Corwin moved before anyone could stop him.
He crossed the distance to August in three quick strides, his fist connecting
with August's jaw with a sickening crack. August's head snapped back, blood filling his mouth.
"You did this!" Corwin screamed, throwing another punch that caught August in the ribs. "You killed my son! Monster! Murderer!"
August hesitated but did not resist. He was capable of doing so. Some instinct within his acquired physique understood how to defend and counter. However, he did not. He permitted the strikes to connect.
Kael and Lyon grabbed Corwin, trying to pull him back, but the grieving father fought like a man possessed. His wife joined him, her nails raking across August's cheek, drawing blood in long lines.
"Child-killer!" she screamed, her voice raw with grief and rage." I hope you burn! I hope the stars take you and drive you furious!"
It took four men to restrain them both. Corwin thrashed in their grip, still trying to reach August. "I'll kill you," he promised, his voice breaking. "If you ever sleep, if you ever let your guard down, I'll cut your throat. I swear it on my son's life."
His wife was sobbing now, collapsed halfway to the ground, held up only by the men restraining her. "Please," she begged, looking at Lyon. "Please don't do this. We'll leave. We'll take Orin and go. You'll never see us again. Just don't take our son."
Lyon's face was carved from stone, but his eyes glistened. "I'm sorry. The vote has been made. The camp has spoken."
"Then curse the camp!" she shouted. "Curse all of you!"
August stood there, blood running down his face from the scratches and split lip. He met Corwin's hate-filled eyes and saw something that would haunt him forever: a father's love turning into pure, burning rage.
The couple was dragged away, their screams echoing through the camp. Other parents pulled their children close, some looking guilty, others relieved, most just exhausted by the horror of it all.
Maeve approached Orin carefully. The boy stood alone now, confused and frightened, tears streaming down his face. "I want my mama," he said in a small voice. "Why did they take Mama away?"
"Come here, sweetheart," Maeve said gently, kneeling. Her own face was wet with tears. "Come with me."
"Where are we going?" Orin asked, taking her hand. "When can I see mama and papa?"
Maeve did not manage to respond. She guided him across the southern borders of the camp, her shoulders trembling with quiet cries.
Two guards followed at a distance, their faces grim. One was an older man named Garrett who had volunteered for this terrible duty. The other was younger, barely more than a boy himself.
August watched them go, watched the small figure of Orin looking back toward where his parents had been taken. The boy didn't understand. How could he?
He was eight years old, and his world was ending.
Lyon approached August, his voice low. "You should clean that blood off your face." "I'll keep it," August said quietly. "I earned it."
"Maybe," Lyon replied. "But you should know—half the camp wants to do the same thing Corwin did. The other half is just better at hiding it."
"I know."
"Then why did you suggest it?" Lyon asked, genuine confusion in his voice. "You had to know how they'd react."
"Because someone had to," August said. "Someone had to say what everyone was thinking, but too afraid to voice. Better me than you. You still have to lead these people after tonight."
Lyon studied him for a long moment. "I can't decide if you're brave or stupid."
"Neither," August said. "Just practical."
Kael approached, offering a waterskin. August drank, wincing as the liquid stung his split lip.
"The boy is at the southern edge now," Kael reported quietly. "Maeve is staying with him. Garrett is watching from a distance."
"How long?" Lyon asked.
"Unknown. The Hunt could come tonight. Or tomorrow. Or not at all, if we're lucky."
"We won't be lucky," August said with certainty. The whisper in his mind, silent since the vote, stirred again. The Hunt always collects its debts.
The camp settled into an uneasy vigil. No one slept. Everyone waited, listening to the night, watching the sky for that sickly yellow glow.
At the southern edge, Orin sat by a small fire, Maeve beside him. She held him close, humming a soft lullaby.
"Will Mama come back soon?" Orin asked, his voice drowsy.
"Soon," Maeve lies, her voice trembling. "In a moment, dear."
The boy's eyes drifted closed. Within minutes, he was asleep, his head resting against Maeve's shoulder.
She looked up at Garrett, who stood watching from ten paces away. "This is wrong," she whispered. "This is so wrong."
"I know," Garrett replied. His hands gripped his spear tightly, though they both knew it would be useless if the Hunt came. "But what choice did we have?"
Neither of them had an answer to that.
Three hours before dawn, the sky began to look different.
August saw it first. He hadn't even tried to sleep, standing watch at the northern edge of camp, as far from the southern edge—from Orin—as he could get. The perpetual twilight that painted their world in shades of purple and gray started to shift, taking on a sickly yellow hue like old bruises or diseased flesh.
"Kael," he said softly. The old man was next to him in a matter of seconds, his eyes following August's gaze upward.
"It's starting," Kael said grimly.
The yellow light spread slowly across the sky, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to move independently of their sources. The air grew thick, hard to breathe, pressing against August's chest like a physical weight.
A deep vibration ran through the earth, a thrumming that August felt in his bones. Around the camp, fires flickered and danced despite no wind.
People emerged from their tents, drawn by the unnatural light and the trembling ground. Fear painted their faces as they looked up at the diseased sky.
"Stay calm," Lyon ordered, his voice carrying across the camp. "All of them stay in the central area. Don't go toward the edges."
But his words were drowned out by a scream from the southern edge. Not Orin. Not Maeve. Someone else.
August ran, his body moving on instinct. Others followed, but he was faster, his borrowed reflexes carrying him across the camp in moments.
What he found made him feel cold all over.
Garrett, the guard, stood frozen in place, his spear fallen at his feet. His eyes were wide with horror, staring at something August couldn't yet see.
Maeve was backing away from the small fire where Orin slept, her hand over her mouth.
And beyond them, approaching from the darkness, were Corwin and his wife.
They must have broken free from their tent, slipping past whoever was supposed to be watching them. They moved with desperate purpose, heading straight for their sleeping son.
"No!" Garrett yelled as he reached for them. "Don't! The Hunt—"
"I don't care about the Hunt," Corwin snarled, pushing past the guard. His wife ran ahead, scooping up Orin, who woke with a confused cry.
"Mama?"
"It's okay, baby," she sobbed, holding him tight. "Mama's here. Papa's here. We've got you."
"You have to leave him," Maeve pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "Please, you don't understand—"
"No, you don't understand," Corwin said, moving to stand beside his wife, wrapping his arms around both of them. "He's our son. If he dies, we die with him. That's what family means."
The yellow light intensified, becoming almost blinding. The vibration in the earth grew stronger, and now August could hear something beneath it—a sound like wind rushing backward, like the world taking a deep breath in.
August arrived at the fire's edge, Kael and Lyon close behind. More people were coming, drawn by the screaming and the terrible light.
"Get away from them," August said quickly. "Everyone, go back to the main camp right now!"
But no one moved. They stood transfixed, watching the family huddled together, watching the light grow brighter.
Corwin looked up, meeting August's eyes one last time. There was no rage anymore. Only love, and determination, and a strange kind of peace.
"This is on you," he said quietly. "Remember that."
Then he turned back to his wife and son, wrapping them both in his arms, sheltering them with his body.
The yellow light exploded outward, too bright to look at directly. August threw up his hand, squinting against the glare.
The sound of wind rushing backward grew deafening, like the world was screaming. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
Silence.
August lowered his hand, blinking away the spots in his vision.
The yellow light was gone. The normal twilight had returned. The vibration in the earth had ceased.
And where the family had stood, there was nothing.