It was dawn. A soft blush of orange stretched across the horizon as Kael and Lyria prepared to leave.
"Hurry, time is of the essence," Kael said, fastening the strap of his sidebag, which was packed with extra clothes and a few herbs Ms. Miller had given him.
"I'm fully aware of that, idiot," Lyria snapped, pulling the straps of her own bag tight. It was stuffed with clothes and food supplies carefully picked by Ms. Miller from the forest. "As you can see, I'm not playing around."
"I'm done packing."
"Great. Let's join Ms. Miller out back," Kael said, and they both stepped out into the chilly morning air.
Behind the house stood Ms. Miller, waiting beside two saddled horses—one black, the other white.
"I'm taking the white one," Lyria declared, not bothering to ask for Kael's opinion.
"I always ride black horses anyway. You can have that one," Kael shrugged, grinning. "Mine's definitely faster."
Ms. Miller chuckled. "You two look so cute when you bicker."
As they approached the horses, Kael noticed the bags strapped to the sides of each saddle.
"Hey, Ms. Miller, what's in these?" he asked.
"A bit of extra food, water, and some supplies I thought you might need on the road," she said with a warm smile.
"Oh, Ms. Miller... you shouldn't have," Kael murmured, guilt lacing his voice. He hadn't expected her to go out of her way for them like this.
"It's nothing, child," she replied gently as Kael pulled her into a hug.
Lyria climbed atop her horse, Kael soon followed.
"Wait a minute, Kael," Ms. Miller called out, walking towards him. In her hands were a sword and a fingerless glove.
"I want you to have these."
Kael's brows furrowed as he took in the old sword. The hilt was worn but still sturdy, carrying the essence of time and purpose.
"What is this?" he asked, puzzled.
"This belonged to my son. He wanted to be a hunter once, but when he failed the Hunter's test, he gave up and went into politics."
"Oh... But isn't this something you'd want to keep? You know, to remember him when you feel lonely?"
Ms. Miller gave a soft, dry laugh. "Derrick never comes home, Kael. And besides, the house is full of memories. Just take it. I know it's not exactly a hunter's weapon, but I noticed you don't carry one. I thought it might help."
Kael looked down at the weapon, then back at her. Words failed him for a moment.
"I... I don't know what to say."
"How about a simple 'thank you'?"
"Thank you so much, Ms. Miller," he said, this time with full sincerity.
"Hate to be a killjoy, but we're burning daylight here," Lyria reminded him from atop her horse.
"Best get going then," Ms. Miller said, stepping back with a wave.
"Oh, and one more thing," she added quickly. "That wound of yours—I've noticed it gives you pain now and then. There's a herb in your bag that'll help with infection and speed up the healing. But if that's not enough, find a mage."
"I will. I promise," Kael said, his voice firm.
"Take care of yourself, Ms. Miller," both Kael and Lyria said in unison as they waved.
"You too! And tell Garrik I said hi!" she called after them, watching until they disappeared into the horizon.
And so, the supposed saviors of the world set out—not with clarity or certainty, but with resolve. One thing, however, was as clear as day: the Fractalis would not leave their side. If it did... another war could ignite.
Days passed since Dren's encounter with Kael and Lyria. Now, he stood at the gates of Celestis Rise—a towering city carved into stone and legacy. Here, young talents were forged into hunters, and great decisions regarding the guild were made. It was the base of operations, governed by the Dozen Vanguards, twelve elders whose authority within the hunter guild was absolute.
"Rest up and await further orders," Dren said, dismissing the squad that had been sent with him.
"Yes, sir!" they replied in unison, their discipline quickly giving way to casual chatter as they scattered to relax.
"Well then… time to give my report," Dren muttered, making his way to the Vanguards' Keep, the imposing structure where the elders resided. It stood proudly within Celestis Rise, not far from the main gate.
As he walked, trainees whispered respectful greetings to him. He acknowledged them with a nod—stern, but not cold.
Just as he reached the great hall's double doors, a voice rose from the shadows behind a pillar.
"I couldn't help but notice... you're empty-handed," came Dexter's drawl, arrogant and dripping with mockery.
"It's none of your business, Dexter," Dren replied coolly. "And weren't you sent on a mission too?"
"I was. I just got back a few days ago. Unlike you, I actually had a successful hunt," Dexter smirked, puffing with pride.
"Congratulations," Dren said, keeping his tone even.
"There's no need for congratulations from a loser," Dexter said, grinning wide.
"At least I'm not some lunatic who gets off at the sight of his own blood."
Dexter's grin widened. "You could never understand the true joy of the hunt. A hunt where your prey can kill you at any moment... that's a rare thrill. That's what makes it beautiful. Not that a weakling like you would understand."
Dren clenched his jaw, biting down the urge to strike. "We'll settle this another time. I have more important things to do."
He turned and pushed open the heavy doors.
"Sure, sure. Oh—and when the Vanguards question you, don't be afraid to cry. I hear it's perfectly acceptable for cowards," Dexter called after him, laughing hysterically as he walked away.
"That bastard…" Dren muttered as he stepped inside.
The hall was vast and cylindrical, with a vaulted ceiling carved in intricate designs—ancient stories frozen in stone. Twelve elevated seats surrounded the chamber, each marked by a crest symbolizing one of the guild's divisions. Light from torches flickered across the marble floor, casting long shadows.
Dren stepped into the center of the hall. The twelve Vanguards, seated high above, stared down in silence.
"State your business, Dren Halebryn," one of them spoke, his voice echoing off the cold walls.
"I'm here to report on my hunt," Dren said, tension tightening his shoulders.
"Proceed," the Vanguards said in unison.
He began recounting his encounter with Kael—every detail, every twist.
"So you're telling us you returned without the target?" one of the Vanguards burst, barely containing his fury. "Unacceptable!"
"Such incompetence!"
"Where is your honor as a hunter?!"
"We even sent a party with him!"
The hall erupted in disappointed murmurs.
Shame and anger boiled inside Dren. His voice cracked as he raised it.
"The party you sent were dead weight! And more importantly—Kael's escape was aided by Lyria, the rogue hunter you've still failed to eliminate!"
The murmurs stopped. Silence returned.
Dren bowed his head. "My apologies, your graces."
After a pause, one of the Vanguards spoke, "We have reached our decision. For your failure to retrieve the target, you are to remain within these walls until further instructions. In the meantime, you are to train the recruits."
"But I can still—"
"Dismissed."
"Understood," he said, barely hiding the storm behind his eyes. As he turned to leave, rage and humiliation twisted within him like thorns. He clenched his fists, whispering to himself:
"You're going to pay for this, little hawk."
Just as the doors shut behind him, a messenger sprinted into the hall, breathless and wide-eyed.
He held a sealed letter—its contents would leave the Dozen Vanguards on the edge of thier seats.