Ethan packed methodically, his hands moving with practiced precision as he arranged supplies in his travel bag. The small cottage that had been his home these past months felt especially quiet tonight. Through the window, he watched the moon rise, casting silver light across Rivermoor's grounds.
Tomorrow would mark the beginning of his greatest challenge yet—the mission that could finally earn him the rank he needed to approach Emberlyn as her equal.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Heavy footsteps approached his door, followed by a firm knock.
"Enter," Ethan called, securing the final strap on his pack.
Garrick's weathered face appeared as the door swung open. The old man's eyes quickly assessed Ethan's preparations with the practiced gaze of someone who had embarked on countless dangerous missions himself.
"The children insisted on a farewell dinner," Garrick announced, leaning against the doorframe. "Grace has been crying for an hour, convinced you'll be eaten by mountain beasts." A hint of amusement softened his serious expression. "I told her you're more likely to bore the beasts to death with your cooking lectures."
Ethan chuckled, rising to his feet. "I suppose I should assure her that mountain beasts have more refined palates than she gives them credit for."
As they walked toward the main hall, Garrick's expression grew somber. "This mission you received—it's no ordinary challenge. The Frost Wyrm has claimed dozens of skilled hunters over the years."
"I know," Ethan replied quietly.
"You don't have to prove anything to anyone, you know," Garrick said, his voice low enough that only Ethan could hear. "Least of all to her."
Ethan's step faltered slightly. He sometimes forgot how perceptive the old hunter was. "This isn't just about Emberlyn."
"Isn't it?" Garrick raised an eyebrow.
Before Ethan could respond, they entered the dining hall, where a chorus of excited voices immediately drowned out any possibility of private conversation.
"UNCLE ETHAN!"
Grace launched herself across the room, colliding with Ethan's legs with enough force to make him stagger. Her small face was tear-stained, her lower lip trembling as she looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.
"You can't go!" she declared, tightening her grip. "I had a dream that a giant snow monster ate you!"
Ethan crouched down to her level, gently wiping a tear from her cheek. "And what happened next in your dream?"
Grace blinked, confused by the question. "What do you mean?"
"After the snow monster ate me," Ethan clarified, his voice completely serious. "What happened then?"
"I... I don't know," she admitted, sniffling. "I woke up."
"Ah," Ethan nodded sagely. "Well, I can tell you what would have happened. That poor snow monster would have gotten a terrible stomachache. Hunters make terrible meals—we're all tough and stringy." He flexed his arm dramatically, making a comically stern face. "Besides, I'm bringing my knives. Any monster that tries to eat me will get a very unpleasant surprise."
Grace giggled despite herself, the fear in her eyes diminishing. "Promise you'll come back?"
"Promise," Ethan replied, offering his pinky finger. They locked fingers solemnly, sealing the vow.
The dining hall was unusually festive for the evening meal. The usual plain fare had been replaced with what appeared to be a feast prepared by the children themselves—though "feast" might have been a generous description for the slightly burned bread and unevenly cut vegetables.
Aiden proudly presented a misshapen meat pie, his chest puffed with importance. "I made it myself," he announced. "It's for strength. You need strength to fight the ice monsters."
"It looks magnificent," Ethan assured him, taking his seat at the center of the table. His eyes scanned the room, noting that one particular face was missing from the gathering. "Where's Grey?"
Lily rolled her eyes dramatically. "Where do you think? Training. He said, and I quote, 'Farewell feasts are for those who don't expect to return.'" She mimicked Grey's deeper voice with uncanny accuracy.
"That boy," Garrick sighed, shaking his head. "Always needs to prove his toughness."
Anna, who had been quietly arranging plates, approached with a small cloth-wrapped package. Her cheeks flushed pink as she extended it toward Ethan, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
"It's a healing poultice," she explained softly. "For... for if you get hurt. It works best on frostbite."
"Thank you, Anna," Ethan said warmly, accepting the gift. "This will be invaluable where I'm going."
Her blush deepened, and she quickly retreated to her seat, though Ethan noticed her gaze continued to find its way back to him throughout the meal.
Ling, ever practical, spread a map on the table between the dishes. "I've been researching Tundra Mountain," he explained, pointing to various marked locations. "These are the most dangerous passes where avalanches have been reported. And these areas," he gestured to several circled regions, "are known Frost Wolf territories."
