《To follow shadows》


 Chapter One: A Hunters Dues

    The snow drifted slowly around the clearing as the elk strode through. The elk had just finished rubbing its antlers against a tall pine, scraping the soft velvet that coated them to leave the sharp tines beneath. From its small size and stature, it was just barely a juvenile, sporting its first set of antlers. It was a fine specimen, with glossy fur and bright, intelligent eyes.


    A thick mist hung heavy in the air, coating the ground in a thin layer of fog. The forest was unusually still. Normally the wind rattled the branches around these parts but today there was no wind.


    As the elk made its way across the clearing, it failed to notice the quiet sound of a bowstring being pulled, noticing all too late once the twang of the string being released echoed. It was a beautiful shot, taking the elk through the chest, into the lungs and heart. The animal collapsed and convulsed, thrashing on the snow-covered ground, its hooves drumming a tattoo on the earth underneath the snow in its death throes.


    From the woods, a figure clothed in thick layers of fur sprinted towards the prey and drew a skinning knife from the slim scabbard in his pocket, but the stag was dead before he got to it. A good clean kill, that¡¯s what Otto would have said. But killing was always messy. The bloody froth bubbling from the elk¡¯s mouth was a testament to that.


    He removed the arrow carefully and was happy to see the shaft had not snapped, nor had the flint point chipped on the elk¡¯s ribs. Slipping the arrow back into its quiver, once he had wiped away the blood and viscera stuck to it, the hunter turned his attention towards the elk.


    The young elk was heavy, but he was not far from the village. The antlers made for good handholds, and the carcass slipped easily enough over the snow. His only concern would be the wolves or even the mountain lions now. It was not unknown for them to steal a hunter¡¯s meal, if not his life, as he brought his prize back home.


    He was hunting on the ridge of the Dragonback Mountains, so called for their distinctive peaks that looked like the spines of dragons. The village lay at the foot of one of these spines, the path leading to it steep and rocky. A thick wooden palisade surrounded the village, with small watchtowers at intervals along the top. The village had not been attacked for a long time, only once seventeen years ago. Even then, it had been a small band of thieves and bandits looking to make coin rather than an orc raid, unlikely as that was this far north of the wastelands.


    It was heavy going and the path was treacherous underfoot, even more as the forest grew darker and darker. The sun had already disappeared behind one of the spines by the time the hunter had reached the gate.


    Already the lanterns were lit and atop the wooden walls, guards in furs even thicker than his own paced back and forth. The hunter approached the gate, his shoulders hunched against the growing cold. He stopped before the gate, shifting the weight of the carcass behind him as he called out, his voice rough and muffled from the chill air and his mask.


    "Open up! It¡¯s Calder!"


    A moment passed, the sound of footsteps on the wooden walkway above the gate breaking the stillness. One of the guards leaned over, his breath forming clouds as he squinted into the gloom. Recognizing the hunter, he waved to someone out of sight, and the heavy creak of the gate''s hinges echoed into the night.


    "Out late again, Calder?" the guard asked his tone halfway between a jest and a reprimand. The guards were never fond of those who came to the gates late at night.


    "Had to make it worth the trip," Calder replied, stepping through the gate as it swung open just wide enough for him to enter. He glanced back briefly, his eyes scanning the darkened path behind him before the gate closed with a heavy thud.


    Inside, the village was quiet with only a handful of people about. Most had already retreated to the warmth of their homes, their windows glowing faintly from hearths burning bright. Calder adjusted his grip on the elk¡¯s antlers, nodding to a woman bundled in woolen shawls as she passed, her arms laden with kindling. The crunch of his boots on the packed snow echoed faintly in the stillness as he made his way down the main thoroughfare, where the butcher¡¯s shop stood at the edge of the central square.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The square was dominated by a large, stone well, its surface rimmed with frost. A few villagers lingered nearby, speaking in hushed tones. Their conversation stopped as Calder approached, their eyes flicking to the elk before returning to him with quiet acknowledgment. Calder offered a curt nod, his focus unwavering as he stepped into the light spilling from the butcher¡¯s doorway.


    Inside, the warmth hit him immediately, the rich scent of cured meats mingling with the sharp tang of iron. The butcher, a broad-shouldered man with a ruddy face and an apron smeared with blood, looked up from his work. A grin spread across his face as he wiped his hands on a cloth.


    ¡°Calder! You¡¯ve brought me something good, I hope,¡± he said, his voice hearty but tinged with curiosity as his eyes appraised the elk. With some help from the butcher, Calder hefted the elk onto the counter with a solid thud, the animal''s glossy hide catching the flicker of the lanterns. "Fresh from the ridge," he replied, "Young, but it''ll dress out clean. Should fetch a good weight in meat."


    The butcher leaned in, his practiced hands running along the carcass, testing the tension of the muscles and inspecting the wound. He grunted appreciatively. "Good shot," he muttered, tapping the entry point. "Straight through¡ªclean kill. You don¡¯t see much hesitation from you these days, eh?"


    Calder shrugged, rubbing his hands together to warm them. "Hesitation doesn¡¯t fill the pot."


