A woman with ashen hair stared with dark blue eyes into a quenched pyre. Wearing armor of a mid-tier kind, she clutched her sword tightly as her dark blue eyes shifted.
She spotted other burnt skeletons as well.
The girl's entire family had been burnt to death not too long after her.
All because the townspeople suspected they were werewolves as well.
"Ignorant fools," Winter whispered harshly. "As if a town of people could even kill a family of wolves."
"A group of hunters would struggle to take down even one, and they believed they could?"
She let out a slight chuckle, then felt a hand on her shoulder.
She turned to a man in his mid-fifties, balding, but what remained of his hair was similar to hers.
"Father," Winter said, flustered. "I was…"
"You are right to be angry," Morgan said. He turned his gaze to the skeletons. "What happened here was unjust, and someone has to pay for it."
Winter heard grunting and chains rattling behind her. Turning around, she saw a silverback, chained and gagged, being forcefully led by members of the hunter's guild to the chopping block.
He struggled for freedom, but the resistance was for nothing.
An executioner had arrived.
Winter winced as she witnessed the silverback's head being cut off by an axe, but she never turned away.
"Serves him right," Morgan said.
Winter agreed with her father's sentiments.
After all, how could a hunter, even if retired, be unable to perform one of the rites? A simple wolfsbane test would have been more than enough.
"Let's go," Morgan said.
His daughter followed.
They arrived in an alley. Five dead men, rotting with flies pecking at their corpses, lay there.
The silverback, before he was beheaded, had the decency to send word to the Hunter's Guild about his mistake. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to spare his life.
"It's been weeks since this happened. What are the chances of us finding anything useful?" Winter asked.
"Not much, daughter. But we still have to try," Morgan said.
Sighing, Winter brought out a vial of potion and braced herself before drinking.
Morgan stopped her, grabbing her by the wrist before she could.
"I can handle the effects. You've seen me do it," Winter said, slightly annoyed.
"No doubt. However, you don't have to anymore," Morgan said.
Horses neighed and stomped violently. Winter turned to find the Deliverers and their banner.
A section of hunters responsible for bringing hunters whatever was needed for a hunt—weapons, magical weapons, potions.
But they had brought none of that.
The first one to descend from the horses wasn't a hunter, but a faith mage.
Short blonde hair, green eyes, wearing the engravings with drawings of numerous watchful eyes.
She clutched a tablet of her faith. Her amulet, also an eye, hung from her neck.
"Triss," Winter said, slightly surprised.
"It's… not a horrible thing to see you," Triss said awkwardly.
Winter frowned at Triss. Her wording might have sounded odd to a regular person, but only because they wouldn't know Triss and her beliefs.
She was a Seeker, a follower of the god of truth, Veritas.
They didn't know each other too well, but the time they spent together wasn't pleasant.
With Triss being unable to lie, it had brought out friction the last time they went on a hunt together.
"You too, I suppose," Winter said uncaringly.
Another descended from the horses.
A tall fellow. Bald, but not from age. Dark narrow eyes and rough clothing. No weapons to indicate he was a hunter or a mage.
'So why is he here?' Winter thought.
One of the Deliverers rode to Morgan and handed him a ring.
"Use him however you see fit for the hunt."
"Oh, I intend to," Morgan said, smiling slightly.
He clasped his hand into a fist after wearing the ring.
"Ah!" Ragnar grunted in pain and collapsed. Red lightning sparked from his neck.
Winter's eyes widened in horror. She saw runes scribbled all over the man's neck—ones she recognized and saw as taboo.
"A slave crest," she whispered. "Why would you…"
"Keep watching, daughter," Morgan said, eyes still focused on the bald man.
Winter obeyed, disgusted but choosing to trust her father.
Then she saw it: golden glowing eyes and fangs. The bald man used them to give them a deadly stare.
"He's a werewolf?" Winter asked, angered.
All semblance of sympathy had been destroyed.
"That he is," Morgan answered. "And he's going to help us find one of his mutt brothers."
Morgan ended Ragnar's torment—for now.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Morgan asked slyly. "Get to it."
Reluctantly and growling in defiance, Ragnar stood and began to sniff the crime scene for clues.
Winter had her eyes fixed on him, looking at him with hatred.
"Why are you doing that?" Triss asked, walking up next to Winter.
"You know why. He's a…" Winter paused, her fist trembling.
"I understand. But still, he's an ally," Triss said.
"He's a slave," Winter said. "A monster who deserves his position."
"Do you truly believe that?" Triss asked.
"I do," Winter said quickly.
Triss sighed, then turned away from Winter, disappointed by her response.
"I hoped this part of you would change the next time we met."
Triss's words stung deep.
"Just what is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing you'd like to hear," Triss said.
"Since when has that ever stopped you before?" Winter countered.
"Enough! Both of you!" Morgan commanded, his eyes landing on Triss. "And you. Do your role and keep your opinions to yourself."
"Very well," Triss said, slightly spiteful.
She walked to Ragnar. In his hands was a piece of cloth belonging to the werewolf responsible for the scattered corpses.
"The mutt's smell would have been sufficient, but adding the power of a Seeker and we just might catch our prey," Morgan whispered to his daughter.
Reading through her tome, Triss found a prayer to cast a spell.
"Veritas, God of truth, use your divinity to grant me sight of the past."
Triss's eyes glowed completely gold. Glowing transparent figures appeared all around the alleyway.
Six men. Five armored ones and one hooded.
They watched as the hooded one easily took them all down with their claws and fangs.
They also saw the hooded figure remove their hood, revealing a young man, though their face was hazy. Only a few details were picked up, such as long curly hair.
The projection ended.
"Is that it?" Morgan asked, disappointed.
"No!" Triss answered.
She moved to Ragnar and held her hand out.
Ragnar bared his fangs in response.
Morgan almost clasped his hand once more to activate the ring.
"Stop!" Triss shouted, raising a hand at Morgan. "That's not necessary."
Morgan obeyed—reluctantly—but readied himself in case he had to subdue Ragnar.
Triss tried again, this time gentler.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I simply wish to see what you do. May I?"
She brought her hand out once more, moving slower and slower.
"Fine," Ragnar said.
Now with her hand on his face, she began another prayer.
"Veritas, grant us sight through another. Let our senses become one."
Now Winter and Morgan's eyes glowed as well with Triss's.
A golden smoke rose from the alley and trailed away from it.
"That's much better," Morgan said, smiling.
He mounted his horse quickly.
"Come on then. Let's ride."
Winter followed with no hesitation. Then Triss. Then Ragnar.
The Deliverers left, and the rest rode toward Fenris.