《Tales of a Moonshadow Priest》


 The Curse of the Blackened Fields

    The black ground grumbles beneath my feet. It is the same in all directions; dead, black stone. There is no life to be seen anywhere. No trees, no scuttering wildlife, no humans going about their meaningless day-to-day lives.


    I, Sarenth, am alone.


    I move on, only stopping to examine the cracks in what would have been fields filled with wheat or potatoes back before the curse killed this land. A strange hue emanates from these cracks, carrying with them an arcane pulse, that resonates in my mind. I am getting closer, it would seem.


    As I move further and further east, the cracks appear more frequently and their magical counterpart is more present in the air around me. I reach out and the familiar golden light of soul magic covers my hand. Surprisingly, it is not the heavy dread of death, that I feel, but rather the light, dancing touch of life. Is the curse finally starting to degrade? There is no way of telling. Not yet, but I hope I will find an answer soon. Ever since the Ravenmother Wars half a century ago this land has been incapable of sustaining proper life. From the concealed part of my robes I pull out a small bottle stitched from the hide of a Urigo native to Alaniiren, the Summerlands. My homeland. The Ashen Blood, as I have come to call the substance, I carry, scorch my throat but it no longer hurts. Most of my meals in the two decades, I have called the Blackened Fields my home, have consisted of this liquid. It is the only ''food'' I have been able to scavenge from the black and grey rocks. A sudden spasm accompanied by bloodied coughing brings me to halt. My legs break beneath me and I fall to the ground, weakened of body, but not yet of mind. Resolutely, I force myself to stand and continue in the supposed direction of the magical source I have been tracking. If I do not reach my goal soon, I fear, it might never happen.


    A stranger approaches. If one is to travel from Alaniiren in the North to Therem in the South by land, one would have to cross the Fields. Plenty of desperate souls prey on these travelers, and this man has the look of a common marauder. I gather the necessary energy to cast an offensive spell, just in case. Though, I should think my ragged robes, face mask and hood, not to mention my ash-pale skin, would be enough to mark me as someone not to be messed with. But you never know. One true mark of desperation is the loss of common sense. I¡¯m nearing the man. Two meters before our paths cross he draws his sword, if you can call it that. Its edge is jagged and the leather on the hilt seems rotten, but there is no doubt that it can still perform its primary task. Unfortunately for him, I am prepared. I reach into the depths of his soul, my arm representing the magic¡¯s route. A black light floats in front of my bent fingers. This man is strong of spirit despite his situation. If I was adept in telepathy, I might even have found myself tempted to crack open his mind and spill of his secrets. But instead I relieve him of his life-giving soul, a little trick I learned from studying the curse. Hopefully in death the bandit will see the folly of his actions.


    Towards evenfall I come upon a small caravan of wagons camped for the night. I see at least three soldiers standing guard around the encampment; all of them dressed in the same white-blue color scheme. In the back of my mind, I recognize it. Flashes of memory. Home. Childhood. My mother with her books and my father with his herbs and pots. These are the colors of the Telani bloodline, the rulers of the great city Mareel. My family. I look down at my own robes and grunt. Once, they sported the same colors, before the ash greyed them.


    Caught up in my own thoughts, I never notice the guard closest to me walking forward with his spear pointing right at my chest.


    ¡°Halt!¡±, he bellows. ¡°Who goes there and with what business?¡±


    ¡°Easy now¡±, I reply with a calming gesture with no hint of surprise showing. ¡°I am simply passing through. My business lays elsewhere and is entirely my own.¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    As I step into the light of the nearest torch, the guard flinches as if I had just revealed my monstrous T¡¯chisai fangs. ¡°Are you wearing Telani robes? Did you steal them?¡±


    Aggresive, but probably tired. ¡°I got these at the academy in Mareel.¡± My words awaken some recognition in my new acquaintance¡¯s face, it seems, but it does not push him of his illusionary pillar of authority, unfortunately.


    ¡°You are Alaniirenian, huh? What are you doing here in the middle of nowhere?¡±


    ¡°As I said, my business lays elsewhere. I''m a traveller, not unlike yourself¡± I try to make my way past him but he cuts me of.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± he asks with a look that tells me that he does in fact not care about my name at all.


    ¡°Iliaren Colia¡±, I tell him though it has been years, since anyone has used my brother''s name.


    ¡°And where are you from, mister Colia?¡±


    ¡°Mareel, as I said. Now please, either let me pass through your encampment or let me be.¡± Judging by the change in his eyes, he does not approve. I sigh and summon the necessary magic. He has forced my hand.


    ¡°Listen, you¡­¡± he starts but is interrupted as the tether linking his soul to his flesh is broken. He drops to his knees and lingers there, still staring into the void, until his bones finally give in. Determined, I step over him and enter the encampment.


    I would have preferred to stay in the darkness around the circle but it would take up too much precious time. Instead I attempt the nearly impossible task of blending in.


    The people here seem to be either jolly or in despair; some sit around bonfires laughing at whatever dull joke his neighbor just told. Others try to hide their weeping by shrouding themselves in shadows.


    All, however, turn their attention to me when I walk past.


    A fire-haired man even goes as far as to call the guards. Dammit. I had hoped, I could avoid further distraction tonight. Before the guards can stop me, I summon an orb of dark light between my hands and I feel the same energy pulsate from my eyes. It only grows more intense as I guide more power into my spell. I lock gazes with one particular woman amongst the terrified crowd that has gathered around me. She clutches her round belly tight, as if she knows what is about to happen. Then, I let go.


    With me as its eye, a storm of life-magic envelops every single body and soul it can get close to. Screams of terror tear through the night, then there is silence. It does not matter. I knew plenty, who considered the dark arts of soul-magic evil, but death is as much a truth of existence as life itself. What does it matter if it comes a little sooner?


    Ones more, I cast the spell needed to track the pulse and find it even more powerful than prior to my outburst. I have to wonder. Did my spell fuel the curse? Or did I throw tinder onto the fire that will burn away the corruption? Hopefully, time will tell but right now, I have little choice but to follow the path laid out for me.


    That path becomes clearer and clearer with each step. Silence fills my head, and yet my skull is on the brink of bursting. Night has conquered day as it always has, but this time, it feels different. No, I realize, it is different. There is no light, no moon, no stars. Ogliara himself seems to have given up on this land as well. But not me. Not yet.


    I swear, twenty years ago I would have broken under this pain a long time ago, but now I am fueled by righteousness; it is my duty, my purpose, to cure the Blackened Fields of its ancient curse and thus save the rest of Tarensia, maybe all Vaft, from its grasp. The thought invigorates my legs and I stumble ever onwards.


    Long after I collapsed on the ground, I come across a pit of darkness. But this darkness is somehow deeper than the rest of the world and staring into it is like looking into my own soul. My breath grows shorter and I am certain someone - or something - is watching me. Desperately, I try to locate it, but I see nothing. ¡°I have gone blind¡±, my voice echoes from a hundred worlds away. Does it matter?


    And then it hits me. The impact flings my body twenty meters backwards. I never hit the ground. Suspended in a limbo, a voice speaks to me in a tongue, I shouldn¡¯t understand and yet it is all clear. It shows me a painting from beneath the earth, one of golden farms and breathing trees. The air isn¡¯t clouded with ash but with hopes and dreams and the smell of fresh tears. Mine. I am in the middle of it all, responsible for the glory. I won¡¯t ever allow corruption to manifest itself again. This painting is beautiful.


