Light poked through the curtains and hit my eyelids.  Unfortunately, I was awake.  I debated going back to sleep, but I was already too far gone.  

As I rose out of bed, the sheets and blankets falling off of me like water, I groaned in pain.  The uncomfortable ache associated with consciousness was quickly spreading through my body.  

I’d just woken up and already my scars itched, my muscles stung, and my bones hurt.  One scar, a brand on my neck, shaped like an arrow hitting the sun, hurt more than the others.  It had been more than thirty years since I’d been branded, and the Hunter’s Mark was still haunting me.  Fine way to start the day.  I pushed away old memories of being strapped to a table, a branding iron pushed into my neck, and walked over to the mirror and looked at myself in the reflection.

When I was young, I’d had hair the color of the night sky and was always clean-shaven, to show off my award-winning chin and jawline.  Now, my hair had gray streaks in it, and a short, unkempt beard that was more gray patches than actual beard covered the bottom half of my face.  I needed to shave, but really, who cared?

My eyes were sunken and tired.  How many years since my face had been free of lines and wrinkles?  I couldn’t even remember.  My body was covered in scars from blades, claws, bullets, and everything in between.  At least the Hunter’s Mark kept me fit.  

“You’re getting old, Jonas,” I muttered to myself.

My rifle and sword hung by the door, collecting dust.  I hadn’t touched them in the week since I’d returned to the Capital.  It was the longest I’d left them alone in years.  It felt a bit strange not to have my rifle at my back and my sword at my hip.  They hadn’t been out of use for more than a fortnight and I already missed them.  It didn’t make much sense—I hated the damn things—but old habits die hard, I guess.

My name is Jonas Dreadstone and I’m fifty-five years old.  Forty years ago, I lied about my age and joined up with the Hunter’s Guild.  A few years after that, I was branded with a magical Hunter’s Mark that gave me the power to fight the hordes of evil that threatened the world.  Unfortunately, it also gave me the power to fight whatever the Guild and government wanted me to.  

I’ve fought in the largest war this planet has ever seen, killed more people than I care to remember, and outlived most of the friends I made along the way.  I’ve been shot, stabbed, and slashed by a dire wolf’s claws.  

For the last forty years, my life has been defined by a near constant stream of killing, violence, and more violence.  Even as the world got more peaceful, I still kept fighting.  I'm not really sure why.  And then, two weeks ago, I was recalled to the Capital.  I was ordered to hang up my rifle and sheath my sword, because I wouldn’t be needing them here.  It’s been a bit of a strange transition period.

My reminiscing was interrupted by the sounds of the landlady moving around in the hall.  She was a wonderful woman, a widow named Xico.  She still hadn’t told me if that was her first or last name, so I just called her Xico.  At first, I’d called her Ms. Xico, but she’d made me drop the Ms. within a day.  She’d let me rent a room in her house for about half of what I’d be paying anywhere else, so I was eager to stay on her good side.  

It was in a relatively nice area of the Warren, which was the wrong side of town, and I figured she wanted the security of having a Hunter staying with her.  

The place was wonderful; a beautiful brownstone near the river, and Xico was better.  She was a beautiful Armádan woman, with long, red hair, skin the color of toffee, with a personality even sweeter.  I wasn’t sure how old she was, but I knew she had to be at least a decade or two younger than me.  Most people were.  

The idea of her seeing me looking so bad was motivation enough to make me shave.  So, I did.  The day I lose the motivation to look a bit better for a pretty woman will be the day I die.

After shaving, I pulled on some work clothes—simple things that wouldn’t rip, tear, or get dirty easily—and I tried and failed to make myself look presentable.  I looked in the mirror and noted that my award-winning chin and jawline were now just pretty good.  Aging will do that to you.  

My rifle and sword hung by the door, a silent pull beckoning me to pick them up, but I ignored it.  I pushed past them into the hall and then the kitchen, where Xico was setting the table with breakfast.  

As I sat down, Xico smiled and said, “You look nice clean shaven.  I always wondered what was underneath all that hair.”

I smiled crookedly and chuckled.

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“I was starting to wonder too.”

She put some food in front of me and sat down opposite of me with her own plate.  

