The road thinned as they moved farther from Havencrest.
Stone gave way to packed dirt. Grass rose higher around their boots, and the wind moved differently out here—open and restless, like it didn’t have anywhere to settle.
Takumi walked beside Yukito for once instead of behind him.
“As you know,” Takumi said after a while, “there are other guilds besides Havencrest.”
“I know,” Yukito replied.
“Some protect villages smaller than ours. Some guard cities bigger than anything you’ve seen.” Takumi kept his eyes forward. “But they all use the same code. The same three rules.”
Yukito didn’t look at him, but he listened.
Takumi said them without slowing his pace.
“Protect the weak.
Maintain balance.
Answer power with responsibility.”
The wind pushed through the field in a long wave.
“But what you may have forgotten,” Takumi continued, “is that below the village guilds are nomad groups.”
“Nomads,” Yukito repeated, like he didn’t like the word.
“Hunters without walls. They still follow those rules. Just…” Takumi hesitated, like he was choosing how honest to be. “…more morally grey. As my dad used to say.”
“How.”
“They don’t just protect places from Archons,” Takumi said. “They hunt them. For sport. Or for money.”
Yukito let out a quiet breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite disbelief either.
“That who we’re looking for?”
“Yes.”
A few steps passed in silence.
Then Takumi added, quieter, like he was talking to himself as much as Yukito—
“If we’re gonna find this thing, we need to learn how to hunt it.”
Yukito didn’t answer.
But he didn’t argue either.
They walked.
The land rolled gently, ridge to ridge, the road curving through patches of stone and tall grass. No banners. No towers. No sign that anyone lived out here at all.
Then—
Shouting.
It carried sharp across the wind.
A harsh voice. A frightened one. Something wooden cracking.
Both of them stopped.
“That’s close,” Yukito said.
They moved toward it.
The road dipped between two stone outcroppings and opened into a shallow basin. A merchant cart sat at an angle, one wheel cracked and half-split. Crates lay scattered, lids broken. Dried herbs and cloth bundles had spilled into the dirt.
Three Hunters stood around the cart.
Dark cloaks trimmed with rust-red. Steel at their belts. No panic in their posture. No urgency.
One merchant knelt in the dirt with his hands raised.
Another stood stiff beside the cart, face pale and tight.
“Protection doesn’t come free,” one of the Hunters said lazily.
He nudged the kneeling merchant with his boot, not hard enough to injure—hard enough to humiliate.
Yukito stepped forward.
Then stopped.
He felt Takumi’s hand catch his sleeve.
“Don’t,” Takumi said.
“They’re shaking him down,” Yukito muttered.
“They’re not killing him.”
“That’s your defense?”
Takumi’s eyes flicked to the insignia stitched onto the Hunter’s shoulder.
Blackwake.
Hunters.
Not bandits.
Not criminals.
Hunters.
Takumi’s hand tightened once on Yukito’s sleeve like a warning.
Yukito’s jaw locked. His hands curled.
The kneeling merchant flinched as the Hunter leaned down closer, smiling like this was normal. Like fear was just another currency.
Something in the air went wrong.
Not morally.
Mechanically.
Sound dropped out first.
Like someone stuffed cloth into Yukito’s ears.
The wind stopped. The grass froze mid-sway. The Hunter’s motion stretched—too long, too slow.
Yukito’s stomach dropped.
It’s happening again.
The road dissolved.
Forest replaced it.
Dark. Uneven. Cold air under branches.
The same insignia.
The same Hunter.
A blade flashing.
Takumi stumbling back, boots scraping dirt instead of road.
Red across Takumi’s sleeve.
A scream—
High.
Sharp.
A girl’s voice ripping through the trees.
It wasn’t imagination. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t some daydream his brain threw at him.
It was a memory of something that hadn’t happened yet.
Yukito felt a pull in his chest—hard, wrong, inevitable.
It’s happening again.
Snap.
Sound slammed back into him.
Wind rushed past.
The merchant was still kneeling.
The Hunter was still smirking.
