Location: Ashtracker Huntsmen Compound, Eastern Freehold Territory | Lower Realm, Doha
Time: Dawn, Day After Library Explosion
The compound smelled like blood and leather and something sharper—fear, maybe, or just the stink of men who'd spent too long tracking things that could kill them. Kato's fire-tailed stallion snorted embers as he dismounted, hooves leaving scorch marks on the packed earth. Dawn light bled red across the eastern sky, turning everything the color of old wounds.
(Too early for this. Should be sleeping.)
But sleep was for people who hadn't just lost the Divine Tome to a Voidforge brat, and Kato wasn't about to explain to Za'thul—or worse, the elders—how he'd let a thirteen-year-old slip through their fingers.
Fifteen. She was fifteen now, wasn't she? Hard to remember, when she'd been nothing but slave trash for so long.
The compound gates stood open. Inside, men moved between low stone buildings with the efficient grace of predators. Seeker hounds bayed from kennels, their ugly voices scraping the morning air raw. Demon-scaled horses stamped in reinforced stalls, their midnight scales gleaming like oil slicks, eyes glowing crimson in the shadows.
A man emerged from the main building—tall, broad-shouldered, gray streaking his black hair like ash through coal. Scars crawled up his neck from beneath his leather armor. His eyes, dark and assessing, took in Kato's expensive robes, the fire-tailed stallion, the barely-controlled fury radiating from every line of his body.
"Master Kato Freehold." The man's voice was gravel and smoke. "Bit early for a social call."
"Garrik Ashtracker." Kato didn't waste time with pleasantries. "I need your best hunting pack. Now."
Garrik's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes. Interest, maybe. Or wariness. "My best pack's not cheap, Master Kato. And 'now' costs extra."
"I don't care about the price."
"Everyone says that." Garrik turned, gestured for Kato to follow. "Until they hear the number."
They walked through the compound yard. Men stopped their work to watch—checking weapons, feeding hounds, grooming the demon-scaled horses with brushes that scraped against those impossible scales. The air hummed with Inferno essence from the horses, their body heat shimmering the air around them.
Garrik led him into a low building that smelled of ink and old parchment. Maps covered one wall, marked with red slashes and black X's. Trophies lined another—spirit beast skulls, mostly, though Kato spotted a few human ones mixed in. Criminals, probably. Or people who'd hired Garrik to hunt someone and then tried to stiff him on payment.
"So." Garrik settled into a chair behind a scarred wooden desk. Didn't offer Kato one. "What're we hunting?"
"A girl."
Garrik's eyebrows rose. Just a fraction. "Specific girl, or you just shopping for one?"
"Specific." Kato's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. "Fifteen years old. Voidforge. Stole something from my clan. She's on foot, probably heading north toward the mountains."
"Voidforge." Garrik leaned back, arms crossed. "That's the Freehold disgrace, yeah? The one who was supposed to be heir?"
(Everyone knows. Everyone remembers.)
Kato's Inferno essence flared hot, warming the air. "That's none of your concern. Can you track her or not?"
"I can track a ghost through a sandstorm if the price is right." Garrik pulled out a ledger, ink-stained fingers flipping pages. "Standard hunt contract. One target, human, on foot. That's five Blaze Crowns. Includes basic pack—three hunters, two hounds, standard equipment."
Five Blaze Crowns. A small fortune.
"Not good enough."
Garrik looked up. "No?"
"I want your BEST pack." Kato planted both hands on the desk, leaning in. "Your top hunters. Your fastest hounds. Your demon-scaled horses. And I want them ready to ride within the hour."
Silence stretched between them. Outside, a hound howled. Someone shouted about feeding times.
"My best pack." Garrik set down his quill. "That's me personally leading. Four specialists—tracker, beast handler, weapons master, survival expert. Six seeker hounds instead of two. Five demon-scaled horses, fully equipped. Premium supplies."
He paused, let the numbers sink in.
"That's ten Blaze Crowns, Master Kato."
Kato didn't blink. "Done."
"Plus five for the urgency. Pulling my people off other contracts, prepping everything within the hour, riding out immediately." Garrik's voice stayed level. Professional. "That's fifteen total."
"Fine."
"Plus three for equipment and supplies. We're talking essence-tracking talismans, containment nets, healing draughts, a week's worth of provisions for five men and six hounds."
"Whatever you need."
"Plus two for danger premium." Garrik's eyes hardened. "Voidforge might not have essence, but hunting a clan's blood—even disgraced blood—that's political. If this goes wrong, if someone asks questions, my reputation's on the line. Call it insurance."
Twenty Blaze Crowns.
Twenty thousand Forge Marks.
Two million Ember Coins.