    The voice hands me a gift. It is the power to make the painting come true, to return the Fields to their former beauty. I reach out for the pulsating, black orb, the very thing I have been searching for these past countless years.


    And then I fall.

 Hunters Woes, part 1

    Darlin¡¯s spear hissed forward in a perfect arc, only moments before its twin came in from Parlin¡¯s side, but that was all, Ymra needed. She parried with her own spear and quickly (sloppy) stepped to the side, before twisting her stance and jabbing Darlin in the ribs with the wooden end of her weapon. Surprised more so than hurt, Darlin moves his attention away from the actual fight and onto his hurting ribcage. Foolish. Completely disregarding the worried eyes of the onlookers, the rest of their branch, she stepped up on Darlin¡¯s now exposed knee, breaking his stance and causing him a lot more pain than a sore chest. He always did have an issue focusing especially when presented with a small distraction. One time at a Summer¡¯s Eve feast, Ymra had seen him making a lot of promises to a seemingly random girl from another branch, only to completely ignore her the moment Alera, the prettiest girl in the entire tribe, stepped into the hut. It was Darlin¡¯s big weakness, just as uncontrolled anger was his sister¡¯s.


    ¡°Brother!¡±, yelled Parlin. They were all brothers and sisters in the branch, but Darlin and Parlin shared blood and had always been inseparable. Now Parlin rushed to avenge her twin, spear raised high like a very angry and very impatient viper. She leapt over Darlin, who was on the ground clutching his knee tight, and attempted to strike at Ymra, who barely (pathetically) sidestepped it, even though she saw it coming. Parlin roared and swung the spear overhead, only to be met by a deflecting strike. Ymra countered with a jab to Parlin¡¯s side, anticipating a dash forward as a means of evasion, but instead the other girl stepped towards Ymra and landed a kick in her abdomen. Parlin clearly didn¡¯t hold back, but neither did Ymra. She never did. She blocked the next two attacks with relative ease, but she knew, she wouldn¡¯t be able to parry all the attacks coming from the mindless Parlin. What advantage did she have? She was not going to lose to Parlin, of all people. She didn¡¯t find an answer before the pummeling of her (imperfect) defense had her swirling around on her back foot, attempting to retain balance.


    Of course (you should have seen it)! Darlin was currently the twins¡¯ weaker root, and Ymra intended for the hole tree to come tumbling down. The boy had slowly begun to rise, but in two steps and a kick, Ymra had him on his stomach again. He grunted in pain. She paid him no mind. They were branch-siblings, which meant they competed and pushed each other to their limits. He would scuff at her during their evening meal, maybe refuse to speak to her, but most of the branch did that already. Parlin and Darlin despised her for her superiority, Egira always looked hurt, Demur was an idiot and didn¡¯t comprehend anything, she said, and Tasar was afraid of her, of that she was certain. Only Ern, the Stonearse he was called (a mockery of you), spoke to her, laughed at her quips and understood the competitiveness, which was the spirit of Niq culture. He was probably the only one, who didn¡¯t look at this sparring match with disapproval, hate or fear. She imagined his eyes radiating curiosity and marvel at her ingenuity. In the back of her mind, even as she prepared to spring her trap for Parlin, she smiled. She had never really cared to impress anyone, only to prove herself the best and quench that nagging voice of doubt in her mind, but Stonearse¡¯s approval and¡­ affection, if she was so lucky (you don¡¯t deserve that, weakling), was a prize, she wouldn¡¯t mind.


    The line of thought seized to exist as Parlin yelled at her. ¡°What are you doing?!¡± The yell was not as much a question as it was an expression of disbelief. It was, in fact, obvious what she was doing. She held Darlin¡¯s right arm by the wrist with one hand while applying pressure to his elbow with the other. Her spear laid neatly on the spring-green grass next to her. It would not be needed to end this.


    ¡°Put down your spear, or Darlin¡¯s arms snaps.¡± It felt pointless to say, but Ymra wasn¡¯t certain Parlin¡¯s mind worked well enough to figure it out on its own. The would-be viper spread her arms in appeal.


    ¡°He is our brother! Do you care so little for our branch that you would hurt him just to win a sparring match?¡± Parlin tried to sound as tender as possible, but Ymra could feel the instinctual desire to pounce in the words. It was a nice, albeit clumsy, attempt of emotional manipulation, but it was not a game, she could win. Ymra was certain, Parlin would break before Darlin¡¯s arm, so she put a little more weight onto the already fully strained joint as a respond to the plea. The boy made a face, but to his credit, he didn¡¯t scream. Parlin, on the other hand, looked like she was about to cry.


    ¡°Surrender, Parlin¡±, Ymra commanded with an icy tone. Parlin snarled and moved her feet slightly but in the end, she complied. Her spear fell to the grassy floor with a heavy thump, which made a few birds take flight in the outskirts of the large meadow, the Niq used for training. Ymra¡¯s heart expanded a bit before falling back into its normal rhythm, her typical response to victory. A small smile even danced on her lips, when she let go of Darlin, gaze still locked on his sister, who rushed to help him. He wasn¡¯t hurt, though, so Ymra left the Snake¡¯s Eyes to themselves and turned to find Ern¡¯s eyes instead. The rest of the branch all sat on a hollowed-out trunk placed in the shadow of the great tucum-trees that inhabited most of the forest. Egira, or Egi as she insisted on them calling her, sat between Dum-Dum, the halfwit (that was almost too generous) and Greentoe, the coward. It seemed fitting for the branch¡¯s self-proclaimed peacekeeper and maternal figure to take care of those children. She had that despicable, righteous look on her face that she only whipped out, when she was about to root out a problem in their behavior, which there always was an abundance off, apparently. Dum-Dum¡¯s attention was caught by a butterfly that Ymra had to admit was quite beautiful, while Tasar sat with his shoulders leaning forward in a very unenergetic position. If Ymra knew him at all, and she did, he was probably thinking about running of to that favorite swamp of his, the one, whose waters had earned him his nickname, Greentoe. Ern, though, was nowhere to be found. Disappointing.


    While walking back to the village, seated comfortably amidst the enormous trees of the Krathen forest, Ymra¡¯s victory slowly turned hollow. It wasn¡¯t the first time, this had happened, nor did she expect it to be the last, but even a hollow victory was far better than defeat. Egira always tried to convince her that winning their training competition wasn¡¯t at all important or meaningful, that she would find happiness in their branch and in the spirits of the forest, but how could she know anything about Ymra¡¯s needs? She had to quench the voice in the back of her head by proving herself repeatedly, because if she didn¡¯t, who would she be?


    Right?


    (Of course)


    The village unfolded itself in front of them, a collection of huts, large in comparison to the other Niq settlements, Ymra had been told, arranged in a circle around the Nightfire. That was where they were headed. Around it, other Niq tribesmen and -women had already started preparing for tonight¡¯s feast, which was to be hold in the honor of a hunter, who had just returned from a pilgrimage to the sacred tree, Niquol, and was thus prepared to take the mantle of Dreamer once the current one would rejoin the wilds. Ymra didn¡¯t like being forced to praise others, but at least she would get to eat some of the best game, the hunters had killed.


    They found Stonearse in the outer circle of benches, sitting with a cup of eom in one hand and a piece of venison in the other, his face spilling over with content and glee. Ymra made to sit down next to him, but Egi proved quicker for ones. Ymra had to settle with sitting next to Tasar and sipping her eom. She didn¡¯t feel any of Ern¡¯s satisfaction from drinking the nectar, and the meat turned out to be dull.