Only a heartbeat had passed.
Yukito grabbed his forearm instinctively, fingers digging into the old scar beneath his sleeve.
He staggered half a step forward—
Takumi’s hand shot out and yanked him down.
They dropped behind a low cluster of brush just as one of the Hunters turned his head slightly.
“What the hell are you doing?” Takumi hissed under his breath.
Yukito kept his hand on his arm.
“It’s happening again.”
“What is.”
“I saw them.”
Takumi’s eyes narrowed.
“Saw what.”
“Forest. Same insignia.” Yukito swallowed. “You bleeding.”
Takumi’s jaw tightened.
“From who.”
“Not here,” Yukito said quickly. “Later.”
The Hunter near the cart shifted, eyes scanning lazily across the basin.
“You see something?” another Hunter asked.
“Thought I did.”
Takumi lowered his voice further.
“They’ll notice if you keep staring.”
Yukito forced himself to breathe slower.
His forearm still burned faintly.
“And there was a scream,” he added quietly.
Takumi glanced at him sharply.
“What kind of scream.”
“A girl.”
A pause.
Takumi didn’t joke.
He didn’t brush it off.
He just said—
“Then we move carefully.”
The Hunter’s gaze passed over the brush where they crouched.
For a second too long.
Yukito felt the sting in his arm pulse again.
Then the Hunter turned back toward the merchants.
Takumi waited one full breath longer.
Then another.
Then he stood slowly.
“We’re not hiding forever,” he muttered.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Yukito nodded once.
He didn’t trust his voice yet.
They stepped out from behind the brush.
This time intentionally.
“Hey,” Takumi called evenly.
The Hunters turned fully now.
“…Govies.”
“Temple boys.”
Yukito’s arm throbbed faintly.
The anger faded.
Certainty settled in its place.
They would see these men again.
Just not here.
One of the Hunters rolled his shoulders and looked them over properly now.
“You lost?” he asked.
Takumi shook his head.
“No.”
The Hunter squinted slightly.
“Then what are a couple of kids doing all the way out here?”
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t mocking.
It was worse.
It was dismissive.
Yukito’s jaw tightened.
Takumi stepped forward before he could answer.
“We’re looking for your Guild Master.”
A short laugh.
“Of course you are.”
“Did Havencrest run out of walls?”
Snickers.
Another Hunter adjusted the strap on his shoulder and spat into the dirt.
“We ain’t lookin’ for no trouble with Havencrest,” he said flatly. “So you boys best be gettin’ outta here.”
It wasn’t a threat.
It was policy.
Takumi didn’t move.
“We’re not here to cause trouble.”
“Temple business stays at the Temple,” the Hunter replied. “We don’t need Govies draggin’ politics through our road.”
“Go home, monks.”
The wind shifted across the basin.
Takumi let the silence sit for half a breath.
Then—
“My name is Takumi Renshō.”
That changed the air.
Not respect.
Recognition.
The Hunter’s eyes narrowed.
“And?”
“And I am formally requesting audience with your Guild Master.”
A pause.
“You think droppin’ that name means something out here?” the Hunter asked.
Takumi’s voice didn’t change.
“If Blackwake refuses a formal Renshō request, I’ll assume that refusal reflects your Guild Master’s stance toward Havencrest.”
Silence.
Real silence.
“You threatening us, Temple?” the Hunter asked quietly.
“No.”
Takumi held his gaze.
“I’m asking whether you want that refusal remembered.”
A glance passed between the Hunters.
One muttered, “Just take ’em in.”
“Let the Master deal with it.”
The first Hunter exhaled sharply.
“…Fine.”
He jerked his head toward the ridge.
“Walk.”
The merchants were dismissed with a flick of the wrist.
They didn’t argue.
They didn’t thank anyone.
They just left.
Yukito watched them go.
His arm throbbed once more.
The path twisted between stone formations until the world narrowed into shadow.
One of the Hunters pressed his palm against what looked like solid rock.
Stone shifted.
A concealed door scraped open.
Yukito felt the sound in his teeth.