"You've been busy," Ethan remarked, impressed by the boy's thoroughness.
"Knowledge is as important as strength," Ling replied with a shrug, though he couldn't quite hide his pleased expression at the praise.
As the meal progressed, each child offered their own form of support—advice, small gifts, or in Lily's case, a dramatic reenactment of how Ethan would surely defeat the Frost Wyrm, complete with sound effects that had the younger children squealing with delight.
When the plates were finally cleared and the younger children sent to bed, Ethan found himself sitting by the hearth with Garrick, the older children having retired as well.
"There's something you're not telling me about this mission," Garrick said, his keen eyes studying Ethan's face. "It's more dangerous than you're letting on."
Ethan considered his response carefully. "The mission is... challenging. But I wouldn't have accepted it if I didn't believe I could complete it successfully."
"And the rank promotion?" Garrick asked. "This mission would raise you to rank S, wouldn't it?"
Ethan nodded. "If I'm successful, yes."
"And then what?" Garrick pressed, leaning forward.
Ethan was quiet for a long moment, staring into the flames. "Then I'll have earned the right to stand beside her," he replied finally. "Whether she remembers me or not."
Later that night, unable to sleep, Ethan found himself drawn to the training yard. The moon cast long shadows across the packed earth, and in those shadows, a solitary figure moved with fierce determination, practicing sword forms with single-minded focus.
Ethan watched Grey for several minutes before speaking. "Your lateral guard is still dropping too low."
Grey didn't even flinch, having sensed Ethan's presence long before he spoke. He continued his forms without breaking rhythm, his movements precise and controlled. "Don't need your advice."
Ethan leaned against a wooden post, observing the young swordsman. "I thought you'd be getting some rest. Early training tomorrow."
Grey scoffed, executing a perfect parry followed by a devastating counter-strike. "Unlike some people, I don't need farewell parties or special attention."
The moonlight caught the sheen of sweat on Grey's forehead as he continued his relentless practice. His face remained a mask of concentration, refusing to show any hint that Ethan's departure affected him at all.
"The stance you've been working on," Ethan remarked. "You've improved it."
Grey's blade paused for just a fraction of a second—the only acknowledgment he would offer. "Obviously."
A silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of Grey's blade cutting through the night air. Finally, Grey paused, lowering his sword as he turned to face Ethan with cold calculation in his eyes.
"When you come back," Grey said, his voice sharp with challenge, "don't expect me to be the same as I am now. I won't be standing still while you're off chasing glory."
Ethan recognized the statement for what it was—not concern for his safety, but a declaration of rivalry. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Grey's lips curled into a cold smirk. "Good. Because when you return, we're settling this once and for all. Don't die out there and rob me of the chance to prove who's truly stronger."
"Is that a threat, Grey?" Ethan asked, his tone neutral.
Grey's expression hardened. "It's a promise. I'm going to surpass you, and I want you conscious when it happens."
Without another word, Grey shouldered his sword and walked past Ethan, their gazes locking briefly as he passed. No respect, no concern—just the cold assessment of a rival measuring his opponent.
"Try not to disappoint me," Grey said as he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Ethan alone in the moonlit yard.
As dawn broke the next morning, Ethan stood at the orphanage gates, his travel pack secured and his knives arranged carefully at his belt. The children had gathered to see him off—all except Grey, who was conspicuously absent once again.
Garrick approached, extending a small, weathered leather pouch. "For the coldest nights," he explained. "Mountain root tea. Tastes like dirt but keeps the blood flowing when the temperature drops below freezing."
"Thank you," Ethan said, tucking the pouch into an inner pocket.
"And this," Garrick added, his voice lower, "is the most valuable advice I can give you about Tundra Mountain." He leaned in close, his expression deadly serious. "The mountain has a will of its own. It speaks in the wind and moves in the snow. Listen to it. Respect it. Don't fight it unless you must."
Ethan nodded, recognizing wisdom earned through hard experience.
With final hugs from the younger children and solemn handshakes from the older ones, Ethan set out, the rising sun at his back casting his long shadow ahead of him—stretching toward the distant peaks that marked his destination.