“Come in.” Aric heard from beyond the thick wooden door. He cracked it open, peeking inside before he entered. Captain Ragner sat busy at his organized desk, papers stacked in sorted sections. His grey hair lay above his shoulders, loosened from the tight knot he wore during the ceremonies.

  “You requested to see me, sir?” He asked.

  “Outpost Elma lies six days’ ride north. They’re to send a pigeon or rider once a week, but nothing has been heard for a fortnight.” Captain Ragner said. Spreading a map across his desk, he pointed at its location. “Daryn’s party will go and investigate the matter, and you’ll be the recruit joining them. You leave just after dawn.”

  Aric’s eyes widened. “Sir, I’m not sure if—”

  “You are now a hunter, Aric Greyard. Your job is to observe and learn from your party. If a vayrel is indeed behind this mystery, you will take no part in the battle, so calm your nerves.”

  He tightened his jaw, disappointed in himself. He’s never seen a vayrel, but he has seen what they leave behind. He believed himself ready to face his fears, but perhaps he was wrong. “Yes, sir.” Aric replied.

  “Go, prepare for your journey,” Captain Ragner said, his gaze still glued to his work.

  Aric took his leave. He walked through the courtyard and past the gates of Fort Tarasian, heading home after a long day. His house was in the village outside of the walls, where his parents raised him and sister, Julia.

  Their mother passed four years back, after months of fighting sickness. Their father, however, wasn’t so lucky. Like Aric, his father had been afflicted, but of the opposite consequence.

  Cursed by Nia, goddess of the moon, he could only walk in her light. Daylight would burn away his skin until nothing but bone remained. It was a slow, but excruciating process.

  He was last seen sixteen years ago, being pulled into the blanket of night by a vayrel. He did his duty as a hunter until the end. Aric heard his father’s screams, and that of the others who were butchered, while he and his sister sobbed into their mother's bosom from inside their home. The day following was that out of a nightmare. Carcasses torn apart, survivors missing arms and legs, severed by teeth marks. Haunted by tragedy, Aric still wishes he could have protected his father.

  Of course, those inside were told wolves attacked the village, not demons of folklore. Civilians caught in the fray had been escorted to ‘receive medical care’, none returned. The guards and hunters claimed they all bled out, but grieving families questioned their honesty.

  Though he’d always had his theories, Aric didn’t learn the truth until he started training as a hunter.

  He arrived home just before the sun’s light faded. Lighting a candle, he hung thick blankets over the windows—a nightly routine for all those Burned by the Bright One.

  Aric had heard the moon was a magical sight, but for him, it remained a forbidden beauty.

  Act Four

  Grey clouds lingered over the riders for most of the journey. Rain drifted in soft bursts, never falling hard enough to soak the dirt. Outpost Elma lay ahead, its details concealed behind a thin veil of fog. Aric could just make out the wooden palisades, blue and red banners dancing above the worn path leading in. Nothing more.

  Sergeant Daryn led at a cautious trot, his short, sunset-colored hair and unkempt beard dampened by the mist. Hunters Christoph and Rowen rode in front of Aric, a woman named Rue behind. Afflicted hunters were rare, but women among them were rarer still.

  Merac flanked the formation, watching over the group with seasoned diligence. His hollow gaze hinted at close encounters with the god of death, Mortuus. Far different from the drunken man he’d met at the feast.

  No words were spoken. Deep, gurgling calls of unseen ravens crowded overhead, a dense foreboding weighed on them like a burial stone.

  “Merac?” Sergeant Daryn asked.

  “Nothing, yet.”

  The Sergeant hesitated for a moment, then pulled his sword free. “Stay alert.”

  Aric flinched as steel sang and blades slid from their sheaths in practiced unison. He froze. Seconds thickened. Gripping his hilt, palms coated in sweat, he drew.

  Hitching their horses, they stepped into the outpost as if the ground might crack beneath them. Aric doubled over, unburdening his stomach. The guards meant to bid them welcome lay mangled in the dirt, now greeting only the ravens feasting on their spilled intestines.

  Bodies littered the outpost, motionless in congealed pools of blood. The firepit was cold, its warmth forgotten. The horses in the stables lay collapsed, dehydration having claimed them days ago. Doors to the stone towers were torn apart, splinters still clinging to the hinges. Even the glass, shattered from windows high above, refracted rays of light across the ground—any thread of hope that someone had survived was severed.

  “What in the gods’ name do you make of this?” Merac asked, scanning the carnage, his face grim.

  “Could a single vayrel cause such ruin in an outpost full of hunters?” Rue asked in return. Her straight platinum hair bounced with each step, a lone flicker of light in the fog-stained bloodbath.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Vayrels are solitary, dumb creatures. They don’t hunt in packs,” Christoph replied, his words lacking certainty. His face, wrinkled with age and trials, wore a troubled expression. The bags under his eyes sagged heavier than before.

  “They might be skilled in hunt, but unless it were a titan of a vayrel, it wouldn’t have attacked such a condensed group,” Merac added.

  “Maybe the demon sensed the group to be no threat,” Rowen mumbled.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “They’re our fellow hunters. Don’t you go disrespecting our dead in front of me,” Merac said, his speech stern.

  Rowen raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head. “It’s only disrespectful if I’m wrong.”

  “Whatever the case,” Sergeant Daryn cut in, “it’s best we leave it to speculation for now. Be it a pack or an intelligent vayrel, we aren’t prepared to confront it. Either theory disrupts everything we hunters have come to know. We should make haste back to Fort Tarasian.”

  The ravens watched them like a restless audience, cawing to one another in off-beat intervals. Then, without warning, they scattered into the sky. Silence pushed against the distant calls of retreating birds, gaining ground as the moments went.

