The boy was teetering on the edge of sleep. The windmill outside finally settled into a rhythm, and the grinding noise had nearly ceased. The unbearable heat in the third story room at last began to subside as well. No cows mooed, and no coyote howled for a few blissful moments. Sleep was coming. He felt it like sinking into black syrup.

A sudden presence in the room shattered the spell. He realized that he was paralyzed, and not alone. His eyelids wouldn’t obey the call of his frantic mind, and his body vibrated violently with the restrained effort. It was a fear unlike anything else he had ever experienced. Or was it? It was familiar but he couldn’t understand why it was familiar. He was angry because he knew that whatever was with him in this room had done this to him before but would not allow him to remember. It was both alien and familiar, and utterly terrifying.

His mind was flooded with intrusive suggestions, instructing him to be calm; reassuring him that he was safe. He knew they were lies. He knew that he was going to be cut, that he was going to be jabbed, that they were going to take his...

“No!” He screamed in his mind. “Not this time. I’m going to remember. Damn you! I’m going to remember!”

The presence in his mind responded with a more intense barrage of soothing waves. He felt a numbness in his left thigh. That was the jab that made him numb. He knew that next was the cut. It caused no pain but he could feel his skin opening just below his sternum. Then a cold object entered his body. It moved slowly up to his chest and seized something. He had no idea what it was, just that it was important. It pulled it out of him slowly, then the last step was replacing it with something else...

“Z, wake up you little shit! Animals need fed if you want Dad to let you go up that stupid mountain again.” His big sister crowed. She held an oil lamp in one hand as she yanked the blanket off of him with the other. Cora was short and fit from a life of hard farm work. At seventeen years old she was four years Zell’s senior. Her skin would have been light and freckled if not for the unseasonably long and hot summer which had left both siblings with a rare bronze tan. Her shoulder length hair was straight and brown just like Zell’s and they both had bright green eyes.

It was morning, barely. The sky was lightening but the sun hadn’t yet broken over the eastern mountains. The noises from outside were lively though. The two cows had already been milked and were mooing for their hay and grain. The birds were chattering away at each other, and the even swishing sound of scythes cutting through wheat stalks filtered through his open window.

“That stupid mountain.” Zell echoed as he sat up sleepily and put his feet on the rough wooden floor.

“Well maybe don’t sign up for something no one wants you to do and you’re terrible at?” she tossed the blanket back over his head as she twirled to exit the room.

She was right of course, what he was doing was by every definition insanely stupid. Not for the first time he questioned his choice. He woke up before the sun every single day to hike for two hours up a steep trail to a hermit’s shack. Once there, he did one absurd chore after another, all while taking constant physical and mental beatings just to stumble home at dark with nothing to show for it but fresh bruises, blisters, and a smaller ego. Going there meant constant discomfort, strain, and pain. The hermit had an inexhaustible well of creativity when it came to tormenting Zell, and seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself at his expense. She always reminded him that quitting was the easiest thing in the world. He could walk away at any time and never come back, after all no one wanted him there. His sister and father never ceased to remind him of the same. He should just quit, but to Zell quitting was never an option.

It had been eight months since the first time the woman had refused to train him. After two weeks of daily visits, she began releasing her pet dire wolf whenever he approached. The giant beast chased and growled but always cut off pursuit after a mile or so. After a few weeks of daily chases, the wolf seemed to be changing his tone. One day Zell decided not to run. As she flung the door open, and the wolf barreled out, Zell sat down cross legged on the dirt as calmly as he could. The wolf stopped short, confused for a moment. He growled and snapped and snarled but he didn’t bite. After several long and tense seconds the confused wolf looked back at the robed hermit who stood in the doorway scowling.

She sighed in exasperation. “Come inside stupid and stubborn boy.”

Ever since then he had been a servant to an ungrateful and unwilling master. If he could just persuade her to train him, to teach him, then his dream of following in his lost mother’s footsteps could really come true. After all, according to his father this woman was a famous monster hunter.

He fed the animals before he set out, noting they were short another chicken. Damned hawks. Zell’s mind lingered on his sister’s earlier jabs. He was indeed a fool, slow to learn and frustrating to teach. He admitted as much freely. It took him longer than his sister to learn anything. He had to study twice as hard before anything stuck in his mind. He was late learning to walk, late learning to talk, late learning numbers and letters. The nickname from Cora ‘Z’ came from a stutter when telling anyone his name. He didn’t mind feeling dumb, a kindly grown up working for his father had once told him that over a long enough time, perseverance always trumped talent. He couldn’t remember their name but the message was clearly burned into his mind.

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The trek up the mountain was treacherous and steep through thick woods and across several creeks though most were dried up this late in the summer. Zell knew this path as well as he knew anything in the world. It had become easy without him even realizing it. He munched a tasteless ration biscuit made from corn meal, salt, and rendered beef fat as he walked. He quickly shook off the mopey and groggy attitude of the early morning, and found himself smiling and enjoying the familiar and beautiful nature around him.

“Maybe today!” He chimed to the empty forest around him, breaking into a brisk jog up the narrow trail.

“Not today.” The first words out of the hermit’s mouth as he approached her cabin, just like every other day. As always she wore a hooded grey robe which hid nearly all of her features.