    The butcher chuckled, stepping back and wiping his hands again. "Fair enough. How about¡­hm¡­50 drennar?¡±


    Calder raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Fifty drennar? For a clean kill like this, with a pelt untouched and prime cuts? You¡¯re cutting me short, Mathis."


    The butcher crossed his arms, his grin shifting to a more calculated expression. "Fifty¡¯s fair, Calder. Winter¡¯s been hard on everyone. Meat¡¯s not moving like it should, not when folks are stretching every coin for firewood and salt."


    Calder stepped closer to the counter, his voice dropping a notch. "Hard or not, you know the worth of this elk. The hide alone will fetch twice that in the capital. Seventy-five, and I¡¯ll let you keep the antlers for your little carvings."


    Mathis tapped his chin, pretending to mull it over, though Calder could see the glint of interest in his eyes at the mention of the antlers. After a moment, the butcher sighed dramatically. "Sixty-five, and I¡¯ll throw in a smoked haunch from last week¡¯s hog."


    "Done," Calder said, extending a hand before the butcher could rethink his offer.


    Mathis clasped it firmly, chuckling. "Always the sharp one, eh? Fine. You¡¯ll have your coin by tomorrow, as usual."


    Calder nodded, stepping back and adjusting his cloak. "Pleasure as always, Mathis. Keep the haunch ready."


    As he turned to leave, Mathis called after him, "Don¡¯t let the wolves get you on the way home!"


    Calder smirked as he left the shop, already hearing the thumping noises of a cleaver being swung behind him. Pulling up his furs, he made his way away from the square and headed down the narrow, snow-covered path that led toward the outskirts of the village. The warm glow of lanterns and hearths dwindled with each step, and the sound of his boots crunching on the frozen ground filled the ever-stilling air. He pulled his furs tighter around him as the wind began to pick up, slicing through the gaps in his clothing and carrying with it the faint scent of pine and smoke.


    The path twisted through the edge of the village, where homes were spaced further apart, their shapes huddled against the encroaching forest like weary sentinels. Calder passed a few stray villagers on their way home, exchanging nods but little else. Most were bundled so tightly against the cold that their faces were hidden, their focus on reaching shelter before the chill deepened further.


    As he approached his hovel, the palisade loomed to his left, the wooden stakes darkened with frost. Calder¡¯s home was the last before the wilds began, a fact that offered both privacy and unease. It wasn¡¯t unusual to hear the calls of distant wolves or the groan of trees shifting under the weight of snow during the long winter nights.


    Calder pushed the door open and stepped inside. The warmth hit him immediately, and he exhaled in relief as he bolted the door behind him. The single-room hovel was dim, lit only by the dying light of the hearth. A cot in one corner, a rickety table with mismatched chairs, and a few shelves stocked with tools and dried herbs made up his simple living space.


    He shrugged off his cloak and hung it on a peg near the door, the heavy fur still carrying the chill of the outdoors. Placing down his bow and his arrows next to it, he moved to the hearth and added another log to the fire. Gradually, the flames came to life. Soon, the warmth spread through the room, driving away the worst of the cold.


    Calder lingered by the fire for a moment, his hands outstretched toward the growing flames. The heat seeped into his stiff fingers, chasing away the numbness that had settled in during the long trek home. The soft crackle of the fire filled the small room, a soothing rhythm against the quiet of the night.


    Once his hands were warm, he moved to the small table and began unpacking his pouch. He laid out the few items he¡¯d carried with him¡ªan oilcloth-wrapped bundle of dried meat, a handful of arrowheads he¡¯d traded for last week, and a small leather pouch of salt. His knife rested on the table beside the pouch, its blade dull from the day¡¯s use.


    He reached for the knife and a sharpening stone from the shelf, setting to work with slow, methodical strokes. The scrape of iron on stone mingled with the crackle of the fire, creating a rhythm that steadied his nerves. He had a long night ahead of him.

 chapter 2: Rumors abound

    The faint light of dawn filtered through the frost-rimmed window, casting a pale glow over the hovel¡¯s interior. Calder stirred beneath the thin wool blanket, the room''s chill seeping into his bones despite the embers still glowing faintly in the hearth. With a quiet groan, he pushed himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.


    His morning routine was as methodical as ever. Pulling himself out from his bed, he went to the corner where a water basin sat. He splashed water from the basin onto his face, the icy chill shocking him fully awake, before wiping himself down with a cloth sitting next to it. Once he was done and put on a fresh pair of clothes, he moved to the small table where his gear sat. He retrieved his bow and quiver, checking each arrow for wear and the bowstring for tension. Satisfied, he set them aside and reached for the sharpening stone on the shelf, giving his knife a few quick strokes until the edge gleamed faintly in the dim light.


    As he worked, his eyes flicked to the wooden shelf above the hearth. Nestled between a few old tools and jars of dried herbs was a small steel pin, shaped into the intricate form of a double-headed eagle. After staring at it for some time, Calder stood up and reached for it, his fingers brushing the cold metal.


    The pin had belonged to his father¡ªa gift from a lord who had once marveled at his skill with a bow. Calder could remember the stories, told by firelight when his father returned from the forest with fresh game slung over his shoulders. The scent of pine and leather would cling to him as he sat by the hearth, recounting tales of hunts that seemed almost mythical to Calder as a child.