    (It¡¯s not like you deserved any of it anyway).


    She wanted to be alone.


    This was going to be a long evening.


    One look at Gerren would show you an elderly, gray-haired man, but should your gaze linger a little while longer, you would start to notice the strength, with which the hunter moved, and the scars of many a long night in the Krathen forest. Despite all this, though, he still felt like a young man, running around Selma¡¯s Bay looking for trouble.


    Gerren had been kneeling in front of a statue of Saint Selma in the Grand Cathedral in Marhen, the largest of the Three Cities, but his already limited piety was interrupted, when one of his nameless recruits entered the communion chamber.


    ¡°Captain.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ¡°Recruit.¡±


    ¡°An enormous beast has been sighted just beyond the northern border of Old Port, sir. Your attention has been requested, sir.¡± The recruit folded his hands behind his back and stood just a little taller. Gerren had a sneaking suspicion that the young man just overcame some fear, he might have had prior to coming here. Good. Hunters faced their nightmares every night, so they might as well start training now.


    The only difference being, of course, that Gerren would never eat the recruit alive.


    ¡°Well then. I was just about done here anyway. What is the point of asking a saint for guidance, if she never answers?¡± The recruit, of course, didn¡¯t answer. Banter had no place in the minds of most hunters, sadly.


    Gerren reached the edge of the Krathen as the moon was hanging low in the sky above him. It was a chilling night, perfect for a hunt. The air itself seemed pale, and yet it could have been blood-red in comparison to the faces of the men and women gathered before him. He saw experienced hunters with their enchanted blades and grim expressions, but also green boys and young women. He sighed to himself. Thank Selma, there wasn¡¯t any little girls among the crowd this time. He didn¡¯t think, he would have the strength to carry another one of those home.


    ¡°Huntress! Report!¡± he barked at one of his officers.


    The woman saluted him and said: ¡°A group of Tyren has been spotted just north of here, captain. And what is worse; they were seen in the company of a blue wolf.¡±


    Gerren cringed. A blue wolf? This close to the Three Cities? It had been years since he had hunted one of those, and that had been a sore mistake, the kind one does not atone for. While they died quite easily, blue wolfs could slaughter an entire hunting party in minutes. ¡°What are those insectoid bastards doing with a blue wolf? They should be natural enemies. This doesn¡¯t make any sense. Do we know anything else?¡±


    ¡°No, sir.¡±


    ¡°Hmmm. Then I guess, we must find out.¡±


    A visible tension spread amongst the gathered townsfolk, who fancied themselves hunters; the real hunters, on the other hand, remained as composed as ever.


    Good. Survival had thought them a thing or two.


    ¡°Listen up! In a moment, we will be entering the Krathen in search of these Tyren and the beast that they are with. We will hunt them down and kill them in defense of our loved ones here in the cities. Know that if you decide to join our party, however, you will likely die tonight.¡± The crowd did a collective swallow as he said that, but he felt better not lying to these poor fellows. ¡°Now is the time to make the choice. Will you join the hunt?¡±


    Slowly a few people stood up and walked away from the edge of the forest and back to civilization. Then more followed, probably content that they didn¡¯t have to be the first ones to show cowardice. Gerren couldn¡¯t blame them. Facing a blue wolf, even though many of them likely didn¡¯t know, what a blue wolf was, wasn¡¯t the sort of experience, people fantasied about. Or at least, they would prefer it staying a fantasy.


    A few minutes later and all that was left of the crowd, was a few women, a couple of lads and the hunters that served under Gerren¡¯s command. ¡°All right,¡± he said, drawing his sword. ¡°Tonight, we hunt!¡± The dramatic show did manage to raise some level of spirit among the newcomers but not much more than that, sadly.


    And with those words, the party of hunters and recruits embarked on their journey into the Krathen forest with the intent of killing a monster.


    Ymra had run away. Not because she had been hurt in any way, as one might assume to be the reason, but because she couldn¡¯t take the sheer stupidity of these children anymore. Egira had attempted to stop a fight between the Snake¡¯s Eyes, even though that was completely normal behavior for Parlin and Darlin, Demur had fallen on his face and started crying helplessly, and Ern just kept on drinking his annoying eom, even when she had invited him to a game of sticks, which they had always had fun playing together


    (He was always bored)


    So, she had been sitting by herself doing nothing but chewing on meat and dry bread, and eventually she had decided that enough was enough and had left. Egi had sent her that look, which Ymra promptly returned, and left the other girl with the boys and Parlin. Really, Egira should thank her, considering her tendency to treat the branch as a web with herself as the spider and her need to be recognized as such.


    Crawling over tree trunks and jumping over streams, Ymra made her way through the Krathen in the opposite direction of her village. She climbed up a massive oak to get a taste of the cool evening air, but in doing so she accidently disturbed a sleeping eagle and its offspring, which resulted in Ymra quickly fleeing the scene, as she sensed the bird-mother¡¯s instinct to defend her children. Back on the ground again, Ymra exhaled slowly. She should probably head back, unless she wanted a full lecture about safety and tradition, not only from Egira, but also from the Hunt-Mother, and she really didn¡¯t want to have to endure another one of those again. It was after she had finished that exact thought that her eyes fell on a set of tracks on the ground.


    ¡°Tyren? So close to the village?¡± Ymra mumbled to herself. The humanoid ants usually kept to themselves in their colonies, but even the closet one was still far away from the village. She had only ever encountered Tyren, when some members of the tribe had gone up north to hunt elk, and she had joined them. There, they had traded some wolf pelts for the mushrooms, the giant ants grew. If they had come this far down south, assuming they were in fact from that particular colony, something must have been seriously wrong. And Ymra intended to find out what that was.


    Following the tracks, she soon noticed the presence of other sentient beings in the area. Tracks from the large group of Tyren, obviously, but also a feint light in the distance, which she assumed to be torches. Humans, then. Probably not Niq, since her people preferred to rely on their own ability to see in the dark, so maybe people from the Three Cities? While the Niq had little contact with these people, and Ymra had never met them herself, she knew about them, their reckless behavior and barbarian hunting methods. Once again, she found herself wondering, what a group was doing this close to her village.


    The tracks let towards the fire, so instead of following behind the Tyren, Ymra took to the treetops, jumping from branch to branch and swinging across the occasional gap. An hour or so later, she caught up with the Tyren.


    And they were in the company of a spirit.


    A wolf spirit, to be exact. In human standards, it was enormous, as tall as one-and-a-half large men, and its paws were the size of her head, which she figured, it could take off in one fell swoop. When one of the Tyren called for a halt with a gesture, the wolf spirit howled, and Ymra¡¯s blood froze in her veins. The fire from the humans were gone, so at least they had some sense, but Ymra had an impression of fear on her mind, so she knew, they had to be close by.


    Gerren saw the Tyren before anyone else. Well, saw was a bit of an exaggeration, as he had only sensed their instinctual needs through a silent spell, he had casted. He threw up a hand that said ¡°stop¡± before turning around to face his companions.


    ¡°Keep behind me and be ready for anything. Alright?¡± The faces nodded. ¡°Good. Let¡¯s go!¡± Enchanted sword in hand, Gerren moved forward with a hunched back and a balanced stance. With his left hand, he drew mana into a key point inside his half-clenched fist. A feint, green light danced there, a physical representation of his magic. Then he saw it.


