“So what now?”

The sun was barely up, and Hunter was already back in Fawkes’s tent. He’d excused himself and left last night’s celebration early to log out and get a good night’s sleep. Today was the day his training as Aspirant would start. He had no idea what to expect, and Fawkes, still caught up in one of her moods, was being tight-lipped.

“Now we wait for the lad, Inago, to come pick us up. We’ll head off to some training ground or something.”

“What about them?” Hunter cocked a thumb. Fyodor was curled up on the ground, sleeping. Biggs and Wedge were perched on the direwolf’s back, being quiet for a change.

“They’re coming with.”

Now that was something Hunter had not expected. Fawkes had a reputation among the Brennai, which also extended to him by association. Superstitious and weary of foreigners at the best of times, many of the folken called her a witch. They spat on the ground behind her back as she passed, hands crossing their chests in a gesture to ward off evil spirits. Walking among the Brennai accompanied by ravens and wolves would scarcely win any of them over.

“You want to get us stoned to death or what?”

That drew another one of her crooked smiles.

“Quite the opposite. We’re honored guests now. You’re one of their Aspirants. Enough of laying low. It’s time we played a different kind of game.”

“And what game is that?” Hunter raised an eyebrow.

Her smile grew wider and more crooked.

“Show these potato diggers who they’re really dealing with.”

That was quite the attitude change, but what the hell - Hunter was more than happy to go along. Prudent as it was, the whole “see everything, hear everything, say nothing” shtick wasn’t exactly the kind of experience he was hoping to get out of his stint in Elderpyre.

Inago came to pick them up dressed in his best - which meant there was a modest amount of beads and decorations on his otherwise humble garb. He was beaming like it was the best day of his life. Based on what he’d seen so far, Haunter suspected that might be exactly the case.

“Hile, Inago.”

“Hile, Hunter! Hile, Honored Fawkes! What a day, huh? The ancestors smile upon us. Come, the alderman wants to say a few words before we depart for the sacred training grounds.”

So they went.

A small crowd of onlookers from both nations had gathered at the edge of the village, curious to see the Aspirants. Hunter walked through them with his glaive in hand, ravens perched on his shoulders like big feathery pauldrons, and the direwolf by his side. There were quite a few oohs and aahs as the folken split to give them a wide berth. Fawkes, however, cut a more impressive figure still. She marched through the Brennai with her head held high, a gloved hand resting at the pommel of her saber. She was sheathed in an aura of boldness and pride and defiance that felt almost supernatural. Hunter was glad to see her like this. It fitted her.

At the center of the crowd waited Elder Wroth, accompanied by Vanchik, Hallara, and the two remaining Aspirants-to-be.

One was a woman around his own age. She was of obvious Brennai heritage, strongly built, lean and athletic-looking. Her dark hair was tied back in a practical braid, highlighting high cheekbones and sharp, expressive features. She was dressed in a simple tunic, fitted leggings and moccasins - practical, traditional Brennai attire suited for training.

The other…

The other was Yuma Ashari, Hunter noted with a groan, the alderman’s son. Because of course it had to be him. He stood rigidly by his father, his posture unnaturally straight, as if he'd swallowed a broom. He had his chest puffed out and chin held high with haughty pride, a perpetual scowl etched across his stern features. Though still practical, his garb was as rich as his father’s. This was the man Hunter had to spend every day of the next few months training with. Great. That would go over like a lead zeppelin.

Standing next to his son, the alderman beamed with pride. Brother Marten hadn’t bothered to show up this time. Neither had Elder Rook and his bodyguard. There was some political significance there, Hunter suspected. Vanchik stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over the assembled folken, and beckoned for Hunter, Fawkes, and Inago to join him. Fyodor whimpered, scared of so many strangers gathered around him. He pressed his big body to Hunter’s thigh.

“It’s alright, boy,” Hunter whispered to the direwolf’s ear as he was petting his head, drawing a host of incredulous looks from the crowd. “It will soon be over, and we’ll go run and play in the woods, okay?”

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“Friends, folken, clansmen,” the alderman began, his voice resonant and clear, "today marks a significant moment in our history. After many years, the ancestors have finally graced us with no less than four Aspirants, a testament to the resilience and honor of our people.”

He paused, allowing his words to sink in.

"These Aspirants before you represent the best of us. They are the embodiment of our hopes, our dreams, and our future. Each one has been chosen for their courage, their skill, and their unwavering dedication to their fellow folken."

Vanchik gestured towards Hunter first, whose little menagerie was already the center of attention.

"Hunter of the Lodge, of the Foreign West, has proven his mettle. On behalf of the Brennai, he has risked life and limb and braved the Ghostbarrows. Thus he stands here as an Aspirant, not as an outsider, but as one of our own.”

That was… unexpected?

Ripples of whispering broke out through the folken. Hunter tried to stand up straight and look confident. He could hear Biggs and Wedge chatter at the back of his mind, confused. He tried to pay them no heed. Instead, he focused on Fawkes’s reassuring presence.

Next, the alderman turned to Inago.