A year's income for a prosperous merchant family. Enough to buy a small estate, or arm a private guard company, or—
Kato pulled out a leather pouch, heavy with weight, and dropped it on the desk. Gold clinked against gold. "Eighteen Blaze Crowns. That's what I have on me. You get the rest when you bring her back."
Garrik stared at the pouch. Reached out slowly, opened it, counted. His scarred fingers moved with practiced precision, sorting the heavy gold coins into stacks. Each one gleamed in the lamplight—crown wreathed in flames, edges sharp enough to cut.
"Eighteen Blaze Crowns." He looked up at Kato. "For this price, Master Kato, you get results or corpses. Probably both."
"Just bring her back alive. My brother wants to—" Kato stopped. Breathed. "He wants to deal with her personally."
"Alive." Garrik swept the coins into a locked drawer. "Understood. Give me one hour."
***
The hour passed like slow torture.
Kato waited in the yard, watching Garrik's people move with the kind of efficiency that came from doing this a thousand times. They knew their jobs, knew each other, moved like parts of a single organism.
The tracker was a lean woman with Galebreath essence humming around her—Mira something, Kato heard someone call her. She checked maps, consulted notes, marked probable routes with charcoal. Her eyes never stopped moving, always assessing, calculating.
The beast handler was a stocky man built like a small mountain. He moved between the seeker hounds with easy confidence, checking their harnesses, speaking to them in low tones. The hounds—six of them, ugly as sin's own whelps—responded to his touch. Their hides were mottled gray-brown like pit stone, noses broad and quivering, eyes milky with unnatural sight. Drool dripped from yellowed fangs, hissing where it hit stone.
(Ugly. But they'll find her.)
The weapons master was older, gray-bearded, arms covered in scars that looked like they had stories. He loaded crossbows, sharpened blades, distributed knives and darts and small vials of—something. Poison? Paralytic? Kato didn't ask.
The survival expert was youngest, maybe thirty, with Verdant essence marking him as someone who understood the wilds. He packed provisions, checked medical supplies, distributed talismans that pulsed with faint protective wards.
And Garrik himself stood at the center of it all, directing with minimal words. A gesture here, a nod there. Absolute command, absolute confidence.
The demon-scaled horses were led out last.
Kato had seen them before, of course. But never this close, never this many at once.
They were magnificent and terrifying in equal measure. Sleek as shadows, midnight-black scales etched with faint Blaze runes that glowed ember-red when they moved. Eyes like burning coals, crimson and intelligent and absolutely merciless. They stood taller than regular horses—six feet at the shoulder—with muscles that rippled like liquid beneath those impossible scales. Their hooves sparked against stone, leaving scorch marks. When they breathed, embers drifted from their nostrils.
The fastest spirit beasts in Doha's Lower Realm.
And Garrik had five of them.
"Mount up," Garrik called.
His people moved like water—four hunters to four horses in seconds. The fifth horse stood waiting for Garrik himself. The seeker hounds clustered around the beast handler's mount, tethered but eager, their ugly voices rising in anticipation.
Kato swung onto his fire-tailed stallion. The stallion was beautiful—copper coat gleaming, mane and tail actual flames that danced without burning, golden eyes proud and fierce—but next to the demon-scaled horses, it looked almost tame. Pretty rather than deadly.
(Should've bought one of those instead. But fire-tails are traditional for the clan. Status symbol.)
Politics. Always politics.
"Where was she last seen?" Garrik asked, settling into his saddle with easy grace.
"Eastern estate wall. There's a hidden exit that leads to the small forest beyond our territory. She'd be heading north from there—toward the mountains, probably."
"Toward the Dark Forest."
It wasn't a question, but Kato answered anyway. "Maybe. If she's stupid enough."
"Or desperate enough." Garrik glanced at his team. "Everyone ready?"
Nods all around.
"Then let's ride."
***
They found her trail within an hour.
The small forest beyond the Freehold estate walls was maybe three miles deep—mix of jade pines and obsidian oaks, undergrowth thick with thorn vines and essence-touched ferns. North of here, the land rose toward the mountains. And beyond the mountains—
The Dark Forest. Ancient and forbidden and absolutely scorching terrifying if the stories were true.
Garrik had the hounds working the estate's eastern wall first, snuffling along the stones, their milky eyes unfocused but their noses sure. One of them—a particularly ugly brute with a torn ear—suddenly bayed, long and loud and triumphant.
"Got her." The beast handler grinned, gap-toothed and fierce. "Hounds never lie."
The scent trail led north. Obvious, really. Girl on foot, no training, no supplies, just running blind. The hounds followed it with single-minded focus, baying every few minutes to confirm. Their voices scraped the morning air raw, promising violence and inevitability.
Kato rode with Garrik at the head of the pack. Behind them, the four specialists kept formation, weapons ready, eyes scanning. The demon-scaled horses moved like silk and murder, hooves barely touching ground, scales rippling with each stride.
