-Good people must be celebrated and evil ones condemned. But who is to decide which is which?

Worse still, what is one to do when they realize that no person in existence is, was, or will ever be exclusively on one side?

Exalted Mother Nolwenn IX – 66:34 A.U – 12 Floris 69:03 A.U.

***

17 Eostarch 78:64

It was the second month of spring. Sunlight peeked through the green canopy of dew-coated leaves above. The air was thick with the smell of wet earth. Birds sang in the distance, though Jon could barely hear them over the sound of his own ragged breathing.

Short legs sprinted to keep up with the woman walking ahead. His tunic was smeared with dirt after he tripped on a tree root. His mother was not happy with that.

Dene was a tall woman, enough to touch the low branches by just raising an arm. “Keep up, it’s good exercise,” she said, dark eyes glancing back at him. Her skin matched her eyes, and her hair formed a black cloud around her head with a few strands of white here and there.

“Where…” He jumped over a root. “Where are we going?” The day before, while she taught him how to properly wield a pair of swords, Jon had felt a change inside of him. It felt like something that had been blocked his entire life suddenly burst open.

His surroundings became more vivid and the colors got brighter. He started hearing things better, enough to notice the rough sticks in his hand creaking under the pressure of his grip. They felt so much lighter.

“Congratulations, you’re now a Fighter,” Dene said at the time. “Tomorrow we will be starting your training in earnest.”

Jon had felt incredibly excited back then. Fighter was the first stage of body cultivation, followed by Crusader and then finally Paladin. His senses became sharper after that advancement and, as a bonus, he wouldn’t be getting sick again until he was much older. The harsh fever from last year was still fresh on his mind, so he was glad.

All of that coupled with the increased strength meant he couldn’t wait for the next day. Whatever this “real training” his mother spoke of would be a breeze.

One hour of barely keeping up with her, with a faceful of dirt to boot, was the coldest bucket of water possible.

“Hunting,” Dene answered, not even turning back this time. “This is an essential skill to survive, and it’s about time for you to learn it first-hand.”

That might not have been a full bucket, but it was certainly not empty. He had hoped to learn how to actually fight instead of searching for animals in the wild.

Dene finally came to a stop when they came across a set of tracks, for which Jon was glad. The prints were somewhat rounded, split in the middle, and not too deep. It seemed to be a lone animal and, given the direction the moss on the trees grew, it was heading south.

“Can you tell what animal left these?” she asked, going down on a knee.

“Umm, a deer… no, a boar. The tips aren’t pointy.”

She nodded. “And how long ago did it pass by here?”

“A day?”

“Are you asking me?”

“A day,” he repeated with greater certainty in his voice.

“Less.” Dene took off the glove from her left hand before touching the tracks. “The edges are still moist and well-defined. Only a few minutes ahead of us at most. Let’s go,” she said, standing up.

The thought of more running through the forest made him groan. “Can’t we just pick some fruits instead?” Throughout the day, Jon had seen more berry bushes and fruitful trees than he could count.

Atop a thin branch above them, a bird chirped.

Its body was small and covered in brown feathers that turned blue from the neck up. A blue-head honeyguide, Jon recognized it. Like all other honeyguides, his mother told him, they were known for guiding people towards honeycombs and then feeding on the larvae left behind after it was opened.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

It was disgusting. Jon wondered why they didn’t eat the honey if they were so smart. Regardless, he almost suggested following it toward the honeycomb until realizing that might mean even more running.

“Don’t be silly, you need food to grow strong, and there’s no food more important than meat.”

To Jon, growing up couldn’t come soon enough. Dene said that he might grow to be as big as her, and that made him wonder what else might change. His skin was a few shades lighter than his mother’s, while his eyes were hazel; a deep brown near the center that gradually turned to green at the edges.

The increase in height would be all too welcome, and he didn’t care if his skin darkened or not, but he hoped his eyes would remain the same. He liked them as they were.

Dene followed after the tracks with the same speed as before, but slowed down after a few minutes, sinking to a crouch.

Did you find it? Jon wanted to ask.

She waved him to shush as soon as he opened his mouth. “It’s behind there,” she whispered, pointing to a dense thicket in the distance. “I can hear it.”

Jon heard nothing from so far away, but if his mother said it was there then he believed it.

