The ancient soul and the young child

"Well," Solen said, puffing out his chest just a little, "as you clearly saw, I lost my sword in a fearsome duel with a sea monster."

He tried to sound heroic. Emphasis on tried. Salt still clung to his skin, and his boots squelched with every step.

Amana stared at him like he'd grown a second head. The waves lapped behind her, steady and unimpressed.

"You dropped it," she said flatly.

Technically true. Also completely beside the point.

"I don't have a spare," she added, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. Her axe gleamed, nicked and well-loved. "But I'll handle most of the fighting until we find something. First decent weapon that drops is yours."

Solen blinked.

That… was unexpected.

If they took down something strong enough, there was a real chance it would drop a Soul Shard. And those weren't just weapons—they were treasures. Rare. Unpredictable. Maybe a sword that could hum. Maybe a coat that swallowed light. Maybe a ring that whispered your dead mother's voice into your ear at night.

It all depended on how powerful the creature was when it died… and maybe how it died.

He just had one question.

"When you say 'weapon,'" he asked cautiously, "do you mean like… sword, axe, or could it also be, like, armor? Or charms? Or—?"

"Yes," Amana said. She didn't look at him. "Now shut up. And no, I won't be doing all the work for free."

There it was.

The hook.

No one handed away a Soul Shard out of generosity. Especially not here. Not in a world where power meant survival and everything had a price.

"I'll need you to do something for me," she said, voice as smooth as ice under the tongue.

Solen tensed.

Here it comes.

"You're going to be bait."

The world stopped.

"…What?"

Even the water at his feet seemed to pull back, like it didn't want to be associated with what she'd just said.

Amana smiled.

Not kindly. Not politely.

She smiled like someone who enjoyed watching things squirm. There was a glint behind her eyes—bright, cruel, alive.

For a second, Solen wasn't sure she was human.

"Sorry," he said slowly. "I must've misheard. Did you just say I'm going to be bait?"

"You heard right."

She said it like someone describing the weather.

He blinked. Twice. The wind picked up, curling strands of wet hair around his neck. His heartbeat felt louder than it should've.

"How exactly," he asked, "does bait survive the part where it gets eaten?"

"You'll figure it out," she said. "You're clever. Mostly."

Her tone made it clear: this wasn't a debate.

It was a contract.

And Solen had just signed it.

"I'll be the one to deal the finishing blow," she said, her voice carrying the weight of someone who didn't need to explain herself. "You'll scout for monsters. I don't want you holding me back—so that's the least you can do."

Solen clenched his jaw, feeling the frustration knotting his stomach. Of course she'd say that.

It was perfect logic, really. No weapon meant no kills. No kills meant no Soul Shards. No Soul Shards meant no power. And until he got something decent, he'd be nothing but a walking target—bait, nothing more.

She didn't even have to put it that way. But she did. Because that was the kind of world they lived in. A world where you didn't get to choose your role. You just fit into whatever box the universe shoved you into—and if you didn't, well, you were left behind.

Solen sighed, the weight of the situation pressing on him more than the sand beneath his boots. He had to play it smart.

"No problem," he said, his voice steady. He was good at pretending. "I'll make sure to find you the biggest, meanest one I can. Wouldn't want you missing out on your prize."

Amana barely looked at him, too focused on the horizon, where the sun hung low, casting a bloody light across the terrain.

"Good," she muttered, "and don't get yourself killed while you're at it."

Solen didn't answer. He didn't need to. Her words were a clear warning, but the truth was, he didn't even know what the hell he was walking into.

She kind of reminded him of his grandma.

The thought struck like a shard of glass—sharp, sudden, unwelcome. A flicker of sorrow tightened Solen's chest. His eyes glazed for a heartbeat, betraying more than he wanted.

He swallowed it down. No time for that.

Trying to shake the memory loose, he forced a conversation with his new "friend." Or, as he preferred to call her in his head—his enslaver.

"Uh… can I ask you something?"

"Don't worry. Being bait is easy," she shot back, not even glancing his way.

That wasn't what he meant. And it sure as hell didn't make him feel better.

"No, that's not—ugh." He ran a hand through his hair. "I meant, why would any sane person want to hunt Soul Beasts?"

That stopped her.

A shadow passed over her face, subtle but unmistakable. Her jaw tightened. Her eyes—usually so cold—flared with something raw. Rage? Regret? Solen couldn't tell. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Strength," she said, her voice low. "I need strength."

He opened his mouth, ready to dig deeper—but then he saw her expression.

Hard. Hollow. Fragile.

The words dried in his throat.

He didn't ask again.

"How far is the monster that you used to sense"

"How far is the monster you sensed?" she asked.

Solen blinked.

Good question. Really good question.

Too bad he had zero idea.

It was literally his first day in this cursed world with these cursed abilities, and he was 90% sure he was using them wrong. Was he supposed to feel something? See shapes in the wind? Smell colors?

He had no damn clue.

But one thing was clear—disappointing her looked way more dangerous than getting soul-induced brain damage. Which, by the way, was apparently not a myth.

He pressed two fingers to his temple like a budget psychic, trying to look serious. "Uhh… that way," he said, gesturing vaguely northeast. "Maybe... a few hundred meters?"

A sharp pulse spiked behind his eyes.

He winced.

Yeah. Definitely not a myth.

Then something flashed across his vision.

At first, Solen thought it was just his ability glitching out again—maybe the strain finally frying his brain. But then he noticed her.

She'd gone still.

One hand on her sword. Eyes locked ahead.

Danger.

He instinctively took a step back—or tried to.

"Where do you think you're going, idiot?" she snapped. "Get up there and lure it."

And just like that, Solen learned two very important lessons:

One—people were heartless.

Two—he hated her with every last fiber of his soul.