The streets of Rabanastre buzzed with life as the party returned from the hunt. Lanterns swung from iron posts, painting golden arcs across sandstone walls and the bazaar's open stalls. Even at night, the city never slept. Merchants called half-heartedly to late customers, hawking spices, fabrics, and jewelry. Children darted between the crowds, chasing each other with sticks, their laughter echoing under the desert stars.
The group cut a striking image as they moved together through the press of people. Clive strode at the front, his greatsword heavy across his back. His jaw was tight, his eyes alert, but beneath the hardened focus, there was something else—pride. Not just in himself, but in the way his companions had fought as one.
Lunafreya walked behind him, staff cradled in both hands. Her steps were graceful, her expression calm, yet a quiet smile tugged at her lips. She had seen fire and ice balance, and it had renewed her hope.
Vivi lagged just a little, his robes trailing as his short legs struggled to keep pace. His little hands still tingled with leftover sparks, his heart buzzing with the thrill of casting magic against such a monster.
Serah leaned lightly against Mog, who flitted beside her with wings beating cheerfully. Her bow-sword rested folded at her hip, her braid damp with sweat, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
And Auron, new among them, carried his katana across his shoulder. His face was unreadable as ever, his eye hooded beneath the rim of his collar, but the sharpness in his gaze betrayed the truth: he had measured them, and found them worth standing beside.
He hadn't fought with them before. But tonight, he had endured with them.
---
The Clan Hall was nearly empty when they pushed open the doors. Notices fluttered on the walls, their corners curling from the desert air. A single candle flickered at the counter. Behind it, Montblanc sat half-dozing, his pom swaying as he fought sleep.
The sound of boots and Mog's wings jolted him upright. "Ah—kupooo!" Montblanc hopped onto the counter, ears perked. "You're back! How did the cockatrice hunt go, eh? Feathers everywhere? Beaks snapping?"
Clive strode forward, unslinging a heavy sack from his shoulder. He dropped it on the counter with a thud. The contents clattered—scales, claws, fangs. "We killed it," Clive said simply. "Tough beast. Nothing like I've ever faced before."
Montblanc's nose twitched. Curious, he tugged the sack open—then froze. Slowly, he lifted one jagged fang as long as his arm. It gleamed wickedly in the candlelight, too heavy for a mere cockatrice. His pom trembled.
"…Kupoooo?!" Montblanc squeaked, his voice cracking. He pawed through the sack, pulling out thick scales and serrated claws. His ears stiffened, his eyes wide. Finally, he spun toward them, pom vibrating. "This isn't cockatrice! This is Wild Saurian!"
The group blinked.
Vivi nearly tripped over his robe. "W–wait… we fought the wrong monster?"
Serah's eyes widened. "But it was right there on the trail!"
Clive's jaw tightened. "…You're telling me that wasn't even the target?"
Auron exhaled, his voice dry as stone. "Figures."
Montblanc flailed his little arms. "Figures, he says! Kupoooo! Cockatrices are troublesome, yes, but this—this is no mistake. The Wild Saurian is a monster seasoned hunters avoid. Whole parties have been flattened by its tail. And you—you just walked up and fought it like a practice match?!"
Mog gave a cheeky flap of his wings. "Kupo! That's what makes us special!"
Serah stifled a laugh behind her hand. Vivi snickered outright.
Clive rubbed his temples. "Unbelievable…"
---
Montblanc's panic faded into something else: awe. He set the fang back down gently, as though it were a relic. His pom puffed up. "Unbelievable, yes… but also incredible! In all my years running Clan Centurio, I've never seen recruits bring down a Wild Saurian as a side job. That's not Rank I work. That's leagues above!"
He hopped fully onto the counter, tail flicking. "By authority of Clan Centurio, I hereby promote Clive Rosfield to Rank II!"
The words rang through the hall.
Clive blinked. "…Rank II? But it was the wrong hunt."
Montblanc waved his paws furiously. "The wrong hunt, kupo? Perhaps. But the right proof of strength! Refusing would dishonor the effort you gave—and the beast you felled!"
Serah laughed, bright as chimes. "See, Clive? Even when things don't go to plan, it still works out."
Vivi clapped his small hands, eyes shining. "Congratulations, Clive!"
Lunafreya's voice was calm, yet warm. "It seems destiny insists on recognizing your strength, whether you seek it or not."
Auron smirked faintly, the closest he came to a laugh. "Not bad… for a wrong hunt."
---
Montblanc's gaze shifted then, ears twitching as they fell on Auron. The scarred warrior stood like a mountain, katana balanced against his shoulder.
"And you, kupo." Montblanc tilted his head. "You're new, aren't you? Normally, recruits prove themselves in a trial before joining the Clan. But after what I've just heard…" He tapped the fang with a claw. "You fought the Wild Saurian alongside them?"
Auron gave a single, slow nod. "I did."
Montblanc's pom bobbed. His grin spread. "Then there's no need for a trial! If you can stand against that beast and live, you're already more than worthy. By my word as Clanmaster, I welcome you into Clan Centurio immediately."
The group turned toward Auron, their smiles breaking wide.
Serah gasped. "Auron, you're in!"
Vivi hopped once in excitement. "That means we're all clanmates now!"
Lunafreya inclined her head. "It suits you. The Clan gains both your strength and your wisdom."
Auron allowed himself the faintest of smiles, though his tone stayed gruff. "Hmph. As long as it means more battles worth my time."
Montblanc clapped his tiny paws together. "Kupopo! That's the spirit!"
---
Laughter rippled through the hall. The tension of the hunt, the weight of their wounds, all gave way to the warmth of camaraderie.
For Auron, it was his first step as an official hunter of Dalmasca. For Clive, it was proof that even mistakes could be turned into triumphs.
They left the hall beneath Rabanastre's starry sky. The air was cooler now, the streets quieter, the city breathing its midnight rhythm.
Clive glanced at the fang Montblanc had pressed into his hands as proof of their feat. Heavy, jagged, still faintly humming with the beast's fury. Wrong target or not, it had cost them dearly — and they had stood together.
Lunafreya walked at his side, her staff faintly glowing under the moonlight. "Sometimes," she said softly, "the wrong path still leads us where we are meant to go."
Clive said nothing, but her words lingered.
High above, unseen, Sirius watched through the threads. He traced the bonds woven tighter this night, each one glowing brighter. "The wrong hunt," he murmured, "but the right recognition. Fate bends, but the threads grow stronger."
And with that, the party of six walked into the Dalmascan night — hunters, comrades, and now, clanmates.