The forest was silent, but not in the way Cael expected. No birds sang, no leaves whispered—only the crunch of boots and the occasional snap of a twig beneath a Hunter's weight. Shadows stretched unnaturally as the sun struggled through the dense canopy, painting the path in shifting gold and green.
Cael walked in the middle of the small party, hunched slightly to keep pace, his hands brushing against the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. The scarred Hunter walked ahead, eyes scanning the forest for any trace of danger. The woman with the braid moved beside him, occasionally glancing down at him to gauge his state, her expression unreadable.
The silence pressed against him, mingling with the memories of Eldhollow. Every tree seemed taller, more ominous, the air thicker than the village fields he remembered. He wanted to speak, to ask questions, to grasp this new world—but the weight of his grief and exhaustion held his tongue.
"You're quiet," the woman said softly. Her voice was calm but carried an edge that demanded attention.
"I… I'm just taking it in," Cael muttered. "Everything's… bigger."
She nodded. "It is. The world isn't your village. The forests stretch for hundreds of miles, the rivers are wider, and the mountains…" She paused, looking at the distant peaks beyond the trees, shrouded in mist, "...the mountains hide creatures that will kill unprepared men in a heartbeat."
Cael tightened his grip on the sword strap. The words did nothing to make him afraid. If anything, they sharpened his focus. Survival wasn't about courage—it was about preparation, about knowing the world's rules and breaking them if necessary.
The forest began to thin, and the party entered rolling hills dotted with wildflowers and jagged stone outcrops. The Hunters moved in silence, and Cael's eyes swept the horizon. In the distance, massive shapes moved—dragons nesting atop the cliffs, their wings folding and stretching as they basked in the sun. A smaller, shadowed figure streaked through the sky, wings cutting a perfect arc, eyes glinting like molten gold.
Dragons weren't stories. Not here.
He shivered slightly—not from fear, but from recognition. This was a dangerous, beautiful world. One he'd have to master to survive.
The scarred Hunter stopped at the edge of a shallow stream. "Water. Drink, but be careful. Predators use rivers as hunting grounds. Wolves, water spirits… worse things lurk beneath the surface."
Cael knelt and drank, the cold water shocking his throat awake. He noticed fish darting just beneath the surface, and instinctively his hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword. His eyes narrowed, watching the shadows ripple across the streambed. Instinct and caution were already etching themselves into him.
The Hunters motioned for him to move on. "HQ isn't far," the woman said, "but we'll camp tonight in the foothills. This is where novices are often tested on their endurance. You'll learn quickly that the world doesn't forgive mistakes."
They moved through the foothills as twilight began to bleed into the sky. The distant peaks now glowed with the fading light, casting long shadows over the valleys below. Cael glimpsed ruins in the distance—towers, shattered walls, and remnants of settlements long abandoned. Signs of humanity, long crushed by monsters or worse.
"Those are the Old Kingdom's ruins," the scarred Hunter said, reading his gaze. "Civilizations rise and fall, but monsters never forget. The ruins are breeding grounds now. Spirits, demons… they learn from the death of men."
Cael's jaw tightened. He imagined Eldhollow in ruins, and then he imagined himself in those ruins, standing over the bones of monsters. His hatred wasn't just a feeling—it was a guide, a fuel for his every action.
Night fell. The party made camp beneath a ridge of jagged rock. The fire illuminated their faces and the rough shapes of their weapons. Cael sat slightly apart, staring into the flames, imagining Eldhollow one last time.
Tomorrow, he would see the Hunters' headquarters for the first time.
Tomorrow, he would begin training to turn hatred into skill.
Tomorrow, he would start becoming someone the monsters would fear.
And somewhere deep inside him, a small, fragile part of the boy who had once played in Eldhollow's sunlit streets still hoped—if only slightly—that he might survive to see justice.