Grey kept count when he chopped.
That was how he held the rhythm, and the rhythm was how he pretended the world made sense.
"Ninety-six…"
The axe came down clean, splitting the log into perfect halves. He adjusted his stance and set another log on the stump, breath steady, shoulders square, the way the village chief had taught him.
"Ninety-seven…"
The forest edge murmured with the sound of carts, harness bells, and human voices carrying the relentless optimism of preparations.
"Ninety-eight."
Another sharp crack echoed through the valley and rolled back from the hills.
Sweat trickled down his jaw and darkened the collar of his shirt. The air smelled of sap and iron; each breath tasted of dust and sun-baked bark.
Grey's motions were steady, deliberate, the muscles in his arms working like parts of a well-made clock. Each swing carried the same weight, the same control, the same refusal to hurry.
He wasn't thinking about the nobles in their marble towers or the eastern continents. He wasn't even thinking about tonight's village hunt. He was thinking about numbers.
That was until...
"Grey!"
The familiar shout cut through the hum of insects. He turned toward it, blinking sweat from his lashes.
Taek was climbing the slope, broad-shouldered, sun-burned, his grin as careless as ever. He looked like a man who'd spent his life surviving winters by laughing at them.
"You've been at this since dawn," he said when he reached him. "Planning to chop the whole forest before nightfall?"
Grey wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. "Only enough to pay for my funeral."
Taek snorted. "Keep working like that and there won't be a body left to bury. Save your strength. We hunt tonight."
Grey turned back to the stump, hefting another log. "I know."
"That doesn't sound like excitement."
"Because it isn't."
Taek folded his arms. "You don't like hunting?"
"I don't like dying."
That earned a laugh loud enough to scare the birds. "Fair. But you'll do fine. You've got the rhythm. Hunters without rhythm end up inside a beast before they can scream."
Grey wasn't actually scared by the hunt or dying; he was actually waiting for the night.
Today was New Year's Eve, and in this world, everyone aged when the new year came. So, he would become fifteen after tonight. And fifteen was the age one became an adult.
But, in reality, he was much older. Even older than the man standing in front of him, Taek, who was thirty-three, thanks to his past life, even though he didn't know how it ended.
But he chose not to reveal anything yet. His excitement would be obvious at today's hunt anyway.
After a while, Taek spoke again, quieter. "You ever think about applying to the Academy?"
Grey froze mid-swing. "What?"
"The Art Academy," Taek said, as though the thought had just dropped from the sky. But Grey knew that he had thought about it before. "You've got the instincts for it, and even the noble blood."
Grey's gaze sharpened. "Keep your voice down."
He knew that Taek always kept Grey's best interests at mind. Grey was like a brother to him. So, he knew one of Grey's many secrets."
"That is a secret. Also, why don't you join the academy? Art listens to skill more than lineage — or so they say," Grey continued.
"They also say peasants can fly if they flap hard enough," Taek answered.
"Anyway, I am also a peasant like you. I have to forget my last name. So, they won't consider taking me in without a strong Art."
Taek raised both hands. "Fine, fine. Forget I said anything." He grinned. "Just don't forget to bring that stubborn pride of yours tonight. It might scare the monsters."
Grey lowered his axe. The numbers couldn't reach one hundred after Taek came, but it was okay. Today was an important day.
"Let's go back, we also need to prepare," Grey said.
---
By late afternoon, the logs were loaded. The cart creaked as they steered it back toward the village — a scatter of wooden roofs along the riverbank, stubborn and smoke-filled.
This was Arand's Rest, a place too small for maps yet old enough to have survived three regional wars and one minor apocalypse.
Children darted between houses; women salted meat for storage; men sharpened weapons on flat stones that had been worn smooth by generations.
Taek and Grey continued talking as they pulled the cart.
"Apart from the excitement, are you ready for today's hunt? It is your first real time," Taek asked.
"I am. I think I can kill an Orc by myself now."
The New Year Hunt wasn't a tradition. It was survival dressed as a celebration.
Every year, people living in the cities or villages had to go hunting in the nearest monster dens. Otherwise, the monsters would overpopulate and overflow by the spring, attacking the closest settlements.
"An Orc, huh? I heard in the east, great cities hired dragon-hunters who flew with chains of lightning. I am thankful that we are not fighting against such scary monsters," Taek said, shivering slightly.
"Orcs are scary enough. I don't see a difference between a Dragon and an Orc Chieftain, or even ten normal Orcs... at least from our perspectives."
"You are right..."
Taek helped Grey unload the wood beside the communal hall, where cooks were already stirring cauldrons of stew thick enough to drown in. Smoke clung to everything.
"The chief wants everyone ready by dusk," Taek said. "Gear checked, weapons oiled."
Grey nodded. "Axe, rope, rations. I'm ready."
"And your luck?"
"Didn't come with any."
"Then stay near me. I've got enough for both of us."
They exchanged a small, weary smile. It was how men promised not to die.
---
While Grey and Taek joked on their way back, the northern forest stayed quiet. Too quiet.
Beyond the treeline, the air was heavy and unmoving. Small things had gone silent—birds, insects, even the wind.
Near an old stone watchtower that had long since fallen into ruin, someone knelt among the moss. The shape was human, or close enough to pass for one. Its breathing came slow, measured, as if the forest itself followed that rhythm.
The figure ran a gloved hand through the dirt. A faint shimmer answered, spreading outward in thin, red lines before fading back underground. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, deep in the trees, something shifted.
A low growl rolled through the forest. Another answered. Then another. The sound spread like a chain reaction, one echo waking the next.
In the distance, eyes blinked open in the dark. Dozens of them. Their movement was wrong—organized, deliberate.
The figure stood, brushing the dirt from its knees. "Good," it said quietly. The voice was distorted, neither male nor female. "Let's begin."
A gust of cold air passed through the clearing. The eyes vanished one by one, melting into the dark as the forest came alive again.
By the time Grey and Taek reached the edge of the village, the first movement of the hunt had already started—only it wasn't theirs.