"Oi." Thomas called as he stepped into his house. "Wake up — we're eating deer at Will's tonight."
No response. His grandma lay still on the bed, the bowl of porridge beside her cold.
"Grandma?" His voice wavered as he stepped closer. "Oi… wake up."
He knelt by the bed, resting a finger under her nose, a hand on her chest. The faint smile he'd been wearing vanished. His neck slumped forward. His legs gave out.
He collapsed to his knees beside her, head resting on her chest — the front door still open, the house silent.
———
Due to the small populations of each town, whenever humanity loses one of its members, almost everyone in town attends the funeral.
There is a grand ritual for every passing: the one closest to the deceased lights six torches on the beach, dressed in formal black.
Her body lay on an intricate wooden raft, floating on the sea, anchored by ropes tied to the six torches.
Using the flames from the torches, Thomas burned each rope one by one.
Legend says the lighting of the six torches awakens and informs the beast — Ocean — that lives far beyond the horizon. It is told: tonight, you will eat.
The flames ate through the ropes until the raft itself caught fire. Thomas gave it one final push, and the waves carried the burning vessel farther and farther from shore.
The body was cooked by the fire — prepared as an offering to Ocean. This ritual was believed to show gratitude to the beast. The end of the world lay past that horizon, and Ocean was its Cerberus. The elders were thankful for its presence — for beyond Ocean's domain, they believed, worse horrors awaited.
Thomas performed the ritual under the gaze of the entire town. His grief was raw and obvious. He watched as the raft drifted out to sea, eyes locked on the flickering flame. He didn't turn away. He didn't blink.
Dawn broke. The orange sunlight rose from the ocean's edge and disguised the glow of the fire. Only then did Thomas let himself look away.
"My condolences, kid." Philip laid a gentle hand on Thomas's head.
Thomas sat hunched on the beach, knees pulled tight to his chest, head low. The crowd slowly dispersed. Phil left too. Tyler lingered, not wanting to go — but his parents called him away.
The only one who stayed — and even sat down beside Thomas — was Wilhelm. For a long time, he didn't say a word. He just stared out at the endless horizon, the sunrise washing their faces in gold.
"It's beautiful, you know?" Wilhelm murmured, eyes still on the sun.
Thomas didn't move. He just kept staring into the sand.
"No one's here, Tommy. Just you and me."
"Will?"
"Yeah?"
"I wanna like… stab something."
Wilhelm wasn't surprised. Sometimes, violence was the only way to breathe again.
"Hmph."
Thomas turned to Wilhelm, his eyes a pale, empty blue. "Can I go hunting with you?"
"You bet. When?"
"Like — right now."
"Sure." Wilhelm stood, brushing sand from his pants. He held out his hand. Thomas took it.
———
Thomas changed back into his usual clothes, a red and white t-shirt with black pants.
"Alright — bow and arrow are usually more effective," Nicole explained back at her house. "But some people prefer a sword or an axe. We've got it all here. Pick what you like."
Thomas glanced around. He was the son of a miner — his hands were used to swinging pickaxes. So the closest thing would be…
"I'll take the axe."
"Alright then. Will and I will handle the bows," Nicole said, tossing Wilhelm his bow. "Let's move."
———
They disappeared into the woods and walked for a long time, the only sounds the crunch of leaves and the whisper of wind.
"Hear that?" Nicole paused.
Thomas and Wilhelm froze, straining their ears.
Rustling.
"That's prey," Nicole whispered. She crept ahead, slipping behind a thick tree. She peeked out, eyes glinting. "Wild boar. A fat one, too — delicious with potatoes, but tough to kill."
Nicole drew her bow. Wilhelm did the same.
"If we miss, you jump that bastard," Wilhelm muttered to Thomas, who crouched behind them, axe gripped tight.
"Three… two… one… shoot."
**Thump. Thump. WHOOOSH. Thump.**
Only Nicole's arrow struck true — a clean shot through the heart. The boar squealed, staggering on its feet. It wouldn't last long. Nicole and Wilhelm knew that — they stayed put. But Thomas didn't care.
"Tommy, it's dead!"
Thomas didn't hear. He charged, roaring. "ARGHHHHH!"
He brought the axe down hard on the dying boar's back. And he didn't stop. Thomas ripped the axe free, raised it high, slammed it down again — and again — and again. Each strike sent blood spraying in arcs. His breathing turned to snarls, then to wordless growls.
**THWACK.**
**THWACK.**
**THWACK.**
Blood drenched his arms, his chest, his face. The boar's squeals ended quickly — the sounds that followed were just the wet cracks of bones shattering. One final swing split the skull wide.
"Tommy…" Wilhelm whispered. He stood frozen. Nicole just watched, lips tight. She'd expected something like this.
Thomas fell to his knees in the blood-soaked grass, gasping for breath. The ruined carcass steamed in the dawn air.
Wilhelm stepped forward anyway, ignoring the gore. He laid a hand on Thomas's trembling shoulder.
"Tommy… let's get you cleaned up. Come on — let's head back, yeah?"
Thomas gasped out a breath, tugging at his own hair. "…Goddamn it…"
"I'll carry this," Nicole said calmly. "If you want to keep going, Tommy, Will can handle leading the hunt."
Wilhelm almost smiled when realising his mother acknowledged his skills as a hunter, but it faded quickly due to the situation.
Nicole pulled on gloves, heaved the carcass into a basket. "Go on. The hunt's not over," she encouraged gently.
"Come on, Tommy." Wilhelm tugged Thomas up by the wrist, guiding him back through the trees.