolves and that we were in the forest, nowhere near a rift. Is there anything we should know?”

The clerk glanced up from his paperwork, his expression carefully neutral. “Thank you for the report. While we appreciate your diligence, we’re still evaluating the situation regarding monster spawns. It’s best to remain alert and report any unusual activity.” He paused for a moment, then added, “If you’re interested in selling those Spirit Stones, I can value them for you? We take the usual ten percent cut but it’s easy and straight forward. No one will try to cheat you.”

“All help short of actual help, don’t you just love bureaucracy?” Jacob said looking at Vael and Frosya, “What do you want to do with the stones?”

“Want a trophy from our first assignment?” Vael asked Frosya.

“Sure, sell four of the small ones, and we’ll keep the Dire Wolf stone and another,” Frosya replied.

The clerk, clearly irritated by the situation the Guild had placed him in, retrieved a Spirit Stone measuring device from beneath the counter. “The value is twenty-four credits for the four small stones,” he stated. “If you could return your bracelets, I’ll add the credits.”

They handed over their bracelets, and Jacob passed two of the stones to Vael, who after a brief, silent exchange of glances with Frosya, offered her the Dire Wolf stone. She smiled, accepting it.

“I’m exhausted,” Frosya admitted as they stepped back out onto the lantern-lit street. “Maybe we should rest before looking at another assignment?”

Jacob clapped Vael on the shoulder. “When you’re ready, you can ask for me again. I’d be happy to take you both out, if you want?” He grinned, then led the horses back to the stables.

Vael and Frosya made their way back to the Silver Kettle. They ate a quick supper, talking quietly about the day’s events and plans to spend tomorrow sparring at the training yard. Sleep came quickly—Vael was already drifting off before his head touched the pillow.