    Of course, he had expected the Tyren, and they came as no surprise to him, but the blue wolf was larger than any, he had ever seen. He was honestly terrified, not that he would ever project that to his recruits or even his hunters, who he imagined would be trembling in their boots at this point. No matter his feelings, though, he knew there was only one thing to do:


    ¡°Charge it!¡±


    Gerren thrusted his blade forward and released his spell at the same time. The manastreams flowed through his right arm and leg, carrying them forward faster than he could ever have done himself. With all his weight and magical speed behind it, the silver-edged steel sword found flesh - blue, half-ethereal flesh, that is. That was lucky.


    The wolf snarled in, what Gerren inferred to be pain, and pulled back, while some of the Tyren warriors tried to move in on him, but his fellow humans came roaring, before they reached him. While the townsfolk under the leadership of the hunters kept the bastards at bay, Gerren continued his work on the blue wolf. Grapping his sword with both hands, he swung it in a large arc over his head and down on the monster, who was still slowed by the wound in its chest. While blue wolfs didn¡¯t bleed, their body still took damage and could be killed, thankfully, and this attack did most of the work. The wolf - now on the ground - did a low growl, a last act of defiance, before Gerrens weapon pierced its heart, and its flash evaporated into the air. He exhaled slowly. This had gone a lot smoother than expected.


    That was what he thought, until he looked up. Out of the dozen or so upcoming recruits, four still stood on their feet. A huntress by the name of Trisha laid on the ground, her intestines ripped out of her guts. She was seemingly the only one of the leather-clad protectors of the Cities, who hadn¡¯t survived the night. So far at least. Respectfully, Gerren closed Trisha¡¯s eyes with his thumb and index finger before turning to inspect the battlefield properly. The Tyren menace were dead, so was the blue wolf and the aforementioned townsfolk and huntress. Next, he cast a quick spell to sense the magical layout of the instincts of the creatures around him, which revealed a mix-match of self-preservation, run, sleep and¡­ wait, what? Gerren looked up into the treetops, and in one fluid motion he leapt into the air using his magic, grabbed a branch and swung himself onto another. He then concentrated his effort on the strange sensation he had felt moments earlier. There, among the leaves!


    It was a little girl. Age fifteen, he guessed, and a savage at that.


    ¡°Hello there, little one.¡±


    The girl looked up in surprise before taking a battle stance only moments later. Then, like a divine revelation just opened itself for her, she relaxed and said something, Gerren didn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°I don¡¯t speak your tongue, I¡¯m afraid, but it matters not.¡± He rushed forward and grabbed her upper arm and despite her struggles, he was the strongest of the two. ¡°You are coming with us.¡±

 Hunters Woes, part 2

    Ymra awoke in her hut, surrounded by her branch, her family, with the warmth pulsing from the hearth hitting her straight in the face. Strange, really. Egira usually hated sleeping in a warm hut, and as Egi wished, so would the world typically obey - their world at least -, and yet¡­


    Ymra rose from her furs and stretched to banish the sleep from her muscles, before she walked over to the massive deerskin that served as a door to the hut. Outside, she found the world to be completely covered in snow. Odd. She could have sworn, it was summer just yesterday. She scratched her head, but the massive bulge on the back of her head, which she had apparently forgotten, was excruciating to touch.


    ¡°What is going on?¡±, Ymra asked out loud. This whole scene confused her. That was, until she recognized it.


    ¡°Right. This is when I go hunting with Stonearse¡­¡± Slowly, she put one and one together. ¡°I am dreaming.¡± She snapped her fingers and pointed to the sky. The sound was loud and clear, as one would expect from such an action, but Ymra had never been able to get it quite right, and yet, now she could.


    ¡°Alright, that settles it, and since none of us want to relive this day, I would prefer to wake up now, if that is okay with you.¡± The sky didn¡¯t bother to respond to her.


    (Do you remember¡­)


    Oh yes, she remembered. She remembered how badly she would mess up later this day and frankly, she would rather throw herself in a river than see it again. So, if she could just wake up, please, world, don¡¯t be a jerk¡­


    The sight that greeted her on the other side of sleep wasn¡¯t exactly, what one would call pleasant or even clear for that matter. First thing first, it was dark, so much that Ymra couldn¡¯t make out any details besides the iron bars to the right of her. That, however, wasn¡¯t something, she would consider a detail, as much as the answer to the riddle of where she was.


    They threw me in a cell.


    Even though the Niq didn¡¯t use prisons like this, Ymra knew of them from the stories, she had heard from merchants from the so-called Three Cities. Therefore, she assumed that was where, she now found herself. Slowly, it all came back to her; the Tyren, the wolf-spirit and the agile, old man, who had taken her with him and later hit her on the head. The bulge still burned, but at least it didn¡¯t seem to bleed, so she had that going for her.


    Here, in this prison. In a foreign place she didn¡¯t really understand. Held captive by a spirit-slaying hunter.


    And to think, she could have been drinking eom with Ern instead.


    Ymra laughed. It was not one born of humor, but of a prisoner¡¯s dreadful reflection and following realization: She was doomed.


    As time passed in the dark cell, Ymra come to another realization: She missed her branch. ¡°Yeah, I can¡¯t believe it either,¡± she said to absolutely nobody and whomever happened to be in earshot of her. She was certain those were the same, as no one had made themselves known to her. ¡°I miss Dum-Dum¡¯s half-witted comments, I miss Tasar¡¯s fearful skulking. And, Niquol take me for this, I miss Egira¡¯s constant string-pulling. I miss Ern¡¯s eyes, and the Snake¡¯s Eye¡¯s fighting.¡±


    In the darkness, she didn¡¯t have any sense of time, so instead of counting days and nights, she started counting sleeps. She had now been in this hole for precisely seventy-seven sleeps and awakenings not counting the first time, she woke up in here. Once, after the thirty-sixth sleep, a singular guardsman had come to give her something to fill her empty belly. Then, food had begone to arrive more and more regularly, as if someone finally remembered that they had captured her. She wondered, when the old hunter could be bothered to visit her down here. She knew, she was down, because the man carrying the food entered via a set of stairs, but that was also the limit of her knowledge. A prison, underground. Why she was here, she still didn¡¯t know. She went to sleep for the seventy-eighth time in the darkness.


    It had been three weeks since Gerren had slain the blue wolf and carried home a prisoner, he did not yet know what to do with. All he did know was what he had detected out in the woods; a strange sensation, an urge, not unlike the ones he himself instilled in others via his spells. This led him to believe he girl had some natural ability with the magic of the forest, a rare gift even among the citizens of the Three Cities. Magical prowess was typically earned through years of intense study and training, but a few here and there was born with a sort of natural attunement to the flow of mana through Krathen. They still needed training, of course, but they would already have the basics in place. Gerren himself had had no such talent, but his old friend and mentor, Oliva, had seen the value of summoning bestial strength in battle and had therefore past her knowledge and skill down to Gerren, who in turn would train any with the fortitude required for the arcane.


    And he had. Many, in fact. Some still served as hunters, others had died as hunters tend to. But the rest¡­ the rest had been lost to madness, now roaming the forest as little more than feral beasts themselves. To a point, Gerren blamed himself, as most teachers would when their students fall to hubris. But then again, he did not force them attempt increasingly more difficult spells, nor did he fail to inform them about the risks.


    Bah. He knew, he shouldn¡¯t dwell on it, but now that it is was there, the thought seemed to refuse to leave his skull. Maybe he would drown it later.


