"Fools! What is this madness? We walked this far for something that doesn't exist? Why did we listen to that idiot? Do you all realize there are no animals left here? Our village is starving. The fields will not grow. The farmlands are frozen solid. And now—this is all we bring back?!"
The furious man pointed toward the caravan behind him, which continued to move forward, dragged by the cavalry unit at the front.
The hunters had failed to find prey. Every beast had gone into hibernation for the winter. Some had migrated far from the village, into unknown lands. Mount Magama was once rich with animals and vegetation, but winter had transformed it completely. Snow cloaked the mountain in shimmering white, muting its former life. Light itself seemed to mourn.
Their return meant empty cargo for the village.
The sky offered no comfort. Even beneath the full moon and the shifting glow of green and violet auroras cutting through the heavens, no one spoke of beauty.
"Look at him! What did you say yesterday, huh? You claimed a flock of birds migrated here!" the young man shouted.
"I swear I saw them, Chief!" the man named Koto replied. "They flew east, searching for warmer lands. They came from the valley below. To reach there, they had to pass through this place. I was certain of it."
"Twelve men, Koto. Twelve. Do you understand that? We brought twelve people for this foolish chase," the Chief said, pointing at the hunters behind him. "Do you realize what you've done?"
"I know," Koto answered. "But maybe… maybe we were just too late."
"Too late?"
The Chief dismounted, his anger burning.
"Yes…" Koto's voice faltered.
This is bad, Koto thought.
The Chief grabbed him from his horse and slammed him into the frozen ground. Koto crashed against ice crystals and snow. The caravan halted. Every hunter witnessed the scene.
"Too late? We departed three days ago. With nothing but dried bread from the villagers. What will we eat now? If you were the Chief, what would you tell them—that we chased birds? We are hunters. Perhaps we've truly reached such desperation that we hunt birds now. But this? You claim they're gone because we were late? Three days—and still too late?"
The Chief yanked Koto upright. Koto staggered; he hadn't eaten all day.
"The people trusted us. I trusted you. And you failed me."
The Chief turned away, preparing to return to his horse.
"Chief!" Koto snapped back, unable to hold himself any longer.
"It's not my fault the birds are gone! Am I their keeper? I have nothing to do with their departure! I only wanted to help you!"
The Chief paused.
He realized he had gone too far. His rage had sought an outlet—and Koto had become it.
Koto was not an unpleasant man. Though rough-spoken, he was attentive. His black hair fell loosely over his ears, his build solid. He was one of the elite hunters—arguably the Chief's closest companion. They argued often. Usually, Koto yielded. But not today.
"Enough," the Chief said. "When we return, you'll help me apologize to the villagers. If they're desperate enough, I won't hesitate to offer your flesh to them."
His gaze pierced Koto.
"Let's move—"
Before he could finish, the mountain shook.
A violent impact sent snow cascading down the slope, blocking their path. Koto dragged the Chief away just in time. The Chief's horse was buried and killed beneath the avalanche.
Then they saw it.
A massive creature hovered above them, its wings stretching wide in dominance. Its tail was long and lined with spines. A dragon.
Its scales were pale, darkened like tarnished copper. Its eyes burned red, pupils shaped like black crescents. Two horns crowned its head. Four wings unfurled along its back—majestic and terrifying.
"Burealis… That's Burealis!"
They had wandered into its territory. The earlier explosion had been its fire.
"It thinks we're food," one hunter muttered. "I can't blame it. If even dragons struggle to find prey, what hope do we have?"
The dragon circled above them, its gaze oppressive.
Fear wavered—but did not take hold.
Instead, hope ignited.
The hunters lifted their heads in defiance.
"At last," the Chief said, grinning fiercely. "The bird I've been searching for. Forget the ones we couldn't find—I want this one on my table tonight."
"Either we become its meal," another shouted, "or it becomes ours."
Laughter spread among the twelve. Their faces lit up with anticipation.
"I won't have any of you die here," the Chief commanded. "If you're not ready, leave now."
No one moved.
"We're hunters," one replied. "This is what we live for."
The Chief smiled grimly.
He raised his blade.
"For food," he ordered. "Attack."
The ranged unit moved first—two archers and six gunners. Without orders, they aimed precisely.
Arrows and cable rounds struck true. The cables pierced the dragon's wings, anchoring into its flesh and locking tight. The other ends were tethered to massive launcher-weapons resembling portable cannons.
The dragon roared in pain.
"Pull!"
The gunners strained, battling the beast's immense strength.
"It's too strong!"
"Sedate it," the Chief ordered. "No poison. I don't intend to die from eating it."
The archers coated their arrows with a clear anesthetic and fired into its abdomen. Blood spilled.
"Channel power. Koto—start the turbine."
Koto obeyed, spinning the mechanism within the caravan. The generator roared to life, coils glowing as energy built.
"Power ready."
"Hold."
The dragon still hovered—but its movements slowed.
"Discharge."
Electric current surged through the cables, coursing into the dragon's body.
The creature crashed into the ground, unable to remain airborne.
Cheers erupted.
"Not yet," the Chief said, drawing his massive blade—Kurugiri—a weapon capable of severing giants.
"The real fight begins now."
The frontline advanced.
"Koto. Your weapon."
Koto retrieved twin blades—one blue, one red—trophies from a solo hunt long ago.
"Ready, Chief. It's been a while."
"Speak again and I'll feed you to the village."
Koto fell silent.
The dragon struggled, trapped.
