The morning of Orin's first mission didn't feel like any other morning. The air felt clearer, the light hit sharper, and even the floorboards seemed to creak with meaning beneath his boots. He moved through the Drills Inn with a different kind of focus today—like the world finally aligned with something he had been waiting for.
He strapped on his gear piece by piece, tightening each buckle and leather strap with silent precision. His outfit wasn't fancy, but it suited him—dark fitted leathers reinforced at the shoulders and ribs, clean stitching, boots polished to a sturdy sheen. The clothes framed his lean, athletic build in a way that made him look more like a trained hunter than a boy raised in an inn.
Last came his weapons.
He lifted the pair of blades Sonny had prepared for him—dual cleaver-hatchets, heavy enough to crush bone but curved sharp enough to slice with clean power. They had the heft of butcher knives but extended steel like short swords, meant for quick, decisive strikes. The blackened metal glimmered in the light, perfectly balanced at the handle.
Orin strapped one across his lower back and the other at his hip. The weight felt right. Natural. Familiar.
He looked ready.
He felt ready.
In the main room, the Fangs were sorting through their own gear—Sonny sharpening a blade, Lisa adjusting her whip coils, Vince and Vice bickering over flare colors.
Sonny tossed rope onto the table. "Vice, double-check the travel route. Vince, pack the flares—red in the front, blue in the back."
Vince frowned. "Why can't blue go—"
Sonny didn't even look up. "Don't."
Vince shut his mouth.
Lisa re-tied her hair, her magnetism blessing making loose nails on the wall twitch slightly before she re-centered herself. Her whip of metal shards vibrated faintly around her hand until she calmed the magnetic pulse.
Sarah walked by, carrying a tray of mugs. "If anyone drops Monari guts on my floor today, you're cleaning it with your tears."
Vice saluted. "Understood, ma'am."
Vince nodded. "Wouldn't dare, ma'am."
Sarah narrowed her eyes at Vince. "I know you say that every time."
Orin stepped forward and stood beside Sonny, straight-backed, hands steady at his sides.
Sonny nodded in approval. "Alright, Orin. You suited up?"
Orin glanced down at his outfit—dark, fitted, streamlined; the kind of gear a hunter wore who understood how important freedom of movement was. The dual blades sat against him like they belonged there.
"Yes," Orin said. "Everything fits."
Vice whistled. "Kid cleans up good."
Vince nodded. "Honestly looks better than half the hunters we work with."
Lisa smirked. "Better posture too."
Orin didn't blush, but his mouth tightened to keep from smiling.
Sonny tapped a map spread across the table. "Good. Because it's time for your briefing."
Orin stepped closer.
Sonny pointed to a red circle drawn just outside Beastland Forest. "We've been called to deal with a 4-star Monari. It's been ambushing supply caravans leaving Drill City."
"Four-star," Orin repeated, mentally absorbing the danger scale.
Vince leaned over the map. "Witnesses say it's fast. Shadow-fast. Claws like hooked blades."
Vice shrugged. "Could be exaggeration. Could be a merchant seeing their life flash before their eyes."
Lisa tapped the edge of the map. "Either way, we don't assume weak. We assume prepared."
Orin nodded. "What's my role?"
Sonny folded his arms. "Support. You move with me or Lisa. You don't rush. You don't separate. And above all else—" he pointed two fingers at Orin's chest—"you let the team's rhythm guide you."
"I understand," Orin said.
Sonny gave him a long look—not doubtful, not wary, just deeply evaluating. "It's your first hunt. I don't expect perfection. I expect discipline."
"You'll have it."
Lisa stepped closer to adjust the strap across Orin's chest. Her eyes flicked to the dual cleavers at his hip and back.
"Those blades suit you," she said quietly.
Vice nodded. "He looks like he's done this before."
Vince added, "Seriously. Like he walked out of a storybook."
Sarah appeared behind them and flicked Vince on the ear. "He looks like someone who better come back in one piece."
Vince rubbed his ear. "Ow…! Yes, ma'am."