    There would be no time for drinking that night, sadly. As captain, he was the first to be informed every time some new duty for the hunters popped up, and it was his job to disperse various recruits and established hunters and huntresses to the sites. It was a lot of paperwork and absolutely no fun. Gerren wouldn¡¯t say, he hated it, as it was an incredibly important task, and therefore an honorable one, but it didn¡¯t compare in the slightest to the feeling of tracking and slaying a beast. After he had fulfilled his duties, he had been too exhausted to even lift a mug, so he had gone straight to bed. The next day had proved much the same and so the cycle had continued for another two weeks, before he finally had some spare time.


    And probably much to the disappointment of an undefined amount of people, Gerren decided to spend this time in a prison.


    He found his prisoner in a seemingly random cell in the underground prison under the headquarters of the Cities¡¯ peacekeeping force called Selma¡¯s Vigilance, where he had originally asked her to be kept. Capturing her had been an impulse, but he didn¡¯t want her to suffer in the Commons, the dungeon for the typical filth. These cells where supposed to hold both important political prisoners, not that there were many of those around, ever since the Three Cities merged, but decent citizens whose crimes weren¡¯t worthy of proper imprisonment would also sometimes end up here. No one here would be awakened to torture or starved for days, until rats were all the food, they could get - this was the practice in the Commons - , but no prison was comfortable, of course.


    Gerren tapped the bars to the girl¡¯s cell lightly with his right index finger. The sound was low and probably wouldn¡¯t disturb any other prisoner in here, but apparently loud enough to wake her from her slumber.


    Good, he thought. She doesn¡¯t sleep deeply. It was a quality, Gerren had come to appreciate throughout his career.


    The girl rose to her knees, still a bit dizzy from her slumber, before rising to her full height. For a young adult, she wasn¡¯t very tall, a head or so shorter than Gerren, but she had an athletic build that told the old hunter not to underestimate her in combat. And there was a certain rhythm to her eyes, making him suspect, she was analyzing him just as he was her. Another fine quality and an indication that this one was a hunter herself. Not the beast-slaying protector that he and his order was, but more primal interpretation of what that mantle meant. He could work with that, assuming she was willing to learn.


    From him. Her captor.


    He recognized the inherit silliness of the idea, not to mention that training a savage would be a complete first for any hunter.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Oh well. It won¡¯t hurt to try, I guess.


    ¡°Hello.¡±


    No response.


    It took Gerren¡¯s thoughts a moment too much to catch up.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right. You don¡¯t speak our tongue. Well, luckily, we do have answers for that.¡± And then, mostly to himself; ¡°Why am I saying this out loud? She doesn¡¯t understand it anyway.¡±


    The leather-clad man led Ymra up from the darkness to the surface, where she was met with strange sounds and unknown, queasy smells that made her stomach turn. Even the sun here seemed different from the one she was used to with its reflections on the grey stone and dead wood that made up most of this place. She must have stumbled or at least hesitated, because the man gestured for her to follow him once more. Did he seem nervous?


    (See what you have gotten yourself into?)


    She had been careless and impulsive, when she had left home, yes, but she didn¡¯t think, she was to blame for her capture. The hunter had somehow seen her amongst the treetops, even though she had been hidden by the leaves, and he had moved faster than an old man had any right to, so how could she possibly have avoided getting captured? It didn¡¯t really matter anymore, but the nagging thought still lingered despite her best efforts to rid herself of it. She looked around ones more, this time ignoring the strangeness, and instead focusing on finding a way out and back into the forest. There, she could probably escape anyone sent by the Cities, since she would be aware of their intensions this time. There was just one tiny problem; the buildings and streets around her reminded her more of a maze than any settlement, and before she could even begin to make any sense of it, the old hunter signaled to her through primal body language that they had arrived.


    Their destination turned out to be a relatively large stone building with banners that wavering slightly in the wind placed on both sides of a massive wooden door with brunt metal reinforcements. The old man knocked three times on the door, to which the voice of a young man responded.


    He asked a question, the thick door dampening the sound of his words, and the hunter responded in a tone that wasn¡¯t quite a yell but would still earn you an annoyed look around a campfire. Ymra obviously didn¡¯t understand, what they were saying, but she would assume that this place and the man on the other side of the door was part of some institution, which might very well turn out to be bad for her, an outsider and a prisoner.


    Eventually, the door opened with a loud, metallic complaining and to her surprise, Ymra locked eyes with a man not much younger than the one escorting her. He then spoke directly to her, his voice and face not really agreeing on their age, and Ymra understood that he expected her to answer. Instinctively, she looked to the old man for help, which in hindsight was equally as odd as the other man¡¯s appearance. The hunter seemed to clarify the situation to which the scholar shrugged.


    Wait, what? How in the name of the Niquol, did she know that he was a scholar?


    No, not a scholar. A genius. The future of the Three Cities and a gentleman through and through.


    Ymra tensed.


    Relax, she thought, I¡¯m just kidding.


    I DIDN¡¯T THINK THAT!


    She recoiled, taking up as good of a fighting stance as the rope around her wrists would allow. The scholar¡­ genius¡­ MAN¡¯S hands spun a brilliant white light that seemed to almost dance. It was beautiful, almost hypnotizing. He spoke then, not through his mouth but through the light and directly into her mind: ¡°Come on. I have something to show you.¡±


    ¡°Why can I understand you?¡± she asked out loud. It felt awkward to break a silence halfway through a conversation like that. Instead of responding, the man simply grinned, turned around and tapped his right temple twice. Ymra followed, unsatisfied with the answer and completely puzzled.


    They entered a circular room made entirely of bookcases and dominated by a leather-bound armchair placed in the middle of a concoction of circles and triangles. A similar pattern was stitched into the fabric of the chair with a fair string, which stood in odd contrast to the darkened room. The scholar held up a glowing hand and the shapes on the floor responded in kind, earning a gasp from Ymra.


    ¡°Please. Take a seat.¡± Ymra did, what he asked, despite her instinct of danger.


    (Foolish)


    ¡°What is this?¡± she asked, eyes transfixed on the beautiful intensity of the light.


    ¡°This is a place of learning, Ymra.¡± Even though it was the voice of the scholar, she heard, it came from all around her, inside the light and from the books, from the chair and from her own thoughts. It was terrifying and entrancing all at the same time. It was weird, an oddity she felt in the middle of her core, but also completely natural like the knowledge of how to walk or blink or speak. She had never seen anything like this or felt a sensation like this, this intrusion into her mind. The voice continued:


    ¡°We are imprinting on you the very essence of our culture - our language.¡± A sharp sting followed.


    ¡°But how?¡± she thought out loud.


    Suddenly, the light was gone, and Ymra was left stunned in the chair, trying to understand what in the world had just happened. The old hunter waved his hands in outgoing arcs, whispering; ¡°magic¡±, as if that explained anything. The only magic, Ymra had ever known was the healing and spiritual communion of the Dreamer, and it definitely didn¡¯t feel like this.


    She understood him. She wasn¡¯t supposed to understand him, but she did. She opened her mouth and let of some random words that didn¡¯t really form a sentence, but they proved one thing; this wasn¡¯t the Niq tongue. She then focused, switching something in her brain, and spoke again. This time, it was the familiar sounds of her people, but it felt so foreign to wield them.


    ¡®Ours are the word of the forest¡¯. Where does this leave me?