    There was the time his father had shot a hawk mid-flight to save the village¡¯s dwindling chickens or the hunt where he had brought down a stag so large it fed the entire village through a particularly harsh winter. But it was the story of the pin that Calder remembered most clearly¡ªhow his father had shot a running boar cleanly through the heart from a distance no other hunter dared attempt, earning not only the lord¡¯s respect but a rare token of it.


    Now, the pin rested in Calder¡¯s calloused hands, its steel edges dulled with time but still solid, still unbroken. He traced the engraving of the double-headed eagle with his thumb as he looked at it before eventually, he placed it back onto the shelf.


    Calder pulled on his thick furs, the weight of them settling heavily on his shoulders as he adjusted the clasp at his neck. The fabric was well-worn but reliable, patched in places with scraps of leather from past hunts. Grabbing his quiver and bow, he slung them over his back, the familiar motion as natural to him as breathing.


    He paused briefly by the door, his gaze drifting back to the pin resting on the shelf. The faint light from the hearth glinted off its surface, but he forced his thoughts away. The day was waiting, and there was no time to linger in the past.


    Pushing open the door, Calder stepped out into the crisp morning air. The cold bit at his face, the frost-laden breeze carrying the faint scent of pine and smoke from the village chimneys. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he made his way down the narrow path that led toward the square, his breath forming clouds in the chill.


    At the village square people came and went as they did their daily duties. A woman bundled in layers of wool trudged past with a basket of eggs balanced on her hip, her breath visible in the chill air. Nearby, a pair of children chased each other around the frost-rimmed well, their laughter carrying over the murmur of the morning.


    Merchants were setting up their stalls along the edges of the square, their wares ranging from dried meats to roughspun fabrics and simple tools. The smell of fresh bread wafted from the baker¡¯s shop, mingling with the sharper tang of the blacksmith¡¯s forge. Calder¡¯s boots crunched on the packed snow as he walked, his hood pulled low against the icy wind.


    He nodded to a farmer unloading sacks of grain from a cart and exchanged a brief greeting with an elderly man tending to a cluster of chickens scratching at the frozen ground. As he was about to step into the butcher''s shop to collect his meat and money, a familiar voice called out from behind.


    ¡°Calder! Wait up!¡±


    He turned to see Otto striding toward him, his broad frame unmistakable even through the layers of soot-streaked wool and leather. Otto¡¯s hair, the color of ash and perpetually tousled, glinted faintly in the morning light. His hands were blackened from work at the forge and underneath his left arm, a bundle of something could be seen.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Calder couldn¡¯t help but smirk as Otto approached, his usual energy evident in the confident stride and easy grin. Otto was a fixture of the village, as much a part of its lifeblood as the forge he worked in alongside his father. At nearly eighteen, he stood taller than most, his broad shoulders a testament to years of swinging hammers and hauling iron.


    Though his frame and steady hands marked him as a smith in training, Otto had never been one to confine himself to the forge. He was as likely to be found helping with repairs around the village, swapping jokes with the guards, or lending a hand to farmers struggling with broken tools. His charm was his true weapon¡ªquick with a laugh or a clever quip, Otto had a way of making even the most dour villager crack a smile.


    ¡°Morning,¡± Otto said as he stopped in front of Calder, his grin as broad as ever. He shifted the bundle under his arm slightly, revealing a hint of its contents¡ªa set of dull green bars, their edges gleaming faintly in the weak sunlight.


    ¡°What¡¯ve you got there?¡± Calder asked, nodding toward the bundle.


    Otto¡¯s grin widened as he unwrapped one of the bars and handed it to Calder. ¡°Orichalcum,¡± he said, his tone tinged with pride. ¡°The good stuff. Came in just yesterday.¡±


    Calder took the bar, his brow furrowing as he adjusted his grip. The metal was cold and unyielding, its dark green surface etched with faint natural veins, almost like marble. It was far heavier than it looked¡ªso much so that Calder could barely lift it with both hands.


    ¡°Careful, don¡¯t drop it,¡± Otto teased, holding the remaining five or six bars under his arm with ease. ¡°I¡¯d rather not spend the morning hammering dents out of the cobblestones.¡±


    Calder let out a low whistle as he passed the bar back to Otto. ¡°And I thought the elk was heavy. What¡¯s it for?¡±


    ¡°Commission from Lord Haramont,¡± Otto replied, carefully rewrapping the bundle. ¡°Dad¡¯s been tasked with making him a set of weapons¡ªblades, axes, maybe even a spear or two. The whole lot¡¯s supposed to be orichalcum. Big job.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impressive,¡± Calder said, his tone genuine. ¡°Congratulations. It¡¯s not every day you get work straight from the lord.¡±


    ¡°Tell that to Dad,¡± Otto said with a chuckle. ¡°He¡¯s been cursing since sunrise. Says this stuff¡¯s harder to work with than any metal he¡¯s touched before. I think he¡¯s just worried about getting it perfect.¡±


    The two started walking toward the forge, the conversation flowing easily between them. They talked of familiar things¡ªrumors of a merchant caravan delayed by snow, the latest antics of the village¡¯s stray dogs, and Calder¡¯s last hunting trip. Otto¡¯s easygoing nature made the walk seem shorter, the weight of his bundle no more a burden to him than the talk itself.


