The crackling fire of the Hunters' camp cast a warm glow, but Cael felt none of it. He sat upright slowly, breath unsteady, eyes raw and exhausted. The world felt distant—like sound and light had to fight their way through a thick wall of shock to reach him.
A tall Hunter with a scar across his chin approached, voice calm. "You're awake. Good. Listen carefully… the monsters that attacked your village have all been eliminated."
Cael didn't flinch. His face held stillness, but not acceptance. A fragile line of hope flickered behind his eyes, and he hated that it was there.
"All of them?" he asked. His voice wasn't cold—just tight, like something inside him was barely holding together.
"Yes," the Hunter said gently. "We arrived too late… but none of the creatures survived."
Cael lowered his gaze. His small hands tightened into fists. His throat ached.
"That doesn't make anything better," he whispered.
There was a tremble in his voice — not weakness, but grief.
Another Hunter, a woman with a long braid and steady eyes, crouched beside him. "Son… what do you want to do now?"
He looked at his hands—the hands his mother once held, the hands that weren't strong enough to save anyone. Hatred twisted in his chest, but beneath it was a heavy, childish sorrow.
"I… want you to train me," Cael said. "I want to kill the things out there. All of them. Before they take anyone else."
The Hunters exchanged glances. His voice was hard, but there was a softness beneath the words — the remnants of a boy raised in a peaceful village, who still believed the strong could protect the weak if only he tried hard enough.
"You realize training isn't a game," the scarred Hunter said. "At HQ, the process breaks grown men. There's pain, exhaustion, methods that will push you to your limits."
Cael nodded, jaw tight. "I don't care. I'll do whatever you tell me to."
But at the end of the sentence, his voice cracked — not in fear, but in exhaustion. The sound of a child who hasn't stopped running, even after his legs gave out.
The female Hunter touched the map on the table and turned it toward him. "Your village… Eldhollow… it was here." Her voice softened. "Deep in the northern forest, by the Stormvale River. Remote, peaceful… and unprotected."
Cael traced the map with trembling fingers.
"That was home," he said quietly.
His face tightened, but his eyes shimmered. He refused to cry. Not in front of strangers. Not anymore.
The woman straightened. "If you come with us, we'll take you to Headquarters. That's where training happens."
"When do we leave?" Cael asked immediately.
The Hunters blinked. His voice was steady but still too small, too young.
He wasn't fearless — just determined to the point of self-destruction.
"Dawn," the scarred man said. "Get some rest."
"I don't need rest," Cael muttered, eyes burning. But when he tried to stand, his knees buckled. The woman caught him gently.
"You're exhausted. It's alright… you're safe now."
The word safe hit him harder than anything else that night.
Safe.
A word he hadn't felt since his mother shoved him out of the monster's path.
He swallowed hard. "I'll go with you. I'll train. I'll get stronger. Just… don't leave me here alone."
There it was — the final sliver of vulnerability, the last piece of the child he still was.
The Hunters nodded slowly. "We won't."
And Cael sat back down by the fire, hugging his knees, trying to stay awake but slowly drifting into a restless sleep.
One last night as a child.