My Master was a quiet man with sad eyes. That is what I remember best about him. That isn’t to say that’s all I remember about him, just what sticks out in my mind. I could never forget his face or the way he looked standing over me. He was tall and thin, with a scraggly gray beard that hid a scar over his lip. I’d seen it once when he shaved. I’d asked how he’d gotten it and he ignored me. He never said much, but I always got the sense that he was looking out for me, protecting me. I appreciated that.

He was a bit of a traditionalist, I suppose, though I never really picked up on it at the time. He taught me to sew, cook, smith, and anything else I might need on the road. He was big into self-sufficiency, he didn’t even like relying on the Guild. He didn’t use guns, only a bow and arrow. And, of course, his sword.

I’d always wondered if it hurt to get the Hunter’s Mark. I’d never asked my master because I knew the answer: yes. I just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

The day I got my Mark, my master bought me a large and expensive lunch. That was unusual, because we usually ate on the road. He’d make me catch and cook the food. If not that, then at an inn. Nothing so…luxurious. But the promise of good food dashed any suspicions I had. I scarfed lunch down and he ordered dessert. After I ate that too, he smiled sadly and led me to headquarters.

The former prison loomed huge over me and though I’d been there before, walking through the front gates send shivers of fear down my spine. I felt as though the gates might slam behind me and I’d be trapped.

We passed through crowds of people, none of them even acknowledging our existence. Then, he opened a door I’d never seen before. Behind it was a dark and winding staircase that led downwards. Without a word, my master started descending. I rushed to keep up, trying not to slip and fall on the smooth stone. My master led me to a small room with a table in the middle of it. At one end, there was a forge.

He told me to lie down and I did. I was scared, but I didn’t want him to know that. Then, he strapped my limbs to the table, tied a rope in my mouth, and left. I didn’t struggle or move. I thought it was another test. A test of trust or restraint, maybe. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I trusted him more than life itself.

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Then, two people dressed in lab coats and surgical came in. They whispered between themselves and one of them opened a large tome. She began to chant in a language I didn’t understand and the other grabbed a brand from the furnace. He held it up and examined it. The other kept chanting.

That’s when I began to struggle. The one with the brand turned to me and shouted something. A shock ran through my muscles and my body went limp, the strength completely sapped from me. I wanted to move, to scream, but I couldn’t. We made eye contact and his beady eyes looked right through me. The chanting grew louder, ringing in my ears.

Wells raised the brand and I tried to move away, but my body didn’t respond. I tried to close my eyes, but they just kept staring as he slowly and carefully lowered the brand toward my neck. I felt the heat radiating off of it grow stronger. My mind was screaming for me to move, to get out, to run, and I managed to just barely twitch one of my legs, but that was it.

Tears began to roll down my cheeks and Wells pressed the brand against my skin. Pure agony coursed through my veins, and I screamed. Or at least, I think I did. My vision went white as I bit into the rope in my mouth, hard. I felt my body spasm as the branding iron seemed to burrow itself deeper into me, ripping out skin, muscle, and bone on its way to my heart. Then, there was nothingness. Not blackness, not even oblivion, but nothing.

When I woke up, I was in