    When they reached the forge, the steady ring of hammer on metal filled the air, the sound resonating through the yard. Heat radiated from the open forge, where Roland, Otto¡¯s father, was already at work. The man was a towering figure, his muscled frame clad in a thick leather apron darkened with soot and age. His black hair was streaked with gray, pulled back into a tight knot at the nape of his neck. A thick beard framed his stern face, though his sharp eyes gleamed with a focus that bordered on obsession.


    Roland stood over the anvil, his hammer rising and falling with precise, measured force. The orichalcum glowed faintly under the heat, its dark surface shifting to a dull amber as he shaped it into the beginnings of a blade. Sweat glistened on his brow despite the cold air, and his forearms rippled with each swing.


    ¡°Dad!¡± Otto called, setting the bundle down by the workbench. ¡°Brought the rest of the bars.¡±


    Roland didn¡¯t look up, his voice gruff as he spoke between hammer strikes. ¡°Good. Get to work cleaning the molds¡ªwe¡¯ll need them ready by noon.¡±


    Otto rolled his eyes good-naturedly and turned to Calder. ¡°See what I mean? All business.¡±


    Calder nodded to Otto and once greetings and goodbyes were given, turned toward the path leading back to the butcher¡¯s shop and began walking. Before he could take more than a few steps, however, Otto called after him again, this time in a quieter tone.


    ¡°Wait, Calder.¡±


    Calder turned, raising an eyebrow. Otto stepped closer, glancing toward his father to make sure he wasn¡¯t watching. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. ¡°There¡¯s something you should know. About the winter festival.¡±


    ¡°What about it?¡± Calder asked, his curiosity piqued. The winter festival was the village¡¯s biggest event of the year, a celebration held at the turn of the season to honor both the harshness of the cold months and the resilience of those who survived them. Bonfires would light up the square, tables would groan under the weight of food and drink, and the air would hum with music, laughter, and the clatter of mugs.


    Otto smirked, clearly enjoying the question. ¡°The chief¡¯s offering a reward this year. Good coin to anyone who brings in the biggest animal for the feast.¡±


    Calder folded his arms, studying Otto. ¡°And how do you know this?¡±


    ¡°The chief¡¯s son,¡± Otto said, rolling his eyes. ¡°He¡¯s been bragging about it all morning, strutting around like he¡¯s already won. Says he¡¯s bringing in a ¡®beast the size of a house.¡±


    Calder smirked faintly. ¡°And you think I could beat him.¡±


    ¡°I know you could,¡± Otto said with confidence. ¡°It¡¯d be a walk in the park for you. Besides, it¡¯d shut that little twerp up for once.¡±


    Before Calder could reply, Roland¡¯s voice rang out from the forge, sharp and commanding. ¡°Otto! I need those molds cleaned, not your mouth running.¡±


    Otto winced but grinned at Calder, waving him off. ¡°Guess that¡¯s my cue. Think about it, yeah? Easy coin for you.¡±


    Calder gave a small nod, watching as Otto jogged back to the forge and grabbed a set of iron molds from the workbench. He glanced back once with a playful salute before getting to work, the clang of metal ringing through the air once more.


    Turning back toward the village square, Calder adjusted the strap of his quiver and began walking toward the butcher¡¯s shop. The morning light glinted off the snow as his boots crunched along the path, but his thoughts weren¡¯t on the cold or the meat he had to collect.


    ¡°A reward, huh...¡± he muttered under his breath, the idea turning over and over in his mind¡­

 Chapter 3: The Hunt Begins

    As it was every year when the winter festival was held, a moment of silence was observed for those who had not made it through the harsh winter. The entire village gathered in the square, bundled in heavy furs and wool, their breath visible in the cold air as they stood solemnly around the frost-rimmed shrine of Dialos erected the day before. Heads were bowed, and not a sound broke the stillness except for the faint crackle of a fire.


    This year, eight souls had passed on¡ªa mixture of disease, the cold, and age sending them to the great halls where, according to village belief, they would be received warmly by their ancestors. The elder read their names aloud, his voice steady but heavy with grief, each word carrying the weight of loss. As the final name was spoken, the crowd remained silent as a priest of Dialos stepped forward to the front of the crowd.


    the priest was cloaked in ceremonial robes of deep green and white, representing the cycle of death and renewal. One by one, small urns containing the ashes of the departed were handed to him by grieving family members or close friends. The priest accepted them with a solemn bow, murmuring a quiet prayer to Dialos, the god of the cycle, for safe passage of their spirits to the great halls of the afterlife. The urns would be buried later that day in the village¡¯s sacred grove, where generation upon generation of villagers rested beneath the tall pines


    When the last urn was handed over, the elder raised his hands, his voice carrying through the cold, still air. ¡°We remember those who walked beside us, who braved the winters as we do now, and whose strength and wisdom remain with us. May their spirits find peace in the great halls of our ancestors, and may we honor them by enduring as they did. Let us carry their memory forward in all we do.¡±


