Evening settled slowly over Astera like a thick wool blanket. The day had been long, full of motion and sound, but now the noises mellowed into a softer rhythm—the creaking of rope from the airships docked above, the low clangs of tools echoing from the forge, the distant call of some flying wyvern silhouetted against the dying sun. The air, heavy with salt and soot, warmed my face as I sat near the forge's entrance, watching orange sparks spit into the sky like fireflies.
I never thought I would find beauty in such a place.
The forge was a monster in itself—a furnace bellowing heat and steam, its metallic belly gorged on ore and ambition. The blacksmith, a woman named Mava, towered like an oak tree over the anvils. Her arms bore years of toil in the shape of muscle and soot-stained scars. She had a booming laugh and the kind of voice that turned silence into comfort.
She glanced over her shoulder at me, wiping sweat from her brow with a grease-black cloth. "Boy from the wildlands," she called, as she always did. "You've got the look of someone who tasted death and came back asking for seconds. I respect that."
"He has the look of someone who still can't lift a longsword without shaking," Kael said with a grin. The hunter plopped down beside me with a waterskin, passing it over.
"Thanks," I muttered.
I drank deep, the water warm from being carried all day, but it still soothed the fire in my throat.
"You learning yet?" Kael asked, bumping my shoulder lightly.
"Trying."
Kael reached into their pouch and pulled out a small board with etched runes and scratched images. It was their makeshift teaching tablet, something they'd fashioned to help me pick up the Monster Hunter language. The words were simple: danger, fire, food, heal, help, hunter. But slowly, I was grasping the roots.
I traced the rune for "heal" with my finger. "This one again."
Kael nodded. "He-rah. Means to mend. Useful when you get stabbed."
I laughed, a dry sound. "Hope I won't need it."
"You will."
Across the deck, hunters gathered around tables, sharpening blades, mending armor, or sharing stories of hunts that had ended just hours ago. There was a rhythm to the life here—not peace, but motion. Even in rest, they were preparing.
One of them, a tall man with a pronounced limp and a scar across his cheek like lightning, raised a mug of ale in my direction.
"You stood with Kael out in Wildspire. You didn't scream when Diablos charged. That means something."
"Means you're either brave," another chimed in, "or stupid."
"Both," Kael said proudly, clinking a flask with them.
I smiled. My muscles still ached from the days before, but the warmth spreading in my chest had nothing to do with rest.
(Part 2 – The Briefing: Flames and Horns)
The following morning began with urgency. The bells rang across Astera at dawn, loud and resonant, calling every active hunter to the briefing hall.
Inside the canteen, tables had been cleared to make room for maps—sprawled parchment pinned with notes, sightings, and red markings that meant only one thing: serious trouble.
The Commander stood at the head of it all, flanked by scribes, researchers, and the Handler.
His voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. "We have confirmation: Glavenus and Diablos are active in the same region. Wildspire Waste."
Kael folded their arms beside me, listening intently.
"Scouts saw signs of Diablos moving westward. It's deviating from its usual patterns. Meanwhile, Glavenus has been leaving scorched trail marks through the southern ridges. These two monsters don't share territory. The moment they meet again, the result will be catastrophic—for them, and for us."
The scribe pointed to a dot on the map. "Here. We believe the missing hunter made his last stand near this ridge. Only parts of him were recovered."
Kael's voice was tight. "He was experienced. Diablos alone wouldn't have torn him apart like that."
I spoke quietly, "We saw Glavenus too. It ambushed us right after... I had a vision."
All eyes turned to me.
"A vision?" the Handler asked.
"I saw... something. A monster—massive, unnatural. Shackled. Bound. It looked at me and said, 'Find me.'"
The Commander frowned. "We've had myths about ancient dragons, but voices? That's something else."
He nodded slowly and returned to the map.
"This changes things. We now believe the appearance of both Glavenus and Diablos may be tied to a disturbance—something older. Something buried. We'll investigate that later. For now, we act."
He pointed at us.