"Easy way or hard way?" asked Zui.
"Easy," the Chief growled. "I'm hungry."
Hen stepped forward, planting devices beneath the snow before retreating.
As the dragon lunged, the ground seized its limbs, pulling half its body beneath the earth.
The beast writhed, unable to move.
The hunters unleashed everything they had.
Then the Chief lowered his blade.
"Front line," he commanded.
"Advance."
Suddenly, it was as if silence seeped into the hunt itself. Movements slowed, and falling snow lingered longer in the air. Among the hunters, a melody rose from the rear—soft yet resolute. Two of them were bards, musicians whose songs heightened the effectiveness of their companions, stoking both strength and resolve.
The front line surged forward.
Zui swung his axe with full force, striking the dragon's face. The Chief's blade pierced the thin flesh of its abdomen again and again. Koto leapt onto the dragon's body, tearing through its wings. Hen severed its tail with his barbarian sword.
That day, Burealis became a reminder etched into their memory: that their survival until this moment had not been granted lightly—and that even a dragon could become the price of living.
They returned home.
And most importantly, their caravan was no longer empty.
---
Here is the English translation, rendered in descriptive narrative prose and consistent with the previous tone:
Zui laughed loudly. His mood seemed unusually good.
"What are you laughing about?" Hen asked.
"I'm just confused," Zui replied. "We set out to hunt birds, and instead we brought down a dragon. Good thing I still had my primary weapon with me."
Zui wielded a massive axe—an executioner's weapon once used by war commanders of a kingdom long fallen—and a shield so wide it could cover his entire body. Rumor claimed that Zui had once been a captain in the armies of the Kingdom of Aish, though no one knew for certain. He never spoke of his past.
"Yes," Hen replied half-heartedly. "We wouldn't have survived without it."
Hen looked exhausted. Normally, he was known for his extreme demeanor. Some even called him a psychopath—but fortunately, his obsession was gnu alone. Bald, sharp-eyed, with pale irises and pupils barely visible, his face was always hidden behind a black mask. Hen was an elite hunter and a master of traps. The dropfall trap used against Burealis was his own creation—an experimental device that softened the ground beneath a target in moments, causing the earth to collapse inward.
Suddenly, commotion broke out at the very front of the caravan.
"Looks like Koto's causing trouble again," Zui said, glancing ahead.
The Chief was shouting at Koto for reasons unclear.
"You think this dragon is ours because of you?" the Chief yelled. "We didn't get it because of you!"
"But you wouldn't have found it if I hadn't mentioned the birds," Koto shot back. "Let me have the head."
"Koto, this is ridiculous," the Chief replied sharply. "We shouldn't be arguing over your birds. Even if you hadn't said anything, we would have gone hunting anyway. And now you're saying this dragon exists because of your words? Don't joke."
"Why are you being such an asshole today, Chief?" Koto snapped, clearly fed up.
Silence fell instantly.
The caravan stopped.
"What did you just call me?" the Chief asked calmly.
"I… yes. You've gone too far today."
The Chief turned to the gunners. "Is that true?"
No one answered.
He turned to the frontline. "Is it true that I've gone too far?"
Still silence.
"Is it true?" the Chief shouted.
No response.
"Then listen well, Koto," the Chief said coldly. "I can be far worse than this."
Koto said nothing, meeting the Chief's glare with raw anger.
"You may take the head," the Chief continued. "Take it. But you get no share of the meat."
"What?" Koto exclaimed.
"You wanted the head, didn't you? You can eat that. It'll be enough for today."
There was no reasoning with him. The Chief's mood was foul—hunger made monsters of men. Koto knew it well.
"Fine," Koto said bitterly. "Take everything. I don't want the head or the meat."
He rode ahead of the caravan, leaving the formation entirely.
"Koto! Hey—Koto!" the Chief called after him.
Koto ignored him, spurring his horse faster as he rode away.
"That damn brat," the Chief muttered.
Koto rode far away from the others, deeper into a narrow path hardened by snow. The trees around him seemed to mock his solitude, their frozen branches jutting out like accusing fingers.
"I'm sick of him," Koto muttered bitterly. "What the hell is wrong with that man today?"
"If this keeps up, I'll die out here," he continued to himself. "I'm starving."
He pressed onward. Hunger gnawed at his reason, dulling his thoughts. Everything he saw now seemed edible.
"So hungry… unbearably hungry…"
Only then did Koto truly register that he was riding a horse.
"Should I just eat you instead…?" he murmured.
The horse snorted, its breath steaming in the cold air—almost as if it were mocking him, daring him to try.
The thought vanished as quickly as it came. The horse belonged to the guild. If he killed it, he would survive the night only to be cast out beyond the city walls—and that would be a slower death.
As he moved farther along the path, something caught his eye: a clay jar resting by the roadside. Koto dismounted and approached it. Perhaps there was food inside, he thought desperately.
When he opened the jar, he froze.
Inside lay a baby boy.
"What… is this?"
The infant was tiny, his skin flushed red, wrapped in nothing but a thin cloth. His face carried a bluish tint from the cold of the season. He slept peacefully, undisturbed, even as snow continued to fall softly into the jar.
Koto broke into a wide smile.
He laughed.
"I'll make you my dinner tonight," he said, triumph flooding his voice.
By then, he could no longer distinguish right from wrong. Hunger had hollowed him out completely. He wanted nothing more than to cook the child—immediately.
Cradling the baby in his arms, Koto turned back toward home.
---