    She stood and looked at the two men, flipped her voice once more and spoke with a ferocity that clearly took them by surprise: ¡°How could you do this to me!? I am of the Niq and you have taken away even that! Wasn¡¯t it enough to bind me and throw me in the dark? Why?¡±


    Ymra hadn¡¯t even realized, how angry she had been. In the cell, she had been sad and miserable (like always), but never filled with a wrath like this. In a way, it was satisfying - like she could burn off the rope and the faces of these two dimwits without any consequences - but also annoying. She hated losing her cool like this, but of all the times to shout, this one felt right, as it was the first with them understanding her words. Her hands curled into fists and her stomach turned to stone as she waited for a response. In the back of her mind, a smaller self grinned, knowing that Egira would have cried, had she been the one to be captured.


    Egira paced back and forth between the long-since died pyre and her family, resentment flashing in her thoughts. ¡°She should have been back by now. Where in the world is she?¡± Demur, Tasar and Ern didn¡¯t answer. She sighed. Ymra had run off the night before in that typical Ymra fashion, but unlike her, she hadn¡¯t returned to boast or be sassy or something like that, and it was honestly a little worrying. On a somewhat related note: Where were Parlin and Darlin? This time she groaned, resolving in a cautious look from Tasar and a more questioning one from Ern.


    ¡°She will be back, Egi. Don¡¯t worry, she can take care of herself. I hope.¡± He added the last part in a teasing matter that he knew would piss off the girl, and it worked. Egira turned to stare him down in the most intimidating way, she could muster.


    ¡°Ern, this isn¡¯t funny. Urgh, why can¡¯t she just stop doing this? Doesn¡¯t she realize how much it hurts us that she refuses to just enjoy herself?¡± Then, noticing his eyes, she added; ¡°I¡¯m sorry, brother, it¡¯s just¡­ what if she gets killed. We wouldn¡¯t even know, would we? We are a family; a branch of the Great Tree, and we care for her, even the Snake¡¯s Eyes, even though they would never admit it openly.¡±


    ¡°I am not so certain, Ymra is aware of that. Maybe that is the problem. I know her, as do you. She is a wild spirit. She will be back, when she needs to. Come. I need to break my fast, and I am certain you could do with some nourishment as well.¡± He turned away and gestured for her to follow, but she stayed a little while longer, even as the others left as well.


    ¡°Dammit, Ymra! Why do you always have to be like this? Can¡¯t you see what, you are doing to me?¡± She stomped the ground for no reason and went off to get something to eat. Ern was right. She could do with a distraction.


    Gerren found himself, quite unexpected, without any response to give the girl. She made a valid point; they - correction: He - had torn her away from her family and friends, her entire culture in fact, on a hunch, and then they had exposed her to the Ritual of Inception, which wasn¡¯t even perfected yet. What now?


    Ymra, the name that Amrion had pried from the savage¡¯s mind, started to walk towards him, her bound hands dangling far to casually in front of her. Gerren glanced at the grey-clad mind-mage next to him and saw his own thoughts reflected in the white aura, he had summoned, and suddenly he wondered whether, those were his thoughts in the first place.


    Urgh, telepathy¡­


    I can hear you.


    Stop it!


    On an unrelated note, we really should stop her, before she strangles us with your own rope.


    Agreed. Put her to sleep.


    Or, you know, just grab her wrist and tell her to calm down, instead of infuriating her further by exposing her to more magic?


    You have a point.


    Gerren broke of the conversation to cast a spell of speed. In a flash of deep green, he had Ymra by the wrists, imploring her to listen to what he had to say. Having only a second or two to make the decision, Gerren concluded that it was best to simply be honest.


    ¡°Listen to me: I captured you on instinct. There is no greater ploy or scheme. I am not trying to remove your roots or anything like that. This, in fact, has very little to do with you being Niq. I recognized a certain arcane talent in you and thought it worth exploring. Am I sorry that I tore you away from your life? No, I am not. Loss happens. Deal with it on your own. I do, however, care for what happens to you next; I would prefer to attempt to develop your talents and make you an excellent hunter, but if you don¡¯t calm down right now, I will bind your feet as well and throw you back into the Krathen. Am I clear?¡±


    Ymra had listened with a palette of emotions painted on her face, but now there was nothing but cold fear and resentment to see. Then, she slowly nodded.


    Good, Gerren thought, she is not a complete moron.


    Continued in part 3.

 Hunters Woes, part 3

    Ymra sprinted across the yard, casting the very simple spell that Gerren had taught her to increase her speed. At first, using this strange magic had felt weird and unnatural, but she had gotten used to it somewhat quickly. She reached the other end and rang the signal bell, thus concluding today¡¯s exercise in sprints. Yes, Ymra did find it a bit demeaning to be taught how to sprint, a skill she couldn¡¯t remember not possessing, but it was quite different when magic came into play, as her legs moved faster than she could ever make them do on her own. All in all, she had enjoyed the past fortnight of training, which had begun almost directly after the Ritual of Inception, as Gerren had named the mind-mage¡¯s spell. She had fallen into a routine, sort of. At least as much of a routine as one can find when one is essentially being held captive. At least, she didn¡¯t sleep in the cell anymore, but had gotten a proper chamber with hunters¡¯ order.


    ¡°Excellent, Ymra, but you still hold back. The Krathen always puts you in a struggle for your life, so you must learn to be as ferocious as it is,¡± Gerren said from the shadows to the left of her. She had noticed his preference for staying out of sight. Smart, but unnecessary in the Cities, though she did understand how difficult habits could be to break.


    ¡°I have lived in the forest all my life. I recognize its dangers. I also recognize that the forest doesn¡¯t take kindly to recklessness,¡± she responded in a cold tone. She might enjoy the sensation of being a mage - or at least a novice -, but she still held a grudge against the man, who had torn her away from her branch. They still presented themselves in her sleep, and one morning she even found wounds on her palms, as if she had clenched her fist hard enough to break the skin. She hated having a desire but not the power to satisfy it. At least the exercises provided a small window of vindication, and so did talking back to Gerren, the man who was now her mentor.


    ¡°I am not telling you to be reckless, but to channel your emotional drive into your legs alongside Krathen¡¯s mana.¡± Gerren was certain that it had sounded more profound when his own mentor had said those words, but what can you do? ¡°I am telling you to use more of your strength, for you will need it, depend on it. We hunters live on the edge of death, Ymra. Understand that.¡±


    The girl, his student, tensed again, a signal that Gerren had come to interpret as defiance mixed with unwilling understanding. Typical young hubris but then again, Ymra wasn¡¯t like so many others of his students; she had a type of experience that one doesn¡¯t just replicate. He sighed. It was times like these that Gerren wished Oliva was still alive to help him figure out what to do next. He knew that discipline was crucial to his craft, but it didn¡¯t seem to sit well with Ymra. He couldn¡¯t care less if his student was comfortable during her training, but she seemed to actively ignore him, whenever he taught with a firm hand.


    Ymra had started running around. Was he really getting so old as to not have noticed that when absorbed in thought? Once again, he sighed. But then he started focusing in on her movement; it was not sporadic like the play of a child, but precise, yet experimental. Suddenly, the stars aligned in Gerren¡¯s brain:


    He would provide the basics, then Ymra would teach herself under his supervision from the shadows.


    Yes. That could work.


    Ymra was dead. There was literally no other explanation for her continued absence. Of this, Egira was certain, and she had made her logic clear for her branch, who had all mourned the loss of their sister with her. This was a week past now.


    And their family was in complete disarray.