“Take Merc for a walk. I want him tired when he gets back.” The huge dire wolf barreled past her and leaped at Zell, knocking him down and burying him in excited licks and nips. Zell struggled to his feet and took off back down the hill at a jog. Merc the dire wolf loped along happily beside him. Merc was a thing of beauty, his thick coat was silver, but his muzzle and tail were dark. Above his light brown eyes were ridges of bone that along with his great size marked him as a dire wolf. He was almost as tall as Zell’s five and a half feet at his shoulder, and triple his hundred and twenty-five pounds in weight.

By the time they reached the bottom of the hill, Zell was feeling warmed up and ready for the race back up. She wanted Merc tired? She would have him tired! He sprinted hard, noting that he could now keep this pace almost indefinitely. Endurance was his only real talent. His body was just as stubborn as his mind, and once he settled into a grind it was nearly impossible to shake him. He wasn’t strong like his dad or fast like his sister, but his stamina was a world apart from anyone else he knew.

Merc was more than ready for the challenge, the boy’s hard sprint was close to Merc’s normal overland travel pace. He wasn’t even panting at the top of the hill. Frustrated, Zell didn’t return to the cabin as he usually would. He instead spun around and charged back down the hill with a confused Merc tailing him.

It was mid afternoon, and five trips up and down the mountain later that the hermit finally got curious and strolled outside to the trail leading down the mountain. She hid expertly among the shrubs and waited.

After fifteen minutes or so, she could hear footsteps running toward her. A sweat drenched Zell and panting Merc rounded the bend neck and neck with one another.

“Not today!” Zell shouted as he found a burst of energy from some unknown place. He sprinted past the hermit and as he passed she leaned back and put her chin in her calloused palm. A thirteen year old scrawny kid had run Merc to exhaustion? That was something.

She had spent the last eight months trying to drive the boy away, treating him with nothing but open hostility like anyone else that intruded into her solitary life. Now she had to admit if only to herself that she was becoming curious about him. She also had to admit that Merc genuinely liked the boy. He waited every morning for the sound of Zell jogging up the trail and acted like a puppy every time, spinning circles and carrying on.

Tiring out Merc was just the latest in a series of impossible chores she had given the boy. Last month he had cleared a nest of Orchard wasps, which were essentially flying tarantulas with stingers. He had been stung twice, stings so painful that they induced immediate horrible swelling, vomiting and often paralysis. It had taken him three days but he killed every single wasp. Before that he had filled a fifty gallon water barrel from a nearby creek using nothing but a teacup, carrying it through half a mile of thorny brush and nettles dozens of times day in and day out.

She genuinely didn’t understand it. He was the well off son of a mid ranking land owner. He had a big house, nice clothes, and privilege. Yet here he was enthusiastically obeying her every sadistic and horrible request and begging her to train him for a life that very few would ever desire.

“Okay.” She said to herself. It was time to find his limit.

She found the two in the shade of her small cabin, Merc on his side, tongue hanging out of his mouth panting but content.

Zell noticed her coming and jumped to his feet. She ignored him and walked into her cabin and returned a moment later with a stool, a small sharp knife, and a long chunk of ironroot walnut heartwood, a phenomenally durable wood favored for staves and wands. It absorbed mana like a sponge, and was extremely rare. She set the items down and turned to the boy who was obviously wary.

“Lie down flat on your belly.” She said as she put the stool down and sat on it. Zell did as he was told immediately. “Stand up straight.” She said as she held up the chunk of wood to inspect it. Again Zell complied quickly.

“After I say to begin, you will always be in one those two positions. If you linger for more than five seconds in either position at any time then I will cast you off this mountain forever and never agree to teach you anything. Do you understand?” Zell gulped hard and nodded.

“Begin.” She said calmly, as she sliced the first long sliver from her chunk of wood.

Zell dropped to his belly and bounced back up to his feet, standing perfectly straight before dropping back to his belly again. He began to settle his mind into the rhythm of the grind, a trance like state he could achieve in any repetitive physical activity. An hour passed, the wood began to take on a rough sword like shape. Zell’s form never faltered. Like a machine built only for one task he rose and fell in perfect cadence. Another two hours passed. The wooden sword was nearly flawless, and the grey haired hermit was struggling to find areas to add details.

This was unheard of. This task of breaking the will and body of a prospective pupil should have been over an hour ago. His shirt was caked in mud, the once dry dirt where his chest slapped the ground had become a puddle. His hands were bleeding, his face was pale but his eyes were fixated on something very far away. So that was it she realized. He had set his body to a task, and sent his mind somewhere else. That was a very advanced technique for anyone, much less a thirteen year old kid. It also meant that breaking Zell would mean nothing short of death. She stood up, he didn’t notice.

“Halt!” She commanded. He stood rigidly still, but his eyes were still vacant. “What is your name?”

“Z-Z-Zell.” he replied. A wave of agony and exhaustion washed over his expression as he answered.

“Wrong.” She replied “Your name is Bait, Apprentice Monster Hunter.” She handed him the meticulously carved sword as he collapsed in tears of joy and pain. She left him there in the puddle of mud, sweat, tears and blood. It was fitting, for that would be his birthplace and his likely deathbed as a Monster Hunter.

Before she closed the door she called over her shoulder. “Tomorrow we meet on Saddle Peak at dawn. If you’re late I’ll kill you.”

Zell sat in the mud, cradling the wooden sword and savoring everything about the moment including the pain and exhaustion.