“Cecillia!” Laen shouted.

Before him was a vast cloud of rolling frosty mist that swirled with an ominous magic. He could barely make out the fragile frame of the girl through the dense cloudiness but didn’t dare take a step forward. The ground was covered in a sheet of ice where at his feet a pointed spike jutting from the ground had almost pierced through his throat.

“She’s alright,” Doran said from behind. He rested his hand on one of the boy’s shoulders as a comforting gesture. While in front of his eye, the same swirling reticle from before was present.

Laen gave a shaky nod as he shuddered. It was a tiny movement, but it was a striking reminder of why his father always told him to be wary of mages. His hand unconsciously rubbed against his neck, if he hadn’t pulled him away in time then he wouldn’t be standing here anymore.

“Is she really?” Laen asked, his voice a mere whisper among the destruction.

The boy couldn’t quite believe his father’s words as they directly contradicted what his eyes could see. Silhouetes of gleaming wicked edges scattered and rose in all directions to create a garden frozen in fog. The razor sharp shards of ice were like blades of white grass and that girl was at the center of it all.

Within the middle of the ice nova, a large overcast shadow, forming a starburst of crystal, seemed to have melded with her body. And as the mist began to settle, he was able to see the breathtaking sight in full. The sun’s rays refracted against the pristine shards and cast glittering specks of light against the ground that would shimmer with every passing second.

“Cecillia?” Laen asked tentatively.

Her form was unmoving, and the entire right side of her body was encased in a thick layer of clear ice. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at her, nothing he ever saw came close to this display of magic. and the only thing he had left to hang onto were his father’s words.

The small hunter looked up at the big hunter, and he returned a small nod. Doran gave his son a gentle squeeze on the shoulder before carefully stepping into the cascading frost. His sword was already drawn and the sharp echoes of the shattering ice followed the glint of his blade.

He approached the girl as a gust of the autumn wind blew by noisily. White, tiny and pure flakes of snow floated about as if they were dancing, revolving around the girl.

Without a word, his blade tapped against her frozen prison and the ice crumbled. He supported her body with a stiff arm before leaning her against the melting crystal.

This girl named Cecillia, silently sleeping as if trapped in time, Doran wasn’t able to understand. She had an appearance as fair-looking and reticent like an actual painting. Her face was framed with thin black eyebrows while the blue irises just underneath gleamed like the sea. With cherry-red lips and pinky cheeks over porcelain white skin, she was a woman not lacking in anything anywhere. Yet she had somehow wound up in this wretched forest.

Just who was she really?

Ever since he had followed his son and saw the girl, there was an odd feeling that he had garnered. It was instinctual, and he couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but strangely he had never once dropped his guard around her. Though before his thoughts could continue to run, his expression regained its stoicity.

Perhaps if feeling his gaze, the girl’s eyes slowly opened and she stared at him wordlessly.

“You’re lucky you didn’t lose your arm,” he said.

Cecillia’s head fell to her elbow and then looked back up at Doran. The skin on her limb all the way until halfway up her upper arm was pink and raw.

“I’m sorry.”

Her answer was perplexing, but Doran didn’t let it show. Instead, he tossed a tiny pouch at her feet that rattled as it landed.

“That belongs to you,” he said and flicked up two spheres, catching them as they fell. “I’m taking these as a fee.”

Her eyes followed the movement and Cecillia recognized them to be the cores that had created this situation. She looked at the man silently with her blue orbs. “Why?” her eyes seemed to say.

Doran judged that she didn’t want to accept the cores, but a second later the girl knelt down and picked up the pouch. It was a good thing that she did, otherwise, he’d have thought he made a mistake.

“Anyways, let’s get going. The camp is an hour away, if we’re late there isn’t going to be any food left.”

As the words left his lips, he turned and headed over to where his son was. His boots crunched against the ice which had certainly became thinner, the outside edge of the nova having melted completely. But after only a couple steps he paused and looked over his shoulder, there the girl followed, wincing silently as the shards dug into her bare feet.

Doran’s brows furrowed in confusion. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t speak up, why she chose to remain silent as crimson trailed behind her. A clenching sensation tugged within his chest and gnawed away at him. The feeling was unusual, never had he once experienced something like this, or maybe he had and was long forgotten.

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Doran frowned, and yet he found his body starting to move on its own. He stood before her and turned, kneeling down and exposing his back towards her. Why was he doing this, the thought echoed through his head. He already noticed where the girl’s dagger was hidden behind the cloak, and if she so chose, she could end his life right away. This was something he would’ve never done so why…?

As the whirlpool raged within his mind, he felt a frigid solidness pressing against his back that snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Thank you…”

Doran gave a small grunt in response as the tiny voice entered next to his ear. He effortlessly stood, her weight almost unnoticeable as he carried her to the small clearing.

“There will be extra shoes at the camp,” he said as he lowered the girl down.

And as her feet touched the ground, her pet wolf came up to her and started to lick at her uninjured hand.

Doran watched as she gently grazed over the wolf’s pelt, with his own son affirming her condition with a couple of questions. Taking a step back, the scene seemed to remind him of an excessive sorrow and the corners of his eyes started to grow hot.

“Hey Dad, what are they going to make for dinner?”

His son’s sudden voice broke through the immersion and Doran shook his head, providing a small smile.

“You know how the cooks are, they only decide at the last moment,” he said, walking over and tousling the boy’s hair. “Now shall we get going?”

