Snow pressed heavier now.
Not in the way of blizzards but like a silent, steady curtain—an accumulation rather than an assault. Each flake settled onto the hard-packed earth of the training yard as if reluctant to disturb the scene: swords crossing, shields striking, arrows flying. The afternoon light dimmed, not from cloud thickening, but because somewhere beyond them, the northern sky had begun to sag under its own weight.
Kel's bow lowered with his final shot's memory still lingering in his muscles. He drew a controlled breath, quietly cataloguing his strain levels and the faint throbbing in his ribs as the curse, irritated by exertion, slithered deeper within him.
He was about to unstring the bow and step away when he felt it.
A cluster of intent.
Footsteps—not loud, but definite—crunching through the mix of snow and packed soil. Not like soldiers or lone wanderers, but coordinated. Communal steps—formations that belonged to people who had fought alongside one another.
He turned slightly, enough to see without offering full attention.
Five figures approached.
A group.
Their steps stopped a sword's distance away, respecting space while also intruding upon it.
The Hunters
The one in front—a swordsman—looked to be about twenty, dark hair tied back, a light steel cuirass over layered fur. His sword hung casually at his side, but his eyes were not casual. Sharp, brown, assessing tones.
Beside him stood a man in broader armor—reinforced leather beneath metal plating—hands resting on a round shield strapped to his arm. The way he stood planted suggested tanker more than guard. Calm, silent, letting others speak.
Behind them, two figures in lighter robes—one deep moss-green, one frost-gray. Mages. Their staffs leaned against their shoulders, runes etched faintly into the polished wood. One watched Kel with curiosity, the other with scrutiny.
And last—a woman, muscular, hair shaved at one side, carrying an axe almost her height. Not balanced on shoulder like a show of strength—held at the midpoint, fingers loose. She was used to fighting, and more used to surviving.
They stopped.
Breaths visible.
The leader—the swordsman—offered a short nod.
"Your archery's impressive," he said, tone level. "Especially for someone who looks unfamiliar with extended range."
Kel's eyes met his.
Neutral.
"For a beginner," the swordsman clarified. "You're the first here today who drew the string that way. Quiet. Not even a tremor after the release."
The tanker spoke next, his voice steady.
"Silent. No arrow whistle. Most archers here release with too much force or wrong breath. Yours cut air without noise. Efficient."
Kel simply watched them.
He neither thanked nor denied.
The swordsman smiled faintly.
Not friendly.
Evaluative.
"If you're not already spoken for…" he began, "we would like to invite you to join our hunt. Just beyond the city's border. Nothing too far. A routine monster-clearing request from the northern guild."
Kel remained silent.
The leader raised both hands slightly—open, placating.
"To be clear," he added, "we're not asking you to tank, or lead, or risk yourself needlessly. We just… lack a silent archer. Some beasts alert to sound before arrow."
Kel studied their positions.
Swordsman: confident, modest threat.
Tanker: stable, defensive.
Mages: both attentive, likely medium distance, low close-combat potential.
Axe wielder: burst damage, slightly impulsive judging by stance.
They formed something workable.
They could hold formation.
But they were still strangers.
Kel's voice emerged calmly.
"Why," he asked, "do you not ask another archer? There are many here."
The swordsman exchanged a glance with the axe user.
She shrugged.
He replied.
"Because you shoot," he said slowly, "like someone trying to avoid being heard."
"We need someone who thinks that way."
Kel's eyelids lowered a fraction.
They understood that much?
He considered it.
Silent killer.
They see advantage, not anomaly.
The mage in grey robes stepped forward, her eyes cold but not antagonistic.
"Target is a mid-level frost beast," she said. "A Lesser Duskwolf type. Not intelligent. But fast. It hunts sound first—then movement."
Kel's gaze sharpened.
Duskwolves.
In Destiny, they were known as sensory predators—reactive, cunning at mid-tier, lethal in packs.
Their appearance here… at this season…
Dangerous.
He did not show concern.
"What will I gain?" he asked plainly.
No courtesy.
Just transaction.
The swordsman smiled sharper now.
"Equal share," he replied. "Whatever we salvage—fur, cores, materials—it is divided among all present. Five of us, plus you, makes six. Everyone receives one-sixth. No hidden clauses."
Kel waited.
The tanker added quietly.
"We do not hunt high-tier monsters. We're not suicidal. Standard frost beast route. Not crossing ridge lines. We return before sunset. If we do this properly, we'll be back before the temperature drop."
The axe user folded her arms.
"You can leave any time," she said. "If things go wrong, we won't hold you."
Kel's eyes stilled.
"And if you decide to use me as bait?" he asked.
The mage in green laughed softly.
Not mockingly.
Almost approving.
"Then we lose our silence vector. And get killed. We're not idiots."
Kel paused.
Silence stretched between them.
He weighed the curse inside him.
If they turn hostile—
I can use root-aura and escape.
But it will cost me physically. A heavy toll. The curse will retaliate.
My path may slow. I may not travel tomorrow.
Yet…
Practical knowledge… real combat application… that experience is valuable.
This may be the most efficient chance to test what I have without risking Reina or Landon.
He breathed out slowly.
Benefits exceed risks.
Kel nodded once.
"I'm ready," he said. "But I return before sunset."
The swordsman smiled, satisfied.
"Good. We also don't fancy wandering after dark."
He extended his hand.
Kel looked at it.
Then reached forward and gripped it with his gloved hand.
Not tightly.
Just enough.
"Name's Jace," the swordsman said.
Kel's answer came without pause.
"Heral."
The axe-bearer stepped forward next, shoving Jace aside slightly.
"Mara," she introduced herself. "I hit things first, ask later."
The tanker raised a gauntleted hand.
"Torren. I keep things from hitting others."
The mages spoke almost in unison.
"Lysia," said the grey-robed one.
"Baird," said the one in green.
Kel studied each face, committing their movement patterns to memory.
Jace smirked.
"Then let's move before the guards change shift. We hunt to the north line, no further. Target pack spotted past the timber walkway."
Kel adjusted the strap of his quiver.
"If I fire," he warned, "aim without delay. I won't be taking prolonged shots."
Mara grinned.
"Good. I hate archers who wait."
Jace gestured toward the gate.
"Then we hunt."
Toward the Border
They moved in brisk formation.
Jace leading.
Torren beside him.
Mages in center.
Kel and Mara at back—him for ranged support, her for response strike.
Snow thickened as they walked.
Beyond the last row of watchtowers, the air grew sharper.
Silence stretched, heavy and white.
Kel glanced upward.
The sky, flat and emotionless.
A world holding breath.
And in his chest…
The curse coiled quietly.
Not rushing.
Just waiting.
Tomorrow, I travel toward Scarder Lake.
Today… I learn whether a quiet arrow can cut through winter's hunt.
He placed his fingers lightly over the bowstring again.
The snow crunched.
Ahead, Jace raised a hand.
Everyone stopped.
Mara's grip shifted around her axe.
Torren lowered his shield.
Lysia's staff glowed faintly.
Baird whispered in low tone, casting a detection veil.
A heartbeat later—
Shhhrrk…
A sound in the snow.
Kel's eyes narrowed.
No tremor.
No fear.
He drew an arrow.
Silent.
Precise.
The first shot…
is not to kill.
It is to declare that the hunt has begun.
He exhaled.
Released.
The arrow cut through falling snow.
Into stillness.
Then—
The frost beast howled.