Another year passed, and with it, the sharp edges of youth began to smooth into something steadier. The reckless flurries of training had transformed into discipline; the raw fear that once gripped them during hunts had settled into a quiet, confident awareness. They were no longer children pushing blindly against monsters. They were hunters, each scar and each laugh binding them closer together.
Hunnt stood at the edge of the training grounds, his fists wrapped tightly in linen. Sweat glistened along his jawline, and a faint black sheen coated his knuckles—Armament Haki. It flickered like a candle flame in the wind, unstable but present. He exhaled slowly, focused, then drove a strike into the thick wooden post before him.
Crack!
The post quivered, bark splitting, dust falling in a faint shower. Not perfect—but closer than yesterday. Hunnt clenched his fists tighter, forcing the will to remain steady, but after a few breaths the black faded, leaving only his bruised knuckles.
"Better," he muttered under his breath, flexing his fingers.
Beside him, Pyro mimicked his stance with exaggerated seriousness, shield raised high, sword tucked close to his side. The little Felyne's golden eyes blazed with determination, his ears pinned back as if he were facing a monster ten times his size.
"Nyahaha… watch this, Master!" Pyro cried. He darted forward, striking a smaller post with his SnS, then immediately rolled, shielding as if bracing against a tail strike. His tiny form wasn't built for Armament Haki yet, but the effort in his movement mirrored Hunnt's discipline.
Hunnt grinned, crouching to ruffle the Palico's head. "Good, Pyro. Keep it sharp. We'll get there together."
Across the yard, Elara and Corwin trained in their own rhythm. She stood with bowstring drawn taut, her breathing steady as she loosed arrow after arrow at a target. Corwin stood between her and the dummy, his hammer swinging broad arcs to deflect the shots. At first, the clumsy game of precision versus power had seemed impossible. But over time, they found the rhythm. Each arrow was released with trust, and each hammer swing deflected with precision.
They weren't sparring to win. They were learning each other's timing, building coordination, deepening the trust between them.
A faint laugh escaped Elara's lips when one of her arrows nicked the edge of Corwin's sleeve and forced him to stumble from the recoil of his own hammer. Corwin chuckled as well, shaking his head at his near-miss. Without a word, he held out a waterskin to her. Their hands brushed, lingered longer than they needed to.
Hunnt, pausing his own drills, smirked quietly. The small gestures, the laughter—they didn't escape his eyes.
---
Hunts grew smoother as the seasons shifted. Where once they stumbled into hunts with desperate energy, now they moved like water, flowing together without needing words.
When a scaled beast twice their size thundered through the trees one autumn evening, the team met it with precision. Corwin's hammer swung heavy into its flank, shaking the forest with the strike, just as Elara's arrow pierced into its eye. Hunnt darted under its guard, fists armored with black steel and hardened will, striking pressure points he had studied over long nights of notes and diagrams. Pyro darted into gaps between its legs, sword stabbing between scales with uncanny accuracy.
The beast roared, stumbled, and crashed into the underbrush. The party didn't cheer wildly or collapse in disbelief like they once had. Instead, they exhaled together, calmly, as if this outcome was inevitable. They didn't feel like rookies fighting to survive. For the first time, they felt like a team—like hunters who belonged in this world.
---
Evenings changed too. They weren't just filled with firelight anymore, but with warmth—the kind of warmth that came from laughter, gentle teasing, and quiet comfort.
Hunnt often sat with his journal under the lantern, scratching notes into parchment. His calloused fingers moved carefully across the page as he recorded movements, lessons, and strategies. Pyro would curl up against his side, tail flicking lazily, his golden eyes half-lidded as he purred himself into sleep.
Elara and Corwin often drifted a little away from the fire, their voices low but steady as they spoke to one another. Sometimes they discussed training, other times the hunts, but more often, Hunnt noticed, their words had nothing to do with fighting. He would catch Elara's faint smile in the glow, Corwin's rare laughter, and the way their hands rested close together without shame.
Hunnt never teased them. He didn't need to. He just smiled to himself, knowing that their bond was no longer only forged in battle.
---
One evening, as fire crackled and shadows danced across the cottage walls, the unspoken became spoken.
Corwin cleared his throat, voice awkward yet deliberate. He was never one for words, but tonight he forced them out. "Elara and I…" He glanced at her, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks. "We've decided."
Elara's face warmed, but she didn't flinch. Her bow rested across her lap as she met Hunnt's gaze with quiet certainty. "We're together," she said softly. "More than comrades. It feels right."
Hunnt blinked at first, the words settling in. Then, slowly, a wide grin spread across his face. "About time," he said, smirking.
From the shadows behind them, a voice rang out—half amused, half proud. Grandma Mel stepped into the firelight, arms crossed, eyes glimmering. "Took you long enough," she said.
Behind her, Dom chuckled, his deep voice rumbling. "At least you didn't wait until your hair turned gray."
Even Coerl, polishing tools by the doorway, snorted. "It's about time, lad," he grumbled, though his lips twitched into the faintest grin.
Elara flushed crimson, covering her face with her hands, while Corwin coughed into his fist, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected audience. Hunnt laughed so hard his journal nearly slipped from his lap. Pyro leapt onto the table and announced in his shrill voice, "Nyahaha! The knight and his archer—finally official, nyaah!"
The embarrassment soon gave way to laughter, genuine and unrestrained. It was simple, ordinary, yet in that moment Hunnt realized something important. Their bond was no longer only that of hunters. It was family.
---
The days that followed felt lighter. Hunts became smoother, evenings warmer, and even the hardest training sessions were buoyed by a sense of belonging. When Hunnt faltered during drills, Corwin caught him with a wordless nod. When Elara's shots veered in the wind, Hunnt steadied her stance. When Corwin's hammer strikes overextended, Pyro darted in to cover his flank. They trusted each other implicitly.
Under starlit nights, when the world was quiet, Hunnt often looked at the emblem he had drawn—the fist within the circle, the symbol of their growth. The lines were rough, the ink faded, but to him it meant everything.
They weren't just comrades. They were more. They were hunters bound by something greater than survival.
And in those bonds, Hunnt found his purpose.