“Inago of the Clan Odiji, of the Hawk Nation, of the Brennai, should be no stranger to any of you. He has served the folken as a watchman with humility and dedication. Thus he is granted the chance to honor his ancestors. He stands with us as an Aspirant.”

Inago positively glowed with pride and excitement, not even trying to suppress the wide smile plastered across his face. A middle-aged woman at the front of the crowd looked at him with adulation, looking as if ready to break into tears. Some of the surrounding folken smiled and patted her on the back. His mother, Hunter supposed.

The young woman was next in line to be introduced.

“Tayen of the Clan Besk, of the Hawk Nation, of the Brennai, also stands with us as an Aspirant. A rarity for a woman, yes, but we should expect no less from the grandniece of Hallara of Clan Besk.”

The wise woman afforded her grandniece a small smile as a wave of approving murmurs went through the crowd. Tayen remained serious. She acknowledged the alderman with a simple solemn nod.

Finally, Vanchik’s his gaze fell upon his son.

“And of course, Yuma of the Clan Ashari, of the Hawk Nation, of the Brennai. He stands with us as an Aspirant, a symbol of leadership and perseverance. Though young, he has shown the qualities of a true warrior, and the ancestors have high hopes for his path ahead."

More than a few folken in the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Though he made a token effort to hide it, Yuma basked in the folken’s admiration. He puffed his chest even more, if that was possible, and nodded in deference.

"As tradition demands,” Vanchik went on when the applause died out, “these Aspirants will undergo rigorous training, both physical and spiritual. To guide them through it, we are honored to welcome among us Fawkes of the Lodge, of the Foreign West. Though a foreigner and a woman, Fawkes is a peerless bladestress whose guidance and wisdom will only forge our Aspirants stronger, like coal forging iron into steel.”

The cheers of the folken quickly turned into cool, uncertain whispers. A few crossed their chests with their fists, warding off evil. Fawkes remained an unwavering beacon of poise and superiority, but Hunter could swear there was a hint of smugness to her thin half-smile.

“All of this, however, would have never been possible without this man.” The alderman took a step back and bowed his head to Elder Wroth, who really needed no introduction. “Honored Elder Wroth, of Clan Ordos, of the Behemoth Nation, of the Brennai. With a long list of feats and exploits worthy of the most legendary of our ancestors, Elder Wroth has offered to shape our Aspirants with his vast wisdom and strength. Under his tutelage, they are certain to grow worthy of the Path of the White Cloud.”

As Vanchik finished speaking, the crowd erupted in an enthusiastic roar. Folken of all ages cheered, their voices blending into a powerful chorus of admiration and reverence. The younger ones clapped and jumped with excitement. The elders nodded approvingly. The energy was electric. Wroth opened his huge arms as if to welcome it all. He flashed a toothy smile, then turned to the alderman and gave him an exaggerated wink.

“Let that be a sign-” Vanchik started to say, but his voice was drowned in the cheers.

“Enough! Quiet now!” Wroth roared, and everyone shut up like kindergarteners scolded by their teacher. “Thank you!”

“Let that be a sign,” the alderman went on, “that the ancestors are closer to us than ever. Anyone saying the opposite has forgotten the face of their father. Or, worse even, is a wolf in sheep’s clothing! The spirit of the Hawk soars above us, stronger than ever!”

That brought some cheers too, though not as many. Vanchik’s jab wasn’t lost on Hunter. It was about as subtle as a rhinoceros.

“Thus begins the journey of our Aspirants,” concluded Vanchik. “From humility and devotion to strength and enlightenment, may the ancestors watch them as they make us proud!”

***

What a load of horse manure,” said Fawkes, shaking her head.

They were on their way to the sacred training grounds, which, as it turned out, were only a short half-hour hike away from the village. They walked down a woodland path in pairs. First went Elder Wroth and Yuma, apparently absorbed in some sort of conversation about the heroics of past Brennai Aspirants. Tayen and Inago followed a few paces behind. Inago was brimming with excitement, which the young woman did not appear to share. Hunter, Fawkes, and Fyodor brought up the rear, deliberately lagging behind to stay out of earshot.

“You think so?” asked Hunter.

“I know so. To the alderman, it’s all about politics.”

“What kind of politics can there be in a village of.. what? A few hundred? I mean, what’s there to be gained?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. Give a man a smidgen of power, see how he starts thinking his shit doesn’t stink.”

She was right, Hunter supposed. He’d seen people start to think they were something after getting promoted to shift leaders at the local burger joint. Being the alderman out here in the middle of nowhere must make Vanchik feel like royalty.

“What’s your take on Wroth?” he asked.

Fawkes looked at the larger-than-life man walking ahead of them and gave it a moment of thought.

“He’s not bad,”she concluded. “There’s a saying in old áeld for men like him, though. It translates to something like ‘He’s a lion among sheep on the slopes of dragon mountain.’”

“Which means?”

“Which means that, regardless of all else, it would do him good to be reminded sometimes humility’s a virtue.”

“Do you plan to do the honors?

Fawkes smiled that lopsided smirk of hers again.

“We’ll see.”