"She's moving fast," Mira called from the flank, where she'd been reading broken branches and disturbed earth. "Faster than expected for someone her size."
"How fast?"
"Marathon pace. For hours, looks like. Either she's trained or she's running on pure terror."
(Terror. Good. Let her be afraid.)
They pushed deeper into the forest. Jade pines gave way to darker growth—ancient trees with bark that pulsed faint Verdant essence, roots thick as a man's body that humped up through the forest floor. The air grew cooler, heavier, charged with something old.
Garrik raised a fist. The pack stopped.
"What?" Kato demanded.
"Creek ahead." Garrik dismounted, knelt, studied the ground. His scarred fingers traced patterns in the mud. "She went into the water here. Smart. Trying to break the scent trail."
"Will it work?"
"Against normal hounds? Maybe." Garrik stood, whistled. The seeker hounds surged forward, noses to the water, then to the banks. They ranged up and down the creek, whining, searching. "Against these? No. They track essence signatures, not just scent. Voidforge might not have essence, but she's got body heat, breath, fear-sweat. They'll find her."
Two minutes later, one of the hounds bayed on the opposite bank, fifty meters upstream.
"There." The beast handler pointed. "Came out over there, kept moving north."
They forded the creek. The demon-scaled horses didn't even slow, their scaled legs cutting through water like it wasn't there. Kato's fire-tailed stallion splashed through more carefully, flames hissing against the current.
The trail continued. Always north. Always toward the mountains.
Toward the Dark Forest.
"She knows where she's going," Garrik said after another hour. His voice carried respect despite himself. "This isn't blind panic. She's got a destination."
"The mountains provide cover. Caves, probably."
"Or she's making for the Dark Forest."
Kato snorted. "No one's that stupid."
"No one's that desperate." Garrik glanced back at him. "Except maybe a fifteen-year-old girl with no options, running from a clan that wants her dead."
(Wants her dead? We just want the Tome back. We just want—)
But Garrik was right, wasn't he? The vote had been sixty-five to fifteen for execution. Za'thul had ordered the hunt. What did Kato think would happen if they caught her?
(She stole from us. She brought shame to the clan. She deserves whatever comes.)
But the thought felt hollow, even in his own head.
Another hour. The sun climbed higher, turning the forest floor into a maze of golden light and jade shadows. The hounds bayed constantly now, excited, close to their prey. The demon-scaled horses moved faster, sensing the approaching end of the hunt.
Then Mira raised her hand. "Stop. Look."
They reined in. Kato saw it immediately—fresh tracks in soft earth between two jade pines. Small. Too small.
Garrik dismounted again, knelt, measured with his hand. His face went carefully neutral. "These are child's prints."
"She's fifteen," Kato said. "That's not a child."
"These prints are maybe nine inches long. Barefoot. Made by someone who weighs perhaps eighty, ninety pounds." Garrik looked up, and his eyes were different now. Harder. "She's not fifteen, Master Kato. Or if she is, she's been starved half to death. These are a child's feet."
Silence stretched between them.
"The contract stands," Kato said finally. "Bring her back."
"Yes, Master." Garrik's voice stayed professional, but something had changed. Some line had been crossed in his mind. "Let's finish this."
They mounted again. Rode hard now, the hounds surging ahead, their baying rising to a fever pitch. The forest started to thin, jade pines spacing out, undergrowth giving way to bare stone. The ground rose sharply, rocky outcroppings jutting like broken teeth.
And ahead—
The mountains. Dark stone rising toward a sky that had turned the color of old jade. And beyond the mountains, visible even from here—
The Dark Forest.
A wall of shadows and ancient trees, canopy so thick it looked like solid night. The air around it shimmered wrong, like heat haze in winter. Even from miles away, Kato could feel it—old magic, patient power, something that had been standing since before the Cataclysm split the world into realms.
"She's heading there," Garrik said quietly. "She's actually heading there."
"Then we stop her before she reaches it."
"Master Kato—"
"That's an order."
Garrik's jaw clenched. But he nodded. Kicked his demon-scaled horse into a gallop that ate the ground like fire eating paper.
The pack surged forward as one—six horses, six hounds, six hunters racing toward the mountains and the small, desperate girl trying to reach the forest's edge.
The hounds' baying changed pitch. Closer now. Much closer.
Kato could almost hear her running ahead of them. Could almost feel her terror, her exhaustion, her absolute refusal to stop.
(Just a little farther. Just a little more.)
But the Dark Forest loomed ahead like a promise or a threat, and Kato couldn't tell which scared him more—catching her, or watching her disappear into those ancient shadows where even his eighteen Blaze Crowns couldn't follow.
The hunt was almost over.
One way or another.