Hézo
The rest of the night, Hézo decided to take shelter, just as the street kid had advised him.
He tried, in vain, to awaken that inner force he had felt several times before. A muffled, almost instinctive power… yet unreachable, like a blurred memory whose taste lingered but whose image was gone.
He didn't know how to access it, which levers to pull, or what triggered it.
But one thing was certain: that hidden strength was the key to his goal.
And that mysterious guild… the perfect ground for experimentation.
At dawn, when he opened his eyes, the soft morning light filtered through the leaves and a fresh breeze brushed his face. He made his way toward the temple.
— Hey! Morio exclaimed as soon as he saw him, then whispered dramatically, Mister Black Warrior!
— You can just call me Hézo.
— Had a good hunt, I hope? How many did you slay this time?
— Forget that, will you? I came to ask you for a favor.
— I'll help however I can.
— I want to join a cooperative.
— Really? Aren't Black Warriors supposed to be paid already?
— Can you help me or not?
— Alright, alright, no need to snap! I was just asking. What kind of coop do you want to join? With my recommendation, things should move quickly.
— Doesn't matter… As long as I can make some money and have time for other things.
Morio grinned.
— Perfect. But first, you'll need to change those clothes. Right now, you look more like a runaway prince than a worker. You'll stick out like a sore thumb.
***
A sign on the gate read « Azôrh Agricultural Cooperative ». The iron bars opened onto a wide green field.
Morio introduced Hézo to the cooperative's manager, a tall woman in her fifties named Soaliya. As Morio had predicted, Hézo's registration was quick, and he started working the very same day.
Within hours, he understood that the fields were nothing like a training ground.
He was handed a hoe, shown a row, and spent the morning weeding under a merciless sun. He dug, scraped, turned the earth, sometimes on his knees, sometimes bent so low his back trembled. Soil clung to his arms, legs, and calloused palms.
He had traded his usual clothes for a coarse shirt, sturdy pants, and a headscarf to keep the sweat at bay. Even so, the heat was unbearable. By midday, the damp fabric sticking to his back became more irritating than protective. He tore it off with a sharp gesture, revealing his dark, sweat-slicked skin, muscles shaped not by labor, but by battles and long escapes.
He felt the stares before he heard them: a stifled laugh, then nervous giggles. He looked up.
Three young women were passing by, baskets of yams balanced on their hips, eyes glancing his way. One of them stumbled slightly, still smiling.
Hézo sighed, not understanding what exactly he'd done to cause that.
— Put your damn shirt back on, idiot, Morio barked, annoyed as he tossed him the rolled-up shirt. You're trying to distract them all or what? You're here to work, not to charm the ladies.
Hézo looked at him, half amused, half incredulous, then took the shirt without a word. He only wanted to breathe.
He went back to work. It was rough, but he endured. He needed money, for the road ahead, for finding the guild.
He worked tirelessly until early afternoon. Meals were provided on-site, so he ate his fill without touching his savings.
As he was putting his tools away, Soaliya approached.
— Not bad for your first day, she said approvingly. You even exceeded expectations. Here's your pay, with a little bonus.
She handed him a heavy pouch.
— Thank you, Hézo replied, his eyes bright with a strange, quiet pride.
It was the first time he had earned money this way. And oddly enough, he felt proud of it.
— What about me? Morio protested.
— You? Soaliya laughed. You always do the bare minimum. But still, thank you, you brought me a good worker. Be proud of that.
Morio shrugged, feigning offense.
***
Hézo went back to the temple to retrieve Onyx. He slowly stroked his mount's sleek black coat; the creature neighed softly in contentment.
— Got a place to sleep tonight? Morio asked, arms crossed.
— I was thinking of getting a room at a nearby inn, Hézo replied.
— Bad idea. City inns cost a fortune. Why not crash at my place?
— You've got a house? Hézo asked, surprised.
— More like a shack, Morio chuckled. Out of town, near the forest edge. Isolated. That's why, on forbidden nights, I prefer sleeping here, it's safer.
— I see… Thanks, but I've got some things to do in town. Maybe another time.
Morio didn't insist.
— Alright then. See you tomorrow.
— See you.
Morio waved him off. Hézo mounted Onyx and trotted through the lively streets. Lanterns were being lit one by one, bathing the city in warm amber light. Before long, he spotted an inn with a red-tiled roof. Its sign creaked in the wind: "The Crowned Mare."
He tied Onyx to a stone post beside other resting horses and pushed open the heavy doors.
Inside, the air was loud and warm. Laughter echoed from large, crowded tables, while loners drank quietly in the corners, eyes sharp and guarded. Hézo walked up to the counter.
— Twenty cowries a night, the innkeeper said without looking up.
The price was steep, nearly half his daily pay. Hézo swallowed a sigh, fished into his pouch, and dropped the coins, masking his irritation. The innkeeper handed him a key with a cheerful smile.
— Stairs to the left, second door on the right.
— Hm.
***
Moments later, Hézo stood naked beneath a cascade of hot water, hands braced against the tiled wall.
The water streamed down his neck, his tense shoulders, his back sore from the day's labor.
He closed his eyes. The heat untied his muscles, soothed his mind. He felt the sweat, the grime, the fatigue of travel washing away, down the drain, along with his restless thoughts.
He stayed there for long minutes, letting the water beat against his skin like comforting rain.
For the first time since leaving the Tribe of Fire, he felt clean… and alive.
But soon, his thoughts darkened again.
The Hunter Guilds… where could he find them?
Their existence offered him a path, a chance to grow stronger without the approval of the Black Warriors, without their rules, without their contempt.
But such groups lived in the shadows. And asking too many questions in the wrong place could cost him dearly.
He exhaled deeply, turned off the water, and dried himself with a rough towel before slipping into clean trousers. Then he collapsed onto the bed.
The white sheets smelled faintly of lavender and dried grass. The mattress, though modest, felt like a throne.
He fell asleep almost instantly.
***
Night had fully fallen when he woke again.
Downstairs, the inn was alive with noise, a kora player strummed softly in the corner while a group of drunk men roared with laughter. The air was thick with warmth, smoke, and cheer.
Hézo nodded to the innkeeper and stepped outside.
The night air was cool and gentle. Horses munched quietly on hay beneath hanging lanterns. Onyx lifted his head as Hézo approached; he stroked the animal's neck before mounting.
He left the cobbled streets behind and rode toward the forest's edge. No demons, no bandits, no lurking beasts, only crickets and the whisper of wind through leaves.
There, in the sleeping woods, he trained.
He started with slow, controlled push-ups, until his arms trembled. Then came pull-ups on a low branch, followed by long sprints across uneven paths until his breath came ragged. He finished with sword strikes against a chosen tree trunk, repeating movements from the day, refining postures, correcting angles.
Repeat. Adjust. Start again.
Each strike carried his will.
He wasn't one of the chosen, but he would make his body compensate where magic refused to answer.
At last, after hours of effort, drenched in sweat and gasping for air but with a clearer mind, he mounted Onyx again and rode back toward the inn.
Tomorrow would be another day.