Smoke curled skyward, twisting against the pale dawn like black veins across the sky. The scent was sharp, bitter, and heavy, clinging to the back of the throat. Ravenshire—once alive with laughter, with the clatter of tools and the hum of village life—was a ruin of shattered wood, splintered fences, and fields torn into mud by monstrous feet. The cries of livestock and the muffled sobs of villagers filled the air, merging with the distant crackle of fire as small blazes sputtered in the wreckage.
The village had survived, but survival had come at a terrible price.
Hunnt, no older than three, stood in the central square, his tiny body frozen as though pinned in place by the weight of what he saw. His eyes were wide, too wide for a child, reflecting the carnage before him. His hands trembled violently at his sides, yet he could not move.
His parents—Rylan, towering with white hair gleaming even through soot, and Lyra, red eyes burning with ferocity—fought with the courage of legends. Rylan's greatsword carved arcs of silver light, shattering armored scales, while Lyra's twin blades blurred like crimson streaks, cutting with precision and fury. Together, they were unstoppable. Together, they were a wall that no beast could break.
And then, in a breath, they were gone.
Hunnt's world collapsed in an instant too vast for his young mind to grasp. He did not remember the final strikes, nor the fatal wounds. His body seized, legs giving way as he toppled onto the dirt. His screams tore from his throat, shrill and unending, but they were drowned beneath the chaos of battle and the despair of villagers who had no arms left to fight.
What remained in his heart were fragments: the glint of his father's hair in the smoke, the blaze of his mother's eyes as she struck her last blow, and the emptiness that swallowed all else.
The details of their deaths were buried, locked away by a mind too young to bear the truth. All Hunnt carried forward was the hollow ache of loss and the silence that followed.
Kael knelt not far from the child, chest heaving as he gripped his Light Bowgun like it alone tethered him to reality. His hands shook, not from fear but from grief, each breath pulling smoke and sorrow into his lungs. The battle was over. The monsters were dead or driven off. But the cost…
His friends—Rylan and Lyra, the companions he had trusted, laughed with, and fought beside—were gone. The ground seemed to tilt beneath him as he stared at the empty space where they had stood only moments before.
And worse still, the Silver Talon Party, the comrades meant to stand together, was broken. Thane, Eira, and Falon had abandoned the fight, walking away from Ravenshire in pursuit of recognition from the Guild. Kael had pleaded with them, urged them to return, but their backs had remained turned. And now, the village stood scarred, two of its greatest defenders gone, and all that remained in Kael's arms was the trembling weight of a child who had lost everything.
Kael bent down, gently lifting Hunnt from the dirt. The boy's small frame quivered against him, sobs racking his tiny body. His eyes—wide, red, and streaming—locked onto Kael's with a desperation that stabbed deeper than any blade.
"I'll protect you," Kael whispered, his voice breaking, raw with grief and rage. He pressed the boy close, bowgun strapped awkwardly against his back. "I'll make sure nothing like this happens again. You will be strong, Hunnt. You will know courage, loyalty, and honor—not the hollow recognition those cowards chose."
The words came as a vow, carried into the smoke and ash of Ravenshire.
Days later, Kael's boots echoed through the polished stone halls of the Hunters Guild. The transition was jarring—where Ravenshire had smelled of ash and blood, the Guild smelled of oil, steel, and polished wood. The banners of triumph hung neatly above, golden and red, and the hum of hunters filled the air. Laughter, orders, and clinking mugs clashed violently against the memories that still burned in Kael's heart.
At the far end of the hall, he saw them. Thane, leaning back in his chair, smirk fixed firmly on his face. Eira sat beside him, sharp-eyed and cold, while Falon lingered near, shifting uncomfortably but silent. A certificate lay proudly on the table before them, parchment still crisp and ink bold:
"Silver Talon Party – Leader: Thane."
Kael's chest burned with fresh fury. He strode forward, each step loud, each step fueled by grief and rage that had no outlet until now. His voice cut through the Guild's chatter like thunder.
"You!"
Heads turned. Conversations faltered. Hunters glanced up from their meals, drawn to the fire in Kael's tone.
"Do you even realize what happened in Ravenshire?" Kael demanded, his voice cracking against the walls.
Thane looked up lazily, smirk never fading. "We know. But we followed protocol. Recognition matters more than sentiment."
The word "recognition" landed like a curse in Kael's ears. He clenched his fists so tightly that veins rose along his forearms, his bowgun trembling against his back.
"Recognition?" His voice rose, echoing with disbelief and rage. "You abandoned your friends! You abandoned a village! And now you sit here, proud of a piece of paper, as if it excuses everything?!"
Eira's lips curled in disdain. "We survived. That is what matters. Hunters serve recognition, reputation, and rank. Your grief does not change that."
Falon shifted in his chair, guilt flickering across his face, but his silence was damning.
Thane leaned back further, folding his arms with smug ease. "We did what hunters do. Rules, recognition, survival. That's all that matters."
Kael's anger surged to the breaking point. Every word, every laugh, every smirk was another knife driven into his chest. His voice shook, heavy with both grief and defiance. "Then hear me now: if the Silver Talon Party means nothing to you, then it is finished. Its legacy ends here. Without Rylan and Lyra, it is nothing but ash and shame."
Thane tilted his head mockingly, lifting the certificate between two fingers. "You can't disband it. I lead it now. The Guild recognizes me. You? You're just a bitter man clinging to ghosts."
The laughter that followed was cruel, hollow, and unbearable.
Kael's eyes burned, his fists trembling at his sides. He wanted to strike, to silence their mockery with steel, but the Guild was not the place. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel, voice steady though his heart raged.
"Then take your recognition. Take your paper. Take your hollow pride. But know this: the world will not remember you. It will not sing of your cowardice or your smirks. It will remember Rylan. It will remember Lyra. And it will remember the boy they left behind—the boy who will rise stronger than you could ever dream."
He strode out of the Guild hall, leaving Thane, Eira, and Falon to their hollow laughter. Hunters whispered as he passed, some shaking their heads, some staring with quiet respect, others with unease. But Kael did not care.