Orin stood tall.
He'd never felt more like part of the team.They left just past midday.
The stretch of road leading toward Beastland Forest was sunlit and warm, with the occasional cart rattling by and the breeze carrying the scent of pine resin. Orin walked between Sonny and Lisa, while the twins shifted positions ahead and behind like an informal guard rotation.
Sonny's voice carried calmly. "So, Orin—first lesson. What matters most in a hunt?"
"Teamwork," Orin answered.
"Good. What else?"
Orin scanned everything around them—the road, the brush, the small patterns of disturbed dirt.
"Aware of your surroundings," he said.
"Exactly," Sonny replied. "Your eyes will save your life more often than your blades."
Behind them, Vice called out, "Don't spend all your strength early!"
Ahead, Vince shouted, "And don't trip while looking cool!"
Lisa added, "And if Sonny says duck, don't argue—just duck."
Orin smirked. "I hear you."
"We're serious," Vince said.
"He's always serious," Vice corrected.
"If you weren't related," Lisa muttered, "I'd suspect the gods cursed you two."
Vice grinned. "Blessed. The word is blessed."
Sonny sighed. "Keep walking."
But Orin felt it—the banter, the rhythm, the familiarity.
He was part of it now.They reached the southern outskirts by late afternoon.
The ground became softer. The trees grew heavier. The wind carried a low hum that always lingered near Beastland Forest's border.
Orin tightened his gloves and shifted his dual blades slightly, ensuring their handles were easy to reach.
Ahead, Vince crouched beside a broken cart, its frame cracked, its wheels twisted.
"Claw marks," Vince said.
Vice knelt beside him. "Not a small creature."
Lisa hovered her hand over a bent metal rim. A subtle magnetic pull drew tiny flecks upward, confirming their shape.
"Jagged claws," she said. "Fast movement."
Sonny pointed toward the ground. "Orin. What do you see?"
Orin stepped closer.
He lowered his head, letting his senses stretch—not supernatural, just instinct sharpened over years of watching the Fangs work.
He traced the patterns.
Splintered wood.Deepened claw divots.An arc of disturbed dirt from a sudden pivot.A faint metallic scent mixed with animal musk.And a trail—thin but present—leading into nearby brush.
"There," Orin said, pointing. "Tracks. Fresh."
The Fangs exchanged looks—impressed, not surprised.
"He really is ready," Vice murmured.
"Told you," Vince said.
Sonny's eyes softened with pride. "Good. Into formation."
Lisa moved left.Vince widened the front arc.Vice watched the rear line.Sonny stepped forward.
Orin followed, blades at the ready.
Exactly where he belonged.They pressed deeper through brush and twisted branches. The forest edge grew darker, richer with old roots and damp soil. A tension settled over the air—not fear, just readiness.
Vince whispered, "Close."
Vice nodded. "Very close."
Orin felt it, too.
Something was nearby.
Sonny raised a hand. The group halted instantly, years of routine flowing through them like a single heartbeat.
Leaves swayed.A branch snapped.Something moved fast across their peripheral.
Lisa's whip tightened around her hip.Vice's serpent instincts flared.Vince lowered his stance, ready to spring.
"Stay close," Sonny murmured. "And remember—don't move unless I say."
Orin nodded.
Another shadow darted between trees—too fast to track.
Then…
A growl.
Low.Resonant.Wrong.
It stepped out from the brush.
Tall, lean, built like a predator carved from shadow. Fur so dark it absorbed light. Muscles rippling beneath its frame. Claws long and curved like serrated sickles. Its eyes burned deep orange-red, fixed on them with cold intelligence.
That's not a 4-star.
Not even close.
Sonny's expression hardened. "…That's a six."
Lisa inhaled sharply. "A big six."
Vice swallowed. "A fast six."
Vince muttered, "A very angry six."
Orin tightened his grip on his dual cleavers.
This was no training mission.
This was a trial by fire.
And this time…
He wasn't watching from the window.
He was standing with them.