"Kael. Nurazam. You take the Diablos route. Recon, drive it back if possible. The rest of Team Vega will track Glavenus."
Kael saluted. I did my best to copy it, awkwardly.
"Stay linked. Use flare signals if either of you encounter trouble you can't handle. And Nurazam... stay alive."
The meeting dispersed with a clatter of boots and steel.
Kael nudged me gently. "We're not heroes. We're hunters. Just remember that."
I glanced at the map, then back at the morning sun rising over the high cliffs of Astera.
"Then let's go hunt monsters."
---
The sun hung mercilessly over the Wildspire Waste. Kael and I moved through the dunes, our boots crunching over cracked stone and dry mud. The wind tasted like salt and copper.
We were expecting tracks.
We found carnage.
Two corpses lay in a twisted heap before us—Diablos and Glavenus, both dead.
The ground around them was churned, darkened with fresh blood that had not yet dried in the heat. Diablos' horns were snapped at the base, and Glavenus' massive tail lay severed, but neither wound explained what had killed them. Their bodies were scorched, gouged, torn apart in ways that defied explanation.
Kael crouched beside Glavenus' head, his face pale.
"No hunter did this," he murmured. "No pack of monsters either. This was something… worse."
I swallowed hard, trying to breathe through the tightening in my chest.
That was when it happened.
A scream split the sky.
Not human.
Not even natural.
It was low at first—a rumble in the bones—then rising into a piercing shriek that made the very air vibrate. The hairs on my arms stood upright.
I looked up.
It flew above us.
Black scales that shimmered with corruption.
A halo of shedding spores.
Eyes like voids.
A pair of wings spread across the moonlit sky, framed against the glowing full moon—a sight that etched itself into my soul.
Gore Magala.
The Commander, standing behind us with his scouts, drew in a sharp breath. "By the Sapphire Star…" he gasped.
Then he shouted.
"FLARE! BACK TO CAMP! NOW!"
He fired the red signal into the air, the crack echoing like thunder.
Other hunters began falling back, a few loosing shots to cover our retreat.
Kael grabbed my arm. "Move, Azam! Move!"
I didn't need convincing.
The vision of that monster was burned into my retinas. I ran. We all did. Across rock and sand, stumbling, dodging, breath burning in our lungs.
Behind us, I heard claws rake the ground. Screams. Roars.
The hunt had changed.
And what await us was far from hell.
---
It landed—slammed—into the ground with a thunderous crash. The earth cracked beneath it. Debris exploded into the air.
And it moved.
Fast. Too fast. Like a shadow striking before a flame could blink.
One of our hunters barely raised his weapon before a claw the size of a broadsword cleaved him in two. Gore Magala didn't slow. Another hunter tried to retreat, but the tail whipped around—spiked, armored—and slammed him into a boulder. Blood misted the air.
"FALL BACK!" the Commander roared, firing a flare. The red light cast warped shadows across the field.
Kael grabbed my arm. "Run! AZAM, MOVE!"
We ran.
But I looked back.
I shouldn't have.
The Gore Magala walked among the corpses like a god of plague. Calm. Unstoppable. Hunters screamed. They fought—blades scraped off its scales, fire bounced from its wings. Its wings stretched outward, towering like death's own cloak, blotting out the moonlight.
Then it looked at me.
I don't know how. It had no eyes. But it saw me.
Only me.
Something cracked in my mind.
Its frills quivered.
The dust around me thickened. I staggered. My heart was pounding like it wanted to escape.
I turned to run, but I was too slow. It lunged.
A massive claw tore through the ground beside me. I scrambled to the edge of the rocks, barely dodging a second strike.
Kael's voice: "AZAM!"
The Commander: "Don't let it separate you!"
Too late.
I slipped.
The rock crumbled under my feet.
The world flipped upside down. The last thing I saw was Kael's face—horrified—and Gore Magala above me, wings outstretched under the full moon like a reaper's scythe. Its eyeless face pointed directly at me.
Then, the dark.
I fell.
I kept falling.
The last thing I heard… was Gore Magala's roar echoing into the abyss...