    The villagers murmured softly in agreement, many bowing their heads once more before the elder lowered his arms, signaling the end of the solemn proceedings. ¡°Now,¡± he said, his tone lightening just enough to break the tension, ¡°we turn to what they would have wished for us: to live, to laugh, and to find joy in the days ahead. Let the winter festival begin.¡±


    A ripple of movement swept through the crowd as the square transformed almost instantly. The once-silent space was filled with the sounds of life¡ªlaughter, the shuffling of feet, and the hum of conversations. Musicians began tuning their instruments in a corner of the square, their lively notes a stark contrast to the somber ceremony moments before. Merchants called out, offering hot spiced cider, fresh bread, and roasted meats, the aromas mingling in the air and drawing hungry villagers toward the stalls.


    Sitting at the edge of the square, Calder watched as the villagers celebrated. The bonfires roared, the music swelled, and laughter echoed through the cold air. Yet, not everyone was swept up in the revelry. Along the edges of the square, others stood quietly, their faces shadowed by their hoods or the flickering firelight.


    Calder¡¯s gaze drifted over the gathered figures, their postures varying between casual indifference and tightly wound anticipation. He wondered how many of them, like him, were waiting for the competition to be announced¡ªand how many were simply waiting for something to happen in general. A sense of restlessness hung in the air, barely masked by the sounds of celebration.


    As his thoughts churned, Calder reached into his pocket and pulled out his skinning knife. He inspected the blade under the firelight, running a thumb along its edge. He found that the small act helped ground him, though his mind was already running ahead, planning his route into the woods and weighing his chances against the others who might enter.


    The sudden clap of a hand on his back jolted him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Otto standing beside him, a broad grin on his face and a smoked piece of what smelled like Venison in one hand.


    ¡°Figured I¡¯d find you brooding over here,¡± Otto said, tearing off a bite of the meat and chewing loudly. ¡°What, the music and cider, not your style?¡±


    Calder smirked faintly, slipping the knife back into his pocket. ¡°Just thinking.¡±


    ¡°Ah, dangerous,¡± Otto quipped, settling onto the bench beside him. ¡°Let me guess¡ªabout the competition?¡±


    Calder raised an eyebrow but said nothing, which only made Otto¡¯s grin widen. ¡°Called it,¡± he said, holding out a piece of the smoked meat. ¡°Here. You¡¯ll need your strength if you¡¯re planning to run around the woods for the rest of the day.¡±


    Calder took the offered food with a quiet thanks, though he couldn¡¯t help the small chuckle that escaped him. Otto had a way of lightening even the most somber moments, a skill Calder was grateful for more often than he cared to admit. Together, they sat and watched the square, the tension of the crowd mingling with the festivities as the competition drew closer.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Calder raised the smoked meat to his mouth, the scent making his stomach rumble in anticipation, but before he could take a bite, a shadow fell over him. He glanced up, his brow furrowing as he recognized Dietrich, the village chief''s son, standing before them.


    Dietrich was, for all intents and purposes, a rat. Though he carried himself with the confidence of his father¡¯s position, his sharp features, narrow eyes, and the constant smirk on his face made him look as though he¡¯d been caught in the act of stealing something. His clothes were finer than most in the village, his fur-lined cloak hanging just low enough to drag against the snow, but there was an arrogance about him that made it clear he thought himself above those around him. Behind him stood two older men, both stocky and dressed in furs lined with decorative stitching¡ªlikely hunters or laborers from prominent families in the village. Their arms were crossed, their expressions neutral but watchful, as if waiting for their cue to act.


    ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t the hunter and his blacksmith lackey,¡± Dietrich said, his voice smooth but laced with condescension. His arms were folded as he regarded Calder and Otto with a faint smirk.


    Otto was the first to respond, leaning back casually on the bench, his grin unwavering. ¡°Dietrich. Always a pleasure. Did the chief send you over to bore us into submission, or is this a personal visit?¡±


    Dietrich¡¯s smirk faltered briefly, but he recovered quickly. ¡°Just making my rounds,¡± he said, his tone cool. ¡°You know, meeting the competition.¡±


    ¡°Meeting, or sizing up?¡± Calder asked. He set the smoked meat aside, his posture straightening as he met Dietrich¡¯s gaze.


    Dietrich¡¯s smile widened, though it didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Call it what you like. I just wanted to see who thought they had a chance against me. Word is you¡¯re planning to join the competition, Calder.¡± His tone turned pointed. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want you to embarrass yourself.¡±


    Otto snorted, sitting forward now. ¡°Embarrass himself? You mean the way you embarrass the chief every time you open your mouth?¡±


    One of the men behind Dietrich shifted, his arms uncrossing as he took a half-step forward, but Dietrich raised a hand to stop him. ¡°Easy,¡± Dietrich said, his eyes still locked on Calder. ¡°I¡¯m just saying¡ªit takes more than luck and a little skill to win this. You¡¯re not hunting rabbits out there.¡±


    Calder held his gaze, his expression unreadable. ¡°Good thing I¡¯m not hunting you, then.¡±


    The words hung in the air for a moment, and Otto couldn¡¯t hold back a bark of laughter. Dietrich¡¯s smile twisted into a scowl, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel, gesturing for his men to follow.


