This was the fifth time now.
The tiny prince tapped on his uncle's leg with the same quiet insistence as before. He kept his neck turned, eyes on the shadows. But when he finally shifted and glanced down just slightly, he found the boy standing there again, expectant.
Marcus raised his head a little, expression unreadable.
Eliot didn't say a word. He didn't have to.
Marcus scratched the tip of his nose and shook his head once, firm and slow.
That meant no.
"You need to earn it, Prince," Andre said, squeezing the boy's narrow shoulder. His voice was low, but not unkind—more like a soldier teaching a ritual than scolding a child.
"Someone needs to be killed if you want to use the gun, sweetheart."
Eliot frowned.
Most of them called him that now—sweetheart. The nickname Marcus had started using without thinking. No one dared tease the boy for it. It stuck, not because he was delicate, but because of the way he stood there, curious, stubborn, and still so unbearably young.
There was clear confusion across Eliot's face. His brows furrowed.
"Arh?" he asked, glancing from the men to the weapon again. "Kill… who?"
Andre laughed through his nose, not mocking, but amused by the boy's bluntness.
"That shiny thing—" he pointed to the carved, glinting ornament embedded near the gun's handle—
"—that's not just decoration, love. That's a core. The core of a living being. One someone had to cut out, still beating."
Eliot's mouth parted slightly.
"You want to wield something like that?" Gabriel added from where he sat beside the fire. "Then you better know what it means. A weapon with a core… it remembers death. It doesn't work for people who've never tasted it."
"You're saying it's alive?" Eliot asked slowly, eyes wide.
"In a way," Andre replied, gaze hardening. "In battle, a weapon like that can smell fear. If you hesitate, it can turn against you."
Eliot turned the gun in his hand now with more care, less play. The weight felt different suddenly.
Marcus, watching from a distance, didn't say a word. But his expression wasn't empty anymore.
He took out the red core from his thumb ring, placed it on the hole on top of his new rifle.
Aiming his rifle straight to the wild Boar, not to its heart.
"Then… can I get it from the fawn?"
His eyes sparkled brighter than before, naïve hope shining through bloodless curiosity.
Andre and Gabriel exchanged a glance.
They had only meant to scare him. Just to shut him up for a moment—never to feed the flame. But now?
"Nah," Andre said quickly, reaching to hook his fingers into the back of Eliot's collar and tug him back. "You won't find anything in that dead fawn. Not a damn thing worth using."
A few paces ahead, Marcus was crouched with his rifle—silent, steady, his sharp profile unreadable. He hadn't heard a word of the exchange.
Andre glanced back once, then pressed something into Eliot's small palm.
"Here."
Gabriel noticed too late.
"Andre—" he said, grabbing Eliot's hand and peeling it open.
Two dull, darkened magic cores lay there. They looked like wet stones, barely pulsing with faint life.
Gabriel's expression darkened.
"You can't give him those. They're unstable."
Andre shrugged with a smirk. "Relax. They're replicas. Market-made. Legal."
Gabriel still didn't look convinced.
"Even a replica bursts after a few uses. What if he—"
"What?" Andre cut him off, voice dropping low. "Shoots something?" He leaned closer. "That's what you're worried about?"
Bang!
Eliot were stunned by the loud sound from his uncle rifle, red aura could be seen flickering around the weapon.
Gabriel said nothing, but the knot in his brow deepened.
Marcus glanced their way, frowning.
"What are you two doing?" he called out. "This is a hunt, not a festival."
Andre raised a hand. "We're teaching him wilderness ethics, Commander," he replied with a fake salute. Then, leaning closer to Eliot again, he grinned.
"You better not teach him some stupid" Warned the uncle.
"You won't shoot us, sweetie pie… right?" Andre made a funny face. Joking around.
He tried slipping the cores back into Eliot's palm, but Gabriel blocked him.
"No," Gabriel said, voice sharp now. "He's not ready."
Andre exhaled a laugh, already turning away. "He'll be great. Just wait." He winked at the boy and strode off toward the others.
Gabriel sighed and crouched down in front of Eliot. He gave him a soft, regretful smile.
Then, gently, he scooped the two cores from the boy's hands and tucked them into his inner coat pocket, sealing the flap tight.
"Sorry, little prince. Not this time."
But Eliot only pouted. He slung the short gun strap over his shoulder with an almost theatrical huff and crossed his arms. Still… he didn't argue. Didn't throw a fit.
He only waited.
Then, behind Gabriel's back—
Click.
Clack.
The sound of marbles.
A whisper.
"Sweetie." Sila's voice.
The lean man slipped by Eliot's side without stopping. No one else noticed as he gently slipped his hand from Eliot's back pocket, brushing something into it—and dashed after Andre like nothing happened.
Eliot blinked, his lashes fluttering slightly as he reached into his pocket.
His fingers touched three of them.
He didn't breathe.
"Is this real?"
No answer.
He tucked them deeper into his pants, hiding the warmth of the cores beneath the waistband. His hands shook slightly as he adjusted the strap of the gun again—fitting it more securely now, like he finally owned it.
"Baby." Marcus call him over, handling him a dagger, letting him to always take the last blow of every hunt.
The voice faded into the wind and Eliot smiled.