Laen smiled widely and nodded before glancing over at Cecillia. “You’re going to love the food.”

Doran’s gaze followed and he was able to see a subtle twinkle in the girl’s eye as she returned a smile to the boy. An air of melancholy surrounded him and he tore his eyes away, heading into the forest first.

“Oh really? Well we’re going to have to find out first,” came the distant reply.

The boy laughed, “Come on let’s go, father never waits.”

Doran heard the scuffling footsteps behind him as his son scrambled after him, whereas the girl seemed to be riding her wolf. He didn’t bother to glance back as the green reticle spiraled into life in front of his eye, watchful for any ambushes.

As they walked through the Elendar Forest, Doran being a dozen paces ahead, he was able to overhear snippets of their conversation.

“So you said that my Blackie would have a much higher grade core than those other wolves,” Cecillia stated. “Why?”

Laen looked at her and the wolf, thinking it to be an odd question. Up close the wolf was massive, and every step it took padded along silently. Its muscles rippled beneath its black coat and it honestly looked like a shadow gliding under the forest canopy’s shelter.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Cecillia glanced down at the wolf underneath her, skepticism evident, “I don’t know. I just don’t think she’s really all that. She’s only… big.”

At her words, Blackie gave a derisive snort and her legs buckled. The sudden jolt caused Cecillia’s body to lurch forward and she gripped the wolf’s fur tightly to steady herself. Laen released a giggle at the sight and one of the wolf’s large almond eyes shifted onto him.

“Well that’s the reason why. Bigger body, bigger core,” he said, grinning. “But in your case it’s a little different. The Twin-Tailed Wolf is a really rare creature.”

“What makes her so special?” Cecillia asked. From what she’d seen so far, all that the wolf knew how to do was go into stealth. Behind her, she could feel the swishing of its twin tails that swayed rhythmically as if enjoying the boy’s compliments.

“First of all, very few people have even seen one in the first place,” he explained, waving a hand. “And of those that have, an even smaller amount actually pass on the information.”

Cecillia silently stared down at the wolf underneath her. Her earlier skepticism was still there, but maybe this guy really was something special. Running a hand through its fur, she scratched under its scruff, eliciting a satisfied growl from the beast.

“Maybe it’s because he’s only level eight,” she thought aloud.

“Could be,” Laen shrugged. “But you’re really lucky to have tamed it.”

Cecillia scoffed. “She practically begged.”

Minutes passed as the sky began to blend with the horizon, the light gradually fading into the dusk. The air grew colder with every passing second and in the far, faraway distance, a large plume of smoke billowed into the air. Cecillia smiled slightly, excited to see what people were like in this world other than this strange father-son hunter duo.

“Hey,” Laen’s voice suddenly called. “You weren’t lying about your level right? You’re really level five?”

“Why would I lie about something like that? Did you not see your father?” Cecillia retorted. “And yes, I really am level five.”

Laen shot her a look filled with suspicion, but her face remained placid. The boy grumbled under his breath, still not entirely convinced.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Cecillia added, “But… I really am curious. Just what level are you?”

She glanced to the side expecting to see the boy, but frowned when she saw that he was a couple steps behind. His face appeared frozen as if he was contemplating something.

“Laen?”

The boy snapped out of his daze and quickly jogged back up next to her.

“Sorry…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s um… it’s just that you shouldn’t tell anyone your level. Ever.”

Cecillia huffed a laugh. “I figured that much out already, I’m just curious though. Weren’t you the one bragging about how you could easily kill all those wolves. What are you level ten?”

The boy stiffened considerably and his face turned a light shade of red.

“Well, yeah. It wouldn’t be hard for me…”

Although, the way he shifted uncomfortably didn’t go unnoticed by Cecillia. A faint smile crept onto her lips and she squinted at the boy.

“Then you should be around my level then right? Probably a little higher too because I only got 14,” she teased.

“Yeah…” he mumbled before finally sighing. “My level isn’t exactly a little higher. I’m at thirty-six now.”

It was Cecillia’s turn to be surprised. “Eh? Really? You’re all the way at level thirty-six? What, aren’t you just a kid?”

“I’m not a kid!” Laen exclaimed, but his voice only drew out a chortle from Cecillia.

“Alright, Not a Kid,” she chuckled. “If you’re that high leveled, then what level is your father?”

The boy pursed his lips, “I can’t help you with that, he really does keep alot of secrets. He didn’t even tell me that he was in the army, you know?”

“Damn…”

The girl’s voice trailed off as Doran shifted his attention away. His eyes were beset with a heavy somberness and he firmly gripped the pendant hanging from his neck. He muttered words that had long lost its meaning, and his voice was quieter than the sounds of the crunching forest. They melted into the ambience for only the tiny critters to hear.

Shaking his head, he looked forward as the trail they followed was set at a growing slope. And just beyond the tip of the small hill, the encampment would be waiting for them. The familiar smoke once so far away was now at a distance of just a couple hundred meters.

His steps carried him to the top, where he waited for the two, and in that time he gazed down into the grassy valley below. From the clifftop, the large campsite sprawled out like a patchwork quilt. Dozens of tents and makeshift shelters in varying sizes and colors formed a circular formation surrounding a large campfire. There, that was the source of the swelling smoke.

The sight was impressive; if it weren’t for the vast amount of carriages stationed as a makeshift perimeter, he could've easily mistaken it for a small, thriving town.