“Watch your step.” Still crouching, Dene moved with deliberate grace, each step avoiding the twigs and dry leaves that might crunch under her boots. Even then she was much faster than he could walk normally, reaching the thicket in a matter of seconds.

With each step only covering half the same distance as hers, Jon took much longer to catch up. Patches of dead leaves that she jumped over forced him to make detours, but gradually he approached. Halfway there, he finally heard the guttural grunting from behind the thicket.

“It’s feeding,” Dene whispered as Jon finally arrived. With barely a sound, she pushed a bush away to give them a clear view. Beyond it was a clearing with a large stone sticking out from the ground on the other side, tall trees and thick bushes to the left and right. Their quarry was in the center.

Like others of its kind, the boar was a bulky mass of meat on top of short legs. It was looking away from them, its head buried in what was left of a deer.

“What now?” Jon whispered back.

“First I’ll hold it and then you kill it,” she said, focusing her attention on the animal.

The boar continued eating, oblivious to its surroundings.

Including its own shadow.

Beneath it, the shadow shifted slightly, growing larger and more defined as if preparing to swallow the animal whole. Instead, it split in half, coalescing into two pitch-black circles to either side of the animal, who finally seemed to notice what was happening. Too late.

Faster than it could react, two black tendrils emerged from the shadows like snakes ready to pounce on its prey. The first one caught its foot, and the boar squealed as it tried to yank itself free. The tendril became taut under the strain but held strong.

Stealthily, the second tendril slid over from the other side and looped around its torso. It pulled just as the first one let go. Coupled with the boar already pulling in the same direction, the animal tipped over and fell to the side. Its legs kicked as it tried to get back up, but the tendrils kept it restrained.

Dene drew one of two swords strapped to her back, its blade a gleaming blue-white steel. “Come,” she said, slashing twice to open a path through the thicket.

Jon followed after his mother, her words hanging heavily in his mind. “Do… do I really need to kill it?” He had seen her skinning and dressing the animals she brought home from her hunts, but those were already dead. He had never handled the animals himself, much less killed them.

“Would you rather eat it still alive?” Squealing, the boar thrashed against its binds, and Dene pressed a hand to her forehead as if fighting a headache. “We all need to eat, that’s just how things are,” she said, pointing to the half-eaten deer. Her eyes lingered for a moment on a wound on its neck.

Jon’s attention remained on the animal still alive. It never stopped fighting, desperately trying to get free. “It looks afraid.”

“That’s to be expected. It doesn’t want to die.” Dene drew another blade, this time a hunting knife. “We want to kill it as fast as possible. No need to prolong its suffering. So tell me, where do you think is the best place to strike?”

“...the head?”

His mother stared at him.

“The head.”

Dene put a hand in between the boar’s eyes. It writhed in place, trying to ram its tusks on her arm. “That might work if you were as strong as me, but the skull is too thick for you to stab through.”

Her hand moved from the head to its side. “Instead, you want to strike between the ribs. Right here. Stab the heart and it is dead, plain and simple. Even if it misses, you’re likely to hit the lungs and that will drop it in a short time.” Dene twirled the knife so as to hold it by the blade, offering the handle to Jon. “Take it.”

The weapon felt heavy in his hands, much more than it should. He dropped to his knees and pointed the blade towards the trembling animal. It squealed the whole time, and its legs kept kicking in an oddly familiar way.

What was Jon feeling sorry for? It deserved to die. It had destroyed everything.

No, that wasn’t right. The boar did nothing wrong.

The knife trembled in his hands as foreign thoughts invaded his mind.

He wanted nothing more than to let it go free.

He wanted nothing more than to end its life.

The conflict reached a stalemate in Jon’s mind as two opposing wills struggled for control. It might have gone forever if not for his mother’s words tipping the balance. “Do it.”

In a swift motion, Jon raised the knife above his head and plunged it down on the boar. The blade disappeared inside the animal, with only the handle sticking out. Bright red blood flowed out. The boar squealed one last time with the rest of its forces and then stopped completely, its eyes forever dulled.

Its bloodthirst sated, the invading will faded away, leaving Jon to assimilate what he just did. Dene pulled the knife free, and he caught a glimpse of the fatal wound oozing blood.

Jon barely managed to turn around before he started throwing up.