They stepped inside.
The entrance ground shut behind them with a deep, stone-on-stone groan.
The air changed immediately.
Outside had been wind and grass and open sky.
Inside was iron.
Heat.
Smoke.
The chamber beyond was carved directly into the spine of the ridge. Not polished. Not decorative. The walls still bore the marks of tools — gouges and fractures where stone had been forced to yield rather than shaped.
Lanterns hung from iron hooks hammered into rock. Their light wasn’t soft. It was sharp and uneven, throwing long shadows that moved when people did.
The place wasn’t filthy.
But it wasn’t clean.
Boot prints layered the ground in hardened dirt and tracked mud. A line of dented shields leaned against one wall, each marked differently — gouges, scorch marks, claw slashes. Not trophies. Survivors.
Weapons weren’t displayed.
They were within reach.
Blades rested across tables. Spears leaned in clusters. Nets hung coiled from overhead beams like sleeping serpents.
The air carried the scent of oil, leather, metal shavings, and something faintly burnt.
Two Hunters arm-wrestled over a cracked supply crate in the center of the room.
“Break it.”
“Quiet.”
A steel dart struck iron instead of wood.
“That didn’t count.”
“It hit steel.”
“Shut it.”
Laughter rolled across the chamber — not polite. Not restrained. Loud and careless.
No one stood in formation.
No one snapped to attention.
They didn’t look like soldiers.
They looked like people who lived in the aftermath of fights.
Yukito’s eyes adjusted slowly.
And then he saw her.
She stood slightly elevated on a natural rise of stone near the back wall — not a throne. Not a platform. Just higher ground.
Arms folded loosely across her chest.
Dark hair pulled tight at the back of her head, not styled, not ornamental. Practical.
A long, faded scar traced from just below her left eye down toward the hinge of her jaw. It wasn’t clean. It had split once and healed poorly.
Her coat was black, trimmed in the same rust-red as the others — but hers was cut differently. Fitted. Reinforced along the shoulders. The leather at her forearms had been replaced more than once.
Dark hair pulled tight. A long scar cut down from just beneath her left eye to the hinge of her jaw, healed but not clean. Her coat was black with rust-red trim like the others, but reinforced at the shoulders and forearms — patched more than once.
She wasn’t large.
She didn’t need to be.
When her eyes shifted toward the entrance and landed on the two boys—
Her jaw tightened.
She stepped down from the stone rise slowly.
“What the hell is this.”
One of the Hunters jerked a thumb toward them.
“Temple.”
“…Govies.”
“They wanted audience.”
Her eyes didn’t leave the boys.
“You’re a long way from Havencrest,” she said.
Takumi stepped forward.
“An Archon attacked our city.”
A few Hunters snorted.
She didn’t.
She tilted her head slightly.
“And?”
“It killed people,” Yukito said.
A faint breath of amusement left her.
“That happens all the time.”
The room murmured in agreement.
“Archons attack,” one Hunter muttered.
“That’s the job.”
She looked back at Takumi.
“So why are you here.”
“We need you to teach us how to hunt it.”
That earned a sharper laugh.
“Havencrest doesn’t teach tracking?”
“Temple boys don’t chase.”
She didn’t laugh yet.
“You don’t know how to track,” she said flatly.
“No.”
“And you want Blackwake to teach you.”
“Yes.”
She stepped closer.
“You hunting something specific.”
“Yes.”
“What.”
“An Archon.”
A faint smile touched her mouth.
“They’re all Archons.”
Low chuckles rolled through the chamber.
“Do you even know what Virtue it belongs to?”
Silence.
Takumi didn’t answer immediately.
Yukito’s jaw tightened.
They hadn’t confirmed it.
They hadn’t tested it.
They didn’t know.
Takumi spoke carefully.
“No.”
The laughter was immediate.
Sharp.
Relieved.
“You’re kidding.”
“You walked all the way out here blind?”
“Temple boys don’t even know what they’re chasing.”
She didn’t laugh loudly.
She just watched them.