We ate in silence for a bit before she spoke up and said, “You’ve been here a bit longer than a week, how are you finding the Capital?”

“It’s much better than the last time I was here.”

Xico perked up a bit.  

“You’ve been here before?”

I nodded.

“Dozens of times, the Guild is based here.  But I’ve only stayed longer than a month or so once before.  And that was during the Last War.”

I saw a curious sparkle in Xico’s eyes as she asked, “I still lived in Sol Armádia then, and I was only a girl.  What was the city like?”

I thought for a second, absent-mindedly chewing my food.

“It was more dangerous.  The whole city was like the Warren and the Warren was, well, basically a battle zone.  With the rationing and everything, it was pretty dire.”

Xico didn’t say anything for a second and I could tell she was thinking about something, hard.  

Then, she asked, “Just how old are you?”  I raised my eyebrows in surprise and she started to apologize, saying, “I’m sorry!  I didn’t—it’s just that, the War was over twenty years ago and, well, you look like you were barely grown then.”

I smiled and shook my head.  

“No, it’s fine.  Perk of the job.  If you make it to be as old as me, you look really good for your age.  Except for all the scars.”  I shrugged slightly and pushed my food around with my fork.

Xico leaned forward and peered at me, resting her chin on her hands.  

“That was a good way to evade the question,” she said, “but I won’t press.  Can’t anger my best tenant.”

I smiled apologetically and said, “I’m your only tenant.  And I’m fifty-five.  In other words, old as hell.”

Xico opened her mouth to say something but luckily, a knock at the door stopped her.  

I muttered, “I got it,” stood up, and dashed to the door.  Opening it slowly, I was greeted with the sight of my boss, Lieutenant Elaine Char.  I groaned and slammed the door shut.

“Who was it?” Xico called.

I groaned again in response, gritting my teeth before I opened the door again.  

I put on my fakest smile and said, “Why, Lieutenant, it’s good to see you.  I must have forgotten that I told you where I lived.  What do you want?”

Lieutenant Char glared back at me, her gaze icy.  She was in her mid-thirties and a Hunter like me.  I’d served with her for a couple of years before she was promoted out of field work.  Her long, blonde hair was done up in a ponytail.  She was tall, nearly six feet on the dot, but I still had a good few inches on her.  And yet, she always managed to make it feel like she was looking down on me.  Just how did she do that?  It was probably her consummate professionalism.  Example the first: It wasn’t eight yet and she was already in uniform.

She pushed past me and walked into the kitchen.  When she saw Xico, she stopped in her tracks and looked back at me, the faintest bit of surprise in her eyes.  

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning back to Xico, “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.  I’m Elaine Char, I work with Jonas.”  She bowed slightly as I walked past her back to my chair.

Xico smiled warmly and said, “Why, it’s so good to meet you.  Jonas doesn’t talk about his work at all, so I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Neither did I,” I muttered.  Char shot me a glare and I raised my hands slightly in surrender.

“Would you like some breakfast?”  Xico asked, ever the gracious host.  “You’re more than welcome to join us.”

Char shook her head slowly and said, “No, that’s okay.  Thank you.”  I swear I saw the hints of a blush on her cheeks.  No, that couldn’t have been.  Maybe on anyone else, but not on Elaine Char.  It was likelier that she was down with the plague.  “I just came to get Jonas,” she said, apologetically, a tone she never used with me, “something important has come up.”

She jerked her head, motioning for me to get up and leave with her, so I sighed and did.  

“As you can see,” I said to Xico, gesturing to Char, “my expertise is so invaluable that the Guild requires my consultation at all times of the day.”

“How wonderful!”  Xico said, smiling widely.  Char started to say something but instead, she just rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Thank you for breakfast,” I said, “but duty calls.”  I bowed deeply and turned around, grabbing my jacket on the way out.  I followed Char out to the street, where she was lighting up a cigarette.

I plucked it out of her mouth and crushed it beneath my boot.  

“Before you got promoted, you asked me to force you to quit,” I said, ignoring the fury in Char’s gaze.

She took a deep breath in and massaged her temples.  

“You have a unique way of pissing people off,” she said.  “But fine.  Fine.  We have to go anyway; the city has called us in to consult on a murder.”