Dawn came too early. Like it always did. Like it would continue to do for the rest of Hunter's probably-short life in this murder world.
The Shadow Legion assembled in the pre-dawn gray. Fifteen people plus Hunter. Supplies packed. Weapons ready. Three days of travel ahead through forest that wanted them dead and would probably get creative about it.
Hunter stood at the front, watching everyone prepare. His chest felt tight. Not from injury, that was healing slowly thanks to Foundation Realm recovery and sheer stubborn refusal to stay wounded. This was different. This was the weight of fifteen people who'd sworn their souls to him. Who trusted him. Who'd chosen this insanity.
The weight pressed down like physical force mixed with existential dread.