    Egi hated seeing them like this; she saw herself as their maternal figure, and her role was to take care of them all, to make sure they were fine and healthy, but even she had no idea of what to do right now. The Snake¡¯s Eyes refused to spend any time with the rest of them, Tasar kept even more quiet than usual, and Dum-Dum had been assisting the Hunt-Mother with various errands that mostly involved carrying heavy objects from one place to another. Only Ern remained somewhat steadfast in his outward appearance, but Egira had heard how he growled in his sleep. She was concerned for him, for all of them, but there was nothing to do.


    Nothing at all.


    How in the name of Niquol, was she supposed to bring happiness back to her family? She did not know. She needed guidance. She nodded silently to herself.


    That night she sought out the Dreamer in his tent to which the door was always open to those with an honest spirit. The old man himself sat cross-legged surrounded by scented candles that gave the room a very calming effect. Egira bowed, before taking a seat before him. His eyes were closed, and she knew that he expected her to break the silence. Unfortunately, she could not find the words, she was looking for, even though it should be so simple. Then, she just spoke.


    ¡°Honored Dreamer, Spirit-Guide of the Niq, I come here to seek your counsel. Ever since the loss of my sister¡­¡± She got interrupted, when the Dreamer growled in a low voice, but when he returned to silence, she continued. ¡°Ever since Ymra was lost to us, my branch has been broken. I therefore ask you this: What can I do? How do I bring light back to our souls? Will we ever be able to mend what was broken?¡±


    Her question was followed by a long inhale and a longer exhale, before the Dreamer finally spoke: ¡°Faltering is only natural after the loss of a loved one, my child. Time mends most wounds, but there will always be scars. Even the freest of spirits are full of them. You say, you want to bring light back into your branch, but it never left in the first place. You simply must allow the shadow of grief to pass. Perhaps¡­ No, you are too young. Then again¡­?¡±


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps a pilgrimage to the Heart of the Forest could cleanse your soul. Would you be prepared for such an undertaking?¡±


    Egira¡¯s thoughts lingered on doubt for a moment before agreeing with her spirit: ¡°Yes, we are¡±.


    The Dreamer¡¯s face lit up in a smile. ¡°Good. You will leave at dawn. Inform your branch.¡±


    That marked the end of her consultation. Egira spend the rest of the evening spreading word to the others, urging them to pack the essentials and to strengthen their resolve for the journey ahead. Despite the past weeks, the word of the Dreamer was law to the Niq, and so they left first thing the next morning. For the Heart of the Forest. For the Sacred Tree of Life and Death. For the Niquol.


    Ymra slid the grindstone up and down the edge of her blade, until it was sharp enough to draw blood from the lightest touch. Then she threw it to the side and picked up another sword from the pile, she had collected during the day. There was no point to this exercise, no purpose, and yet, she was being compelled to continue by some incorporeal force that she dreaded to name.


    Fear.


    (Coward)


    All her life, she had been taught not to seek danger, to hunt only the animals she could handle and to never disturb the greater wills of the forest but now, she was going to seek out an enormous, destructive beast, attempt to kill it and probably die in the process. ¡°Why¡± was a question, she had asked herself repeatedly for the past hour or so, while she had been preparing her tools; her spear, her knife and her sword, but the only answer, she had found, was, ¡°Because Gerren said so¡±. The adrenaline kept pumping through her veins.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    When Gerren come to her, she had abandoned her pointless distraction and had gathered her provisions and materials, which were already packed neatly into a traveler¡¯s pack that wouldn¡¯t hinder her movement to much when on the hunt. Her knife and sword hang on her belt, while she carried her spear in her right hand, where it belonged. The hunters of the Cities only used their barbaric blades, typically crafted with a touch of sorcery to make in more effective against the horrors of the night - as Gerren would have put it -, and while Ymra had adapted to this form of hunting, she wasn¡¯t going to forget her roots and ways so easily. Her spear was a part of her, even if it was a newly made one, cut from the branches of the outermost trees of the Krathen forest. How weird it was to name the forest, which she had considered the entirety of the important world before. She sighed.


    In a calm voice, Gerren asked a simply question with a very complicated answer; ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Not so complicated if said out loud, apparently.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go. Tracking an emperor-ape isn¡¯t as simple as one might expect. They are surprisingly fast, silent and extremely strong. But I am certain you will do just fine.¡± Then Gerren took off into the night, and Ymra followed even more unsettled than she had been before.


    A few weeks back, she would have been completely lost in the maze that was Selma¡¯s Bay, but now she navigated it with the same ease as a native - not that the city was that complex, but Ymra would never accept that. From her point of view, she had done something impressive, a necessary accomplishment to stave off that annoying voice in her mind, chest, arms and legs.


    (You will never be rid of me. I am you, don¡¯t you see?)


    ¡°Gerren,¡± she asked with a weak voice.


    ¡°Yes, little one?¡± He had started calling her that since she had stood next to the other hunters, and he had realized, she was one-and-a-half heads shorter than the smallest of them. It was only mildly infuriating.


    ¡°Have you ever felt¡­ that you have a void, where your drive, your ambitions, even your happiness should be?¡± she asked, breathing out very slowly. She had never asked that before, not to anyone. Not even Ern. It felt somewhat¡­


    Nice. Maybe.


    (You can¡¯t handle your own problems, can you?)


    Gerren gave her a look. Ymra had feared one of stone, but his eyes were far softer than that. Almost sad.


    ¡°I once caused the death of a young woman. I had to carry her body home. It tore my heart out, and I lost myself to the sword and to the flask. I was filled with wrath and sorrow and, yes, I wanted oblivion. My fellow hunters and my mentor pulled me back, though. Ymra, we all depend on each other, especially in a field as dangerous as ours. Our magic even reflects that; we draw on the strength of the wildlife around us, we sense it, become it. Never fear your need for safety and comfort. At the end of day, it is what makes you human.¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­¡±


    ¡°It is so. Trust me.¡±


    She could feel her eyes watering just enough to be rage-inducing, but not quite wailing.


    ¡°Thank you, captain.¡±


    He looked at her again, and this time a smile danced lightly on his lips.


    ¡°What else is a teacher good for, if not to help?¡±


    For the first time in too long, Ymra smiled sincerely.


    And the voice kept silent.


    As the sun rose above the trees, the forest grew thicker and the pressure on the outskirts of her senses increased. Somewhere in the back of her consciousness, she knew where they had ended up. The emperor-ape had led them to the tree of life and death itself, the divine spirit that the Niq had named themselves after.


    The Niquol.


    Ymra voiced her concerns about spilling blood on holy ground, but Gerren, being of the Cities, did not care, though he too felt the presence of something¡­ or someone¡­ powerful and intense. Despite this, though, he decided to press on, carefully, with guards up. He even drew his sword, so Ymra raised her spear, ready for anything.


    Expect the one thing she saw.


    The tree was larger and far more chaotic than she could ever have imagine. Its roots twisted under and above the ground, connecting every tree, undergrowth and flower to an enormous trunk which grew into the sky itself. The tree had cleared a pseudo-meadow, by assimilating every ounce of life around it - or maybe none had grown there in the first place -, and yet it was still the most difficult terrain to traverse that Ymra had encountered.


    ¡°There,¡± Gerren observed and pointed to their prey, perching on top of a twisted root some twenty meters above them. ¡°You go around right, I¡¯ll take the left.¡± He pointed to two spots, to which she nodded in response.