  “Saddle your horses. We’re leaving,” Sergeant Daryn ordered, sword still in hand.

  No one protested. Aric and the others rushed to their mounts, eyes alert. Daryn set a brisk pace, the rest close behind, vanishing back into the mist.

  They rode for hours as Nia's Watch approached. Aric began to worry they might ride through the night, but said nothing, not wishing to burden his allies.

  At last, the sergeant slowed his tempo. “We’ll set up camp just ahead, near the lake.”

  “Don’t you think it best to continue till morning?” Rowen asked, his deep voice mismatched with his baby-like face. “I can’t be the only one who felt dread cackling from the shadows.”

  “We’re miles from Outpost Elma,” Daryn answered, “and we’ve got an afflicted party member to consider,”

  Aric kept his head down, his face warm and red, but he couldn’t help the sigh of relief that left him.

  “He hasn’t spoken but a word, I’m sure he can push onwards a bit longer. Right, greenhorn?” Rowen said, friendly in tone, but no one was fooled.

  “Bite your tongue, Rowen,” Merac called from behind. “It has been too long a day for your bitter jabs. If you’re afraid, keep riding. We’ll find you home.”

  “Come now, ol’ brave one. We’re all afraid of what may wake us in the dark. But don’t you ever tire of acting all high and mighty?” Rowen continued, his words potent with venom.

  “On second thought, perhaps I’ll rip out your tongue and leave it to the birds.”

  “Enough!” Sergeant Daryn barked, veins in his neck pulsing. “Your bickering’s worse than the choir of ravens we witnessed earlier. Set up camp so we might eat before the moon shows.”

  Aric still felt no room for his voice, so he kept his apologies and shame to himself.

  Christoph tended the fire, humming a quiet, distant melody as he cooked the hares. Merac and Rowen were tasked with setting up all of the tents. A clever punishment crafted by the sergeant, who was scouting the perimeter.

  Aric insisted on pitching his own. The fabric was thick and difficult to handle without experience.

  “Need a hand?” Rue asked, a voice softer than the hay stuffed in his pillow. “It’s getting darker by the second.”

  “Oh, no. I’m alright,” Aric said, not willing to make eye contact. He didn’t want her pretty features to see his flushed cheeks; his beard still hadn’t grown long enough to hide them. Though, his skin had begun to tingle, the last rays of sun protecting it.

  “Well, I reckon I’ll aid you anyways,” she replied, grabbing the central pole, allowing him to erect the tent without hindrance.

  In minutes, the tent was standing. “I’m grateful for your help,” he said, summoning the courage to meet her gaze.

  “No trouble at all. I’m sorry we haven’t spoken much, I wanted to see how you were fairing.” Her eyes, turquoise and empathetic, reminded him of his sister. “The scene at the outpost… it must’ve been hard to bear. It was a gruesome sight for even me, let alone a recruit on his first assignment.”

  “I’d be lying if I said otherwise. I did sicken at first glance, after all,” he admitted.

  “And I’m sorry for the spotlight Rowen threw you in. I’m glad Merac spoke up on your behalf, you were wise to hold your thoughts. Most of us don’t share Rowen’s sentiment, so don't let it get to you.”

  “It’s no problem, it’s much more welcoming here than it is in the south.” His teeth clenched as the words left him. The rage still fueled by the recent news. Leaving it in his mind, he asked, “Do you have any advice to give a new hunter?”

  She giggled, covering her mouth. “Perhaps have your meals in lighter portions so as to not stain your boots.”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling in spite of himself. “I learned that earlier.”

  “You didn’t look away. Most men would, and that tells us you’re on the right path.” Her voice gained sincerity as she continued. “The sergeants are experienced, so trust in their orders, even if you question the reason… And try to stay alive.”

  The aroma of rabbit stew lifted through the air as they ate, warm and soothing. Savory praise was given to Christoph for another fine meal. Aric returned to his tent and curled into his travel bed, the day’s chill sinking lower. He didn’t mind being tent-bound while the others lingered by the fire. His affliction kept him from taking part in the nightly watch, so his duty was to wake early and break down camp while the others ate their breakfast.

  His eyelids laid shut as he listened, an outsider to their camaraderie.

  “What was the song you were humming earlier?” He heard Rue ask, presumably to Christoph.

  “It was a melody about our goddess of life, the tale of how Staterra was made blind by her father,” Christoph replied.

  “I don’t think I’ve heard that story in song before?” Merac murmured, his mouth sounding full of food.

  “Come on then, let us hear it,” Rowen said, a curiosity playing in his voice.

  “I’d be glad to, but understand, I’m a hunter. No bard.”

  “We’ve heard you sing before and no one’s run from you yet. Go on, Christoph,” Sergeant Daryn chimed in, his tone dropping its authority.

  “The song is called ‘The Ballad Of Staterra’.”

  They went quiet for a moment. The burning logs cracked and shifted, as Christoph sang:

  She shaped the lands, the sands, the waves.

  In her hard work she revelled.

  On faith we stand, with hands, we pray.

  In her hard work we’re thankful.

  Engulfed in rage, her father burned

  her eyes. Her sight now darkened.

  Nia fought flames, explained in turn,

  Ushil’s guilt ever hardened.

  Ashamed, he laid within the void,

  his wrath gave way to sorrow.

  He bowed, then vowed to light the skies.

  An oath his wife would follow.

  Ushil at dawn, Nia at dusk.

  In their hard work, she revels.

  We understand, with hands, we pray.

  For their hard work, we’re thankful.

  His voice trailed off into the night.

  Aric thought the song was beautiful, though it was meant for the others. Lulled to the edge of slumber, he pretended it was meant for him as well.