“You don’t know the Virtue,” she said calmly. “You don’t know how to track. You don’t know how to pursue.”
The room was quieter now. Not kind. Just attentive.
She took one step closer.
“Here’s your first lesson.”
A beat.
“Hunting blind is a waste of time.”
The words didn’t need volume.
They carried.
A Hunter near the back snorted.
“Told you.”
“You walked all the way out here without even knowing what you’re chasing?”
Takumi held his posture.
“We’re still learning.”
“That’s obvious,” someone muttered.
Yukito felt the burn in his forearm pulse faintly.
The scream from the vision echoed in his head.
The insignia.
The forest.
Takumi bleeding.
The pull tightened.
“It’s Destiny-born.”
Laughter cracked across the chamber.
“Now he’s got it.”
“Monk found his head.”
She didn’t laugh with them.
She watched Yukito carefully.
“You sure about that, monk?”
“Yes.”
No explanation.
No defense.
She studied him.
Then nodded once.
“Fine.”
The room quieted slightly.
“Let’s say you’re right.”
She stepped closer.
“Let’s say it’s Destiny-born.”
Her eyes moved between them.
“You still don’t know how to track.”
“You don’t know its range.”
“You don’t know how it moves.”
“You don’t know its tells.”
A faint, almost amused breath left her.
“I’d expect better preparation from Temple dwellers.”
A few Hunters smirked.
“Thought they trained you behind those walls.”
“Guess prayer doesn’t cover pursuit.”
She didn’t raise her voice.
“You walked in here blind.”
A small pause.
“And you expect to hunt.”
Silence hung there.
Dismissive.
Not cruel.
Just factual.
The room had already started drifting away from them.
A few Hunters turned back to their work.
One picked up a dart.
Another leaned against a table.
They were done.
Yukito’s arm burned beneath his sleeve.
The scream echoed again in the back of his mind.
The insignia.
The forest.
Takumi bleeding.
The pull in his chest tightened.
“It’s Destiny-born,” he said again, quieter now.
Takumi turned sharply toward him.
“What are you doing?” he hissed under his breath.
Yukito didn’t look at him.
“It wasn’t a guess.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Not in here.”
The Guild Master’s eyes flicked between them, watching.
Takumi stepped closer to Yukito, lowering his voice further.
“You can’t just say things like that without proof.”
“I don’t need proof.”
“That’s not how this works.”
Yukito’s jaw tightened.
“It’s not instinct.”
“Then what is it?”
Yukito didn’t answer.
Because he couldn’t.
The room resumed its low hum of noise.
“Waste of time,” someone muttered near the back.
Takumi stood still for half a second.
Then something in his posture changed.
Not anger.
Decision.
He stepped forward.
“My name is Takumi Renshō.”
The noise thinned.
Not all at once.
But enough.
“First son of the Renshō line. Wielder of Order and heir to the Guild of Havencrest.”
Now the room was fully quiet.
Even the arm-wrestling stopped.
“On my family’s name,” he said evenly, “I ask that you teach us.”
The Guild Master stared at him.
Long.
Then she laughed.
Sharp.
Controlled.
“First son,” she repeated.
“Wielder of Order.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“It’d be laughable to say I taught a Renshō’s son more than his own father.”
Takumi didn’t blink.
“I’m not asking you to.”
The laughter faded.
“I’m asking you to teach me what he doesn’t.”
Silence.
Measured.
She studied him like she had studied steel before deciding whether it would bend.
Then she exhaled slowly.
“…Fine.”
A faint smile curved at the corner of her mouth.
“I’ll show you how to be a real Hunter.”
She turned toward the room.
“Clear the floor.”
Chairs scraped.
Crates shifted.
The Hunters grinned.
“Try not to break the monks.”
“If they slow you down, send ’em home.”
The Guild Master glanced back once.
“Don’t waste my time, Renshō.”
Yukito’s arm pulsed again.
Not pain.
Recognition.
And somewhere deeper in the stronghold—
Metal rattled.
Not loose.
Not accidental.
Contained.
