The fire burned blue within the stone circle as Akarion began to speak, and with his words the past rose like a long-buried war drum.
"The Dark Lords did not rise by chance," the First Hunter said. "They were forged—by fear, by hunger, and by betrayal. The Dark Messiah promised salvation from extinction, power without limit. Many bent the knee. Others resisted."
Calcore stood unmoving, jaw clenched.
"Your clan," Akarion continued, "was among the last who refused. They guarded an old truth—the bloodline of the Puma General, the Divine Beast who once stood beside the gods as an equal, not a servant."
The name struck something deep. A pulse answered in Calcore's chest.
"The Puma was not a monster," Akarion said. "He was a general. A guardian. When the gods retreated and the world was left to rot, he chose to remain. He took human form, sired descendants, and bound his essence into flesh rather than divinity."
Akarion placed a hand on the armor Calcore wore—the beast pelt, the living sigils faintly breathing.
"That fear you wear… is not armor. It is inheritance."
The fire flared.
"The Dark Messiah learned of this bloodline and panicked. A being born of flesh carrying divine predation could not be controlled. So he sent the Dark Lords."
Akarion's voice hardened. "They came at night. Beasts, men, and corrupted champions. Your clan fought. Your mother fought hardest."
Calcore's breath caught.
"She held the line so you could be taken," Akarion said. "She died standing, torn apart but unbroken. Her last command was not to avenge her—but to end them."
Silence swallowed the stones.
"The Pelt Hunters were born that night," Akarion went on. "Not as mercenaries. As executioners. We skinned monsters to wear their fear, hunted tyrants in the dark, erased Dark Lords before legends could form. And when the Messiah grew too strong… we hid you."
Calcore's fists trembled. "And the flesh machine."
"Was desperation," Akarion admitted. "We needed a weapon the Dark Messiah could not predict. So we sacrificed the boy… to save the world."
Calcore lifted his eyes—no tears, only fire.
"I am not your weapon."
Akarion nodded. "No. You are worse."
The First Hunter stepped back, bowing his head. "You are the return of the Divine Hunt. Not god. Not beast. Not king. The thing that comes when monsters believe they have won."
The wind howled through the stones as if answering.
Far away, in the deepest reaches of his throne, the Dark Messiah screamed as ancient sigils cracked and bled.