    ¡°Enjoy your festival,¡± he said over his shoulder, his tone clipped. ¡°While it lasts.¡±


    As Dietrich and his entourage disappeared into the crowd, Otto leaned back with a satisfied grin. ¡°Well, that was fun. I think he likes you.¡±


    Calder picked up the smoked meat again, shaking his head. ¡°Not enough to let me eat in peace.¡±


    Otto laughed, clapping him on the shoulder again. ¡°Forget him. By the end of this festival, you¡¯ll have more to brag about than he ever will.¡±


    Calder opened his mouth to respond to Otto¡¯s remark, but the sharp, resonant sound of a horn blowing through the square cut him short. The deep, echoing note silenced the crowd almost instantly, heads turning toward the source. Near the central bonfire, the village chief stood flanked by the elders, his towering frame wrapped in heavy ceremonial furs that marked his authority. Beside him, a herald raised the horn once more, the call drawing everyone¡¯s attention.


    Villagers began gathering around, leaving their stalls and conversations to cluster near the bonfire. As the crowd thickened, a man weaving through it began calling out names, gathering those who had signed up for the competition. Calder¡¯s name was among them. The man approached with a curt nod and motioned for him to follow. Calder glanced at Otto, who grinned and clapped him on the shoulder one last time.


    ¡°Good luck out there,¡± Otto said, his voice laced with encouragement and humor. ¡°Don¡¯t let Dietrich trip you on the way out.¡±


    Calder smirked faintly but didn¡¯t reply. With a nod, he followed the man toward the growing group of competitors assembling behind the chief. Around him, he noticed familiar faces¡ªhunters and trappers he knew by reputation, a few older villagers who looked confident, and even a couple of younger ones who seemed nervous but determined. Dietrich was there too, his smirk firmly in place as he eyed the others like prey.


    Once everyone was gathered and the crowd had settled, the chief stepped forward, his voice deep and commanding as he addressed the village. ¡°As you all know, the winter festival is a time to celebrate our resilience, our strength, and our unity. But it is also a time to prove ourselves, to show the world that even in the harshest winters, this village endures.¡±


    His gaze swept across the crowd, pausing briefly on each of the competitors. ¡°This year, we are holding a competition,¡± the chief continued, his voice rising above the crackling fire. ¡°Those behind me have chosen to participate, each vying to bring in the largest and most impressive animal for the village feast.¡±


    There were murmurs of agreement and excitement from the crowd, but Calder¡¯s attention sharpened as the chief raised a hand for silence. ¡°The rules are simple,¡± he said. ¡°You have until sundown tomorrow to bring in your catch. The largest animal, as judged by myself and the elders, will win.¡±


    This much, Calder had expected. What came next, however, caught him completely off guard.


    ¡°And this year,¡± the chief announced, his voice booming with a gravity that silenced even the faintest whispers, ¡°the winner will not only earn the honor of providing for the feast but will also be named my heir.¡±


    A stunned silence fell over the square, so heavy that even the crackle of the bonfire seemed muted. Calder¡¯s mind raced as he glanced around, seeing the shock mirrored on the faces of those around him. Dietrich himself was slacked-jawed as he stared at his father. The crowd erupted into a flurry of whispers, disbelief, and excitement rippling through them like a wave.


    The chief pressed on, his voice steady and unyielding. ¡°This decision has not been made lightly, but it is time to secure the future of this village. Let the hunt determine who among us has the strength, skill, and courage to lead.¡±


    As the murmurs grew louder, the chief raised his arms again. ¡°You have thirty minutes to prepare. We will see off our competitors at the edge of the village. May Dialos guide your hands and your hearts.¡±


    With that, the gathering began to disperse, villagers breaking off into clusters as excited chatter filled the air. Calder turned, scanning the crowd until his eyes locked with Otto¡¯s. For a moment, neither of them said anything, but the look they exchanged spoke volumes.


    ¡°Holy Shit¡±.

 Chapter 4: An Unfortunate Encounter

    The 30 minutes passed in a heartbeat as the whole village gathered at its edge, the crowd buzzing with excitement. The sharp chill of the late afternoon air seemed forgotten as villagers jostled for a better view, eager to see off the competitors standing in a line before the forest. The trees loomed tall and dark around them, casting their dark shadows around everyone.


    Standing at the heart of the contestants, Calder fought to steady his breathing. His heart was hammering in his chest, the adrenaline from the moment refusing to subside. When the chief had given them the time to gather their gear, Calder had sprinted back to his hovel, throwing together what little he could carry. Now he stood there, his father¡¯s bow slung across his shoulder and his best arrows sitting snugly in their quiver, their fletching neat and ready for flight.


    In his pocket, his father¡¯s pin rested, the double-headed eagle¡¯s edges cool against his fingers. He hadn¡¯t planned to bring it, but at the last moment, he had slipped it into his pocket as a quiet reminder of what he carried¡ªnot just equipment, but a legacy. He clutched it briefly now, feeling the familiar grooves beneath his fingers before letting it go, his focus returning to the task at hand.


