I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

As the beast of burden lumbered forward, its massive frame shifting with each ponderous step, the travelers trembled to their core. Their faces were ashen, drained of warmth, their haunted gazes dim and hollow—ghostlights flickering in the storm of fear.

Roma felt just as terrified, but unlike the others, she locked the terror deep within her gut, a caged beast scratching at her ribs.

Her eyes remained steadfast, a golden ember refusing to be snuffed out. Though faint flickers of fear could be seen if one dared to look deeper, she kept it all contained, the weight of control resting on her fragile shoulders.

"What the hell are you doing, young lady?! Can't this thing move faster?!"

The shout shattered the tense silence. A man, his voice raw and cracking mid-speech, finally broke under the weight of fear.

He was bald, with strange, archaic tattoos winding across his head like the remnants of an ancient curse. The dim glow from the bloodstained sky cast eerie shadows upon them, illuminating their twisted design.

Roma didn't care about any of that. Her chest heaved, her mind an unruly tempest, thoughts clashing like warring tides.

The insistent shouts from the terrified travelers pressed against her skull like a vice, each word a hammer stroke against her cracking patience.

She felt scattered, overwhelmed, cornered. And she loathed every second of it!

Gritting her teeth, she let out a low, frustrated snarl.

"I am trying here, aren't I?! This thing can only be controlled by the person who summoned it—which is the Sage!"

The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and in the next instant, she froze.

'That's right... only Rian can control the mount. If the monster has truly taken over his body, wouldn't it be easier to command this beast to stop and bring us to it...? Unless... it isn't sentient enough for that. But I refuse to believe the monster possessing Rian's soul has no effect whatsoever on the creature he commands.'

A flicker of something fierce and resolute ignited in her golden gaze. She turned sharply, her expression steeled with quiet defiance, and addressed the others. Her voice, though calm, cut through the air like tempered steel.

"I reckon you all settle down and ease your minds. Rian is a Sage, as I've told you. I've seen him in battle, and I can vouch for his strength. He will not lose."

The third drifter, an older woman with a weathered face carved by years of hardship, snapped back through gritted teeth.

"How would you know? You don't even know what this monster is capable of..."

Roma studied the woman for a moment. She was the eldest of the drifters, her slight wrinkles whispering of decades survived, yet her eyes—those quivering, terrified eyes—belonged to someone who had seen death and knew it too intimately.

'Drifters are supposed to be hardened by their experiences... but these ones? They look like frightened chickens.'

She didn't want to judge them—she despised doing that.

Because only they truly knew what they had witnessed. Whatever it was had shaken their souls like an apocalyptic storm, tearing through them with merciless claws.

Her expression softened into a subtle frown as she responded.

"I might not know what the monster is capable of, but I know what my companion can do. And I'd rather wager on him than some unknown horror."

A brief pause. She studied their uncertain faces, then shrugged.

"So, how much are you putting in? I'll go all in. A thousand orens."

They gaped at her as if she had just spoken in tongues.

A storm of shadows might very well be stalking them, ready to rise at any moment and swallow their souls whole. Or worse, it had already taken over their Sage and was simply waiting to eviscerate them. And yet... this young lady was talking about betting.

It was baffling. Utterly absurd.

The older woman hesitated, then asked with measured curiosity,

"Young lady... I'm sorry to question you. What rank are you?"

Revealing one's rank as a Drifter was uncommon, especially for the weak. It was a sensitive question, one that could be refused. But in the woman's eyes—and in the gazes of the others—Roma saw it:

A faint, desperate flicker of hope.

And honestly, she wanted to preserve it.

Even if it meant lying.

But lies...

She despised lies.

She would never.

Roma shook her head, her golden sparks of defiance dancing in the dim light.

"I am not a Drifter."

A collective hush fell upon them.

Their gazes turned to stone, shock etching itself into their frozen expressions.

The pregnant woman's fading hope shattered like fragile glass, her head dipping as she stared at the floor.

The shadow drifter snarled.

"What the hell?! You're not even a Drifter, and you've been acting like some kind of savior."

Roma tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable.

"But I was the one who saved you all though... literally."

Silence.

It was true. She had leaped down, stopped the beast, and helped them. She had become their tether to hope—their so-called savior.

"Still..."

The shadow drifter growled, his voice tensing with irritation.

"This and that are two different things, young lady. You might have saved us, but in the end, you're as useless as those two. We're the ones who have to fight and protect you lot, so take a back seat while we figure out how to make this thing move faster."

Roma scowled.

"How about you shut up and let Rian handle this."

"Leave our fates in the hands of someone who might already be doomed? No, thank you."

The shadow drifter rose, moving over the crates with measured steps. His calculating gaze traced the massive beast's form, pausing near its head—where Northern had rested.

Roma's golden eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing?"

He ignored her, studying the creature's skin.

"There has to be some means of control..."

Tyr suddenly leaned forward, slamming his fist against the beast's skull.

"Faster, monster!"

Roma lunged forward, seizing his arm.

"Hey! What's your problem?!"

The shadow drifter paused, his expression darkening.

"A common human like you wouldn't understand what survival means. Not that I expect you to..."

His eyes dimmed briefly, then, like embers catching flame, a manic glint flashed across his face.

He yanked his arm free, his voice rising into a snarl:

"Know your place, you little wench!"

The force of the yank sent Roma stumbling off balance. She slipped from the beast's back, and before anyone could react—

A blur cut through the night.
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Northern rose into the air, Roma secured in his grip. His cold gaze swept across the travelers, his voice laced with disdain.

"This is why I hate humans."