    She had almost reached her position only to choke on her own heart. There, amongst the wood, walked six Niq. And not just any Niq: It was Egira, Ern, Demur, Darlin and Parlin. Her branch, her family! She could recognize that tangled mess of character defects anywhere, anytime. What in the name of Selma - an exclamation she had picked up from the captain - were they doing here? Suddenly she was torn between jumping down to hug each and every one of them and staying unseen among the roots and leaves. She had abandoned them. But now she could fix that, could she not?


    (They hate you. Face it. You are a failure)


    The hunt. She had to focus on the hunt. So, when Gerren gave the signal, she did her duty and struck down the ape. Unfortunately, it didn¡¯t die. It only got angrier. It swung out with one oversized paw, which caught her in her dodge and threw her of the root, she stood on. Midair, she cast a spell to prevent her legs from shattering upon impact with the next excuse for footing, but it didn¡¯t prevent it from hurting like all known forms of torment. Between screams of pain, she saw the ape fall, blood gushing from a slashing wound in its neck. Gerren had taken advantage of her unintended distraction, then. Good. He always said that corporation was the most important part of the Cities¡¯ hunting tradition.


    (But you still failed)


    (How dare you be proud, when you can¡¯t even stay on your feet?)


    (How dare you be happy?)


    In her mind, she sighed, while her actual mouth still snarled from the fall. It was right, as always. Slowly, she moved to stand up, but a voice stopped her in her tracks.


    ¡°Hey, you up there! Are you okay?¡±


    By the Niquol (admittedly, it felt weird to swear by the divinity that you stood on), the words of her people awakened a homesickness in her that she never thought she had, not after her time with Gerren and the other hunters. They had taken her in as one of them, never questioning her desires and respecting her privacy. She had learned so much, developed so many new skills and abilities that she would never even have known existed had she not been taken hostage that day. Even her second voice had calmed down and she found herself laughing from time to time. It felt good.


    But it was not her family. It was not her home. There were no community feasts in the Three Cities, no verbal clashes with Egira and - most importantly - no Ern. The Stonearse was the one thing, she missed beyond measure, even if his nickname was a callback to another one of her failures, when he had beaten her in combat.


    From the other direction sounded another shout, ¡°Young one! We best get out of here! We do not want bloodshed with the Niq!¡± How kind of him to refrain from calling her family savages, though there was no way he could possibly know their identities.


    She nodded in responds and forced herself to her feet. Dressed in the leather uniform of the Order, she would not be recognized, so she dared to take one final look at her branch, her brothers and sisters, Egi, Dum-Dum, Greentoe, the Snake¡¯s Eyes and Stonearse.


    ¡°Goodbye,¡± she said in the city-tongue.


    Then she turned her back on the past and follow her mentor back home.


    A grey-haired Ymra observed her young recruits going about their training, correcting a poor stance here and a clumsy grip there. In the furthermost part of the yard, a small group of girls had gathered around a dashing young lad with blond locks that reminded Ymra of her branch-brother, Ern, or at least how he had looked in her childhood. She sighed the mentor¡¯s sigh, as her late captain had dubbed the gesture of understanding frustration, and asked the night¡¯s sky, ¡°Egi, sister, I wonder what you would have done, were you in my shoes?¡±


    In the middle of the forest, a singular, female figure stood and observed the trees changing from their summer-coat to the brown autumn-dress that she so loved. Behind her, an older male approached, spear in hand and smile on his lips.


    ¡°Sister, what are you doing out here alone?¡± Ern asked.


    ¡°Contemplating.¡± By sheer force of will, she shifted her gaze to him.


    ¡°Same as always, then.¡± The jab earned him a hard poke in the chest, which only had him grinned broader. Despite his years, he was still a child. Thank the Niquol for that.


    Parlin and Darlin emerged behind Ern. The twins had not yet lost the red in their hair, but Darlins beard had a few strands of grey here and there. She could not imagine a world without their constant support of not just each other, but also the rest of their branch, no matter that they were doing. Without them, Greentoe would never have risen to the position of Dreamer and Dum-Dum¡¯s death would have been impossible to bear. They waved for Ern and her to follow in that typical, restless, Snake¡¯s Eyes manner.


    As they turned to join the rest of their tribe, their family, for the celebration of a newly born brother, Egira looked again to the forest and answered, ¡°I do not know.¡±

 Letting Go

    The pumping of a pulse, my heartbeat¡­ Darkness envelops everything. A pained scream echoes through my mind, the lure of the abyss¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ Can¡¯t see¡­ My breathing sounds, so strained and irregular. My throat - if that is what it is - is coarse as if I had swallowed a thousand razorblades. The pain¡­ Her voice, it screams, it screams from the other side of an invisible wall. ¡°Sara,¡± I yell, but no sound reaches my ears and blood stream forward¡­ Then, I fall¡­


    ¡­and wake up bathed in cold sweat and tears. A cut can be felt on the left temple. Before me, the remains of my ritual stares at me as if to shame me back into the abyss. I grasp my face with my hands, only to realize¡­ that I don¡¯t. So, the sacrifice went through? I should have known based on the amount of blood and flesh lying inside the iron-dusted circle. I stand up using the arm I still have left, and with a golden flash I stem the bleeding from my left shoulder. Then, I stumble forward. Her corpse is right there, silent and still very much dead, a testament to my failure. I try to apologize but as the words reach my mouth, my lips start trembling furiously. I fall back to my knees, the tears playing a soft lullaby on the floorboards. Then wrath takes hold of me, I grab the nearest book and slam it into the dead flesh, forever ruining the knowledge within. I start hulking. The healer in me knows that grief is the first step to acceptance, but the necromancer that shares its space will not allow it. There must be a way to truly bring back the dead once they have joined the spirits? If I can summon wraiths and raise the undead, why shouldn¡¯t I also be able to return a soul to its cannister and revitalize the flesh? Grief gives way to desperation and that to frustration, and the endless cycle that I have found myself in for the past seventeen months continues.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    I reseal the body inside its enchanted coffin to prevent it from rotting away. The enchantress hadn¡¯t asked any questions when I had brought her the schematics, a sentiment that I am grateful for. The less I am forced to say, and the fewer rumors that start circling about the village wizard, the better. The last thing I need, is an outraged mob that doesn¡¯t understand my work. That doesn¡¯t understand my grief. That doesn¡¯t understand my love. I push the coffin back into her room and close the heavy door. The deep, resonating sound invites a silence that I dread. Despite my profession, or maybe because of it, I fear the darkness and death. No, I hate it with a passion as cold and silent as the graves I dig and reopen.


    A whisper sounds from the study, breaking my reflection. I enter carefully, for a necromancer¡¯s doorstep invites guests from both sides of the Veil. A faint, green light greets me. I curse and start conjuring a binding mist, the only known way to pacify a wraith. As I step from behind the doorframe, I raise my hand and the grey, arcane fog follows it. The aberration tries to fade away, but my effect has already taken hold. I then pull my hand back, focusing on the tendrils of life that flows inside the creature, and unleash. A flash of black light follows, but I see the lines that start unraveling the wraith from within - my will made manifest.


    That is when I its face.


    It is her.


    My ritual worked. She was summoned. But she wasn¡¯t bound¡­


    As the wraith is destroyed for good, its spectral body reabsorbed into Vaft¡¯s magical flows, I realize that my work is finally over.


    She is gone.


    I breathe deeply and regularly.


    Then day breaks over the Valisian sky.