    To his left and right, the other competitors stood in varying states of readiness. Some looked calm and confident, while others wore tense, determined expressions. At the edge of his vision, Dietrich stood surrounded by his entourage, smirking and speaking lowly to one of his men, his polished crossbow gleaming in the pale light. Calder¡¯s jaw tightened as he looked away, his attention snapping back to the forest ahead.


    The priest of Dialos moved down the line of competitors, offering final blessings. He murmured prayers as he traced the sigil of the gods on their foreheads with ash, wishing each hunter good fortune. When he reached Calder, the priest¡¯s eyes sat on him for a moment as though he were studying him before he spoke.


    ¡°May your hands be steady and your heart true,¡± the priest said, his voice soft as he drew the sigil on Calder¡¯s brow.


    Calder nodded his thanks, murmuring a quiet, ¡°I¡¯ll do my best,¡± before the priest moved on. The ash felt cool against his skin, grounding him in the moment.


    In front of them, the chief raised a hand, his voice cutting through the stillness. ¡°You have until sundown tomorrow to return with your catch. Now, let the hunt begin.¡±


    A horn sounded, its deep, resonant note echoing through the trees and into the crowd. The competitors moved as one, stepping into the forest¡¯s shadowy embrace. Calder¡¯s boots crunched against the snow-covered ground, the sound fading as the cheers of the villagers disappeared behind him.


    The woods closed around him, and with them came silence. The kind of quiet that pressed against the ears, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches or the distant call of a bird. Calder adjusted his quiver, his hand brushing the familiar weight of his father¡¯s bow as he ran.


    The forest was a maze of towering trees and tangled undergrowth, but Calder moved with purpose, his eyes scanning for tracks, broken branches, or any sign of movement. The chill bit at his exposed skin, but he barely felt it, his focus sharp as a blade. He followed the faint trail of hoofprints he¡¯d spotted earlier, the marks fresh and heading toward the thicker parts of the woods.


    As he ran, his breathing steady, the sound of the village faded entirely, leaving only the rhythmic beat of his steps and the occasional creak of a swaying branch. The air here was heavier, laced with the earthy scent of pine and damp soil. The deeper he ventured, the more the forest seemed to close in, the trees growing taller and their shadows longer.


    Calder slowed as the tracks veered toward a dense thicket. He crouched low, his hand brushing the ground as he examined the marks more closely. They were deep and deliberate, the kind left by something big. His pulse quickened as he straightened, nocking an arrow to his bowstring as he advanced carefully.


    Through the branches, he caught a glimpse of movement¡ªa flash of brown against the white snow. He froze, his breath catching as his eyes locked onto a massive elk standing in a clearing. Its antlers were wide and jagged, like the twisted roots of an ancient tree. The creature¡¯s sheer size was staggering, its powerful frame dwarfing any elk Calder had ever seen.


    He steadied his breathing, raising his bow and drawing the string back until it was taut. The world seemed to narrow to the point of the arrow, every sound and sensation falling away. This was it, the kind of kill that could win the competition¡ªand secure his place in the village¡¯s legacy.


    But before he could release the arrow, the sharp twang of a crossbow broke the silence. Calder flinched as a bolt struck the elk¡¯s side, the beast jerking and stumbling forward with a pained bellow. He whipped his head toward the sound, his stomach sinking as he saw one of Dietrich¡¯s men emerging from the trees, lowering his crossbow.


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    ¡°Got it!¡± the man shouted, his voice echoing through the stillness as he strode confidently toward the elk, which staggered and collapsed onto its side with a heavy thud. Blood stained the snow where it lay, its massive frame heaving with labored breaths.


    Dietrich emerged from the shadows moments later, his polished boots crunching against the snow with deliberate precision. His smirk widened as his gaze landed on Calder, who stood frozen with his bow still raised, the tension in the string slowly slackening.


    ¡°Well, well,¡± Dietrich drawled, his tone as smug as the gleam in his eyes. ¡°You have a knack for finding the best game, don¡¯t you, Calder? Too bad you¡¯re always a step behind.¡±


    Calder¡¯s jaw tightened, but he didn¡¯t respond. Instead, he lowered his bow, his fingers twitching against the grip. The elk groaned weakly, and one of Dietrich¡¯s men moved to finish it off with a quick thrust of a knife.


    Dietrich gestured toward the beast with an exaggerated flourish, as if presenting a prize. ¡°Magnificent, isn¡¯t it? This¡¯ll look good on the chief¡¯s table¡ªand even better with my name attached to it.¡±


    Calder exhaled slowly, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. ¡°You didn¡¯t shoot it,¡± he said flatly, his voice low but steady.


    Dietrich¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t falter. ¡°Details, details. It¡¯s not about who took the shot¡ªit¡¯s about who claims the prize. Isn¡¯t that right?¡± He motioned to his men, who were already preparing to haul the elk away. ¡°But don¡¯t worry, Calder. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s still something out there for you. Maybe a rabbit or two.¡±


    In his mind, Calder was so close to invoking Dialos¡¯s holy name as he prepared to rip Dietrich a new one. The urge to lash out, to bury the sharp edges of his words into Dietrich¡¯s smug face, burned hot in his chest. His fingers tightened on his bow, the leather grip creaking softly under the strain.


