The forge was quiet at dawn. The fire had burned low, the embers pulsing faintly beneath layers of ash. Hunnt stood beside the anvil, arms folded, eyes fixed on the glow as if watching a heartbeat slowly fade.
He had finished everything — the weapons, the armor, every piece shaped from the remains of the Glisarin Ignis. The Veilrend Gauntlets rested on the table beside the Ember Sentinel Set and the Heartflare Great Sword, all wrapped in linen and cloth. The heat of their forging still lingered faintly, warming the air with a calm that only a blacksmith could understand.
Hunnt ran his hand along the table, double-checking every edge, every seam, every rivet. The gauntlets glinted softly when touched by the morning light. He tested the joints and weight once more, then nodded in satisfaction. "Good," he murmured quietly to himself. "No weakness. Not this time."
He moved through the forge with slow, practiced motion — arranging tools, clearing shavings of metal, wiping the soot from the floor. Every clang and scrape echoed softly, rhythmic and steady. When he finally stepped back, the forge looked whole again — no longer a place of battle, but a place of creation.
Hunnt looked around one last time. His gaze lingered on the hammer stand, on the walls blackened by years of heat and smoke. "Thank you," he said under his breath, voice barely audible.
For a moment, a faint warmth stirred behind him — not from the forge, but from something unseen. A silhouette shimmered faintly in the haze, a faint outline of an older man in an apron, watching silently. The figure smiled once before fading, vanishing with the drifting ash.
Hunnt blinked, then exhaled softly. "Guess the forge remembers its owner," he muttered, half-smiling to himself.
He covered the weapons and armor with cloths and set them gently aside near the wall. His work was done. Now came the waiting.
Hunnt stepped outside, squinting as sunlight washed over the blackened village. The morning breeze carried faint traces of smoke and wood — but mixed within it, the scent of cooked grain and life returning.
The acting chief was already walking toward him, waving a hand. "Hunter Hunnt! You're awake."
Hunnt gave a small nod. "Yeah."
The chief's expression brightened with gratitude. "We're finally ready. The villagers finished packing what little remains. We plan to leave soon — but we were hoping you could escort us to safety."
Before Hunnt could reply, a familiar voice answered from behind the chief.
"We'll take you there."
Alder stepped out from between two houses, his bandages still fresh across his torso, but his stride steady. His great sword was strapped across his back — cracked but repaired enough to carry.
The chief's eyes lit up. "Then it's decided! We'll leave the day after tomorrow. That gives us one more day to bury the dead and prepare the wagons." His voice trembled with hope. "You've done more than enough already. Still, thank you again… truly."
Hunnt inclined his head quietly as the chief hurried back toward the square, calling out orders to the villagers.
Once the voices faded, Hunnt turned to Alder. The older hunter leaned against a post, arms crossed, wearing a faint grin.
"So," Hunnt asked, "that your answer?"
Alder met his gaze, his grin fading into something steadier. "Yeah. I've thought about it. What you said the other night — about the Eternal Wanderer."
He took a slow breath. "I'll join. Not for a name or some hidden group, but for what it stands for. For the people."
Hunnt's expression softened. "Then meet me here tonight. I'll tell you everything."
Alder chuckled. "You always talk like that — half mystery, half truth."
Hunnt smirked. "Maybe I'm both."
Alder shook his head, still smiling. "Fine. Tonight, then."
Hunnt nodded once. "Tonight."
They stood in silence for a brief moment, the sound of hammering and chatter drifting from the villagers. The wind carried the faint scent of ashes and soil — the smell of endings, and beginnings.
Hunnt finally spoke again. "I'm going to rest for a bit. Been standing at that forge too long."
"Go," Alder said, waving a hand dismissively. "You've earned it. I'll help the others finish packing."
Hunnt gave a small nod of thanks. As he turned to leave, he passed the forge again. For a moment, he thought he saw a faint glimmer from the window — the same gentle light that had flickered behind him earlier.
He said nothing. Just smiled faintly and walked on.
---
Hunnt ate what the villagers had left for him — simple stew and hard bread. He drank water from a clay jug, savoring the quiet warmth of food made by grateful hands. The meal wasn't much, but it was grounding — the kind that reminded him what all this was for.
When he finished, he returned to the small shelter where he and Alder had rested during recovery. The cot creaked as he lay back, arms crossed behind his head.
The roof above him was cracked, sunlight cutting through in thin lines. Dust drifted slowly in the air. Hunnt exhaled, feeling the ache in his muscles — the kind that only came after battle and forging both.
He stared at the ceiling, eyes half-closed. "Two days," he murmured. "Then we move."
The world outside hummed faintly — voices of villagers preparing for their departure, the clatter of tools, Alder's laughter somewhere near the center of the square.
Hunnt allowed his eyes to close, his body relaxing into the fragile peace of the morning. For once, the silence didn't feel heavy. It felt earned.
---
Alder spent the rest of the day helping wherever he could. He lifted broken beams, carried supplies, and helped the villagers bury their fallen. Every motion carried a quiet determination.
When one child thanked him shyly, offering a small charm of woven grass, Alder smiled faintly and tied it around his wrist.
By sundown, the village had begun to look less like a graveyard and more like a place of survival. The fires were smaller now — controlled, gentle.
From his resting place, Hunnt stirred, the sound of life around him enough to draw him from sleep. He turned on his side, watching through the cracked doorway as the sky deepened into gold.
Tomorrow night would change everything.
But for now, both hunters worked and rested in silence — one preparing to speak, the other ready to listen.