    But he stopped himself.


    Not here. Not now. A public outburst would only feed Dietrich¡¯s ego, and Calder refused to give him that satisfaction. Instead, he took a slow breath through his nose, forcing his temper to cool just enough to keep his voice steady.


    ¡°Enjoy your head start, Dietrich,¡± Calder said evenly, his tone colder than the snow around them. ¡°You¡¯ll need it.¡±


    Dietrich raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before returning in full force. ¡°Oh, I will,¡± he replied, his voice dripping with mock politeness. ¡°Do try to keep up, though.¡±


    Calder didn¡¯t bother responding. Instead, he turned sharply, his cloak sweeping the snow as he strode deeper into the forest. Behind him, he could hear Dietrich chuckling, his laughter grating against Calder¡¯s ears like nails on stone.


    Every step Calder took away from the clearing felt heavier, his frustration weighing on him. The elk had been his¡ªit should have been his. But no amount of anger or regret would change what had happened. He had to let it go, to channel that fire into something productive.


    The deeper he went into the woods, the quieter the forest seemed to grow. The usual sounds of rustling leaves and distant birds were muffled, replaced by the crunch of snow beneath his boots and the steady beat of his heart. The path ahead twisted and narrowed, the trees growing denser, their gnarled branches weaving together like a cage.


    His frustration began to cool, replaced instead by cold, hard, determination. He scanned the forest floor for tracks, the trunks of trees for scratches, and the snow for any disturbance that might hint at the presence of something big. The faint scent of damp earth and pine filled his nostrils, mingling with the faint tang of his sweat as the effort of moving through the rough terrain began to set in.


    After what felt like hours of silence, Calder spotted it¡ªa fresh trail cutting through the snow. The hoofprints were deep, wider than anything he¡¯d seen earlier in the day. His heart quickened as he crouched to examine them, brushing his fingers over the edges. They led further into the woods, toward an area where the trees grew so tightly together it was almost like stepping into another world.


    He followed the trail carefully, each step deliberate. The forest here was eerily quiet, as though even the birds and smaller creatures avoided it. The air seemed thicker, harder to breathe, and Calder could feel the faint pull of exhaustion creeping into his muscles. Still, he pressed on, his determination burning brighter with each step.


    Then, he saw it.


    Through the trees ahead, a massive deer stood, its coat a silvery sheen that seemed to glow faintly in the ever-dwindling light coming through the canopy. Its antlers were enormous, curling like branches of an ancient oak, and its sheer size dwarfed even the largest elk Calder, perhaps even the village itself, had ever seen. The creature stood still, its head raised as if sensing something in the air, its breath visible in the cold.


    Calder froze, his breath catching in his throat. Instantly, He crouched low, nocking an arrow to his bowstring as he steadied his breathing. This was it¡ªhis chance to outshine them all. Slowly, carefully, he drew back the string, the tension in his arms steady as he lined up the shot.


    The massive deer stood perfectly still, its head raised and nostrils flaring as though sensing something out of place. Calder held his breath, waiting for the perfect moment. The forest seemed to narrow around him, the sounds of the world falling away until there was only the soft creak of his bowstring and the deer in his sights.


    He loosed the arrow. It flew fast and true, striking the creature¡¯s flank with a solid thud as it buried itself deep inside. The deer let out a deep, guttural bellow and staggered, its powerful legs digging into the snow as it tried to regain balance and run. Calder didn¡¯t hesitate for even a moment. He reached for another arrow, drawing and firing in one fluid motion. This one hit the chest, just below the shoulder, and the deer reared back, thrashing wildly.


    A third arrow followed almost immediately, burying itself deep into the beast¡¯s side. It was with this arrow that the creature finally faltered, its massive frame swaying as it took a few unsteady steps forward. With a final groan, it collapsed onto the snow, the ground trembling faintly beneath its weight.


    Calder lowered his bow, his breaths coming fast and shallow. For a fraction of a second, he had thought that the deer would get away but now saw otherwise. He approached cautiously, his heart pounding back and forth in his chest. Up close, the deer seemed even bigger than what he initially thought. Underneath its seemingly silver fur, muscles thicker than his arm could be seen. Pulling his arrow from the beast, he found that the first was almost buried entirely inside, forcing him to cut a small hole to pull it out fully. It was a prize unlike any other¡ªa catch that could change everything.


    He knelt beside it, placing a hand on its flank as he murmured a quiet thanks to Dialos. The deer''s eyes were still open, its glassy gaze fixed on the sky above. Calder felt a strange mix of pride and unease as he stared at the creature.


    ¡°How am I supposed to move this thing?¡± he muttered, shaking his head. The deer''s size made hauling it back alone seem impossible, but he had no choice. This was the moment he had been waiting for, and he wasn¡¯t about to leave it behind.


    Just as he began to consider how to tackle the daunting task, a sharp snap of wood behind him shattered his thoughts. Calder froze every muscle in his body tensing. Slowly, he turned his head toward the sound.


    Standing there, saliva and blood dripping from its maw while yellow eyes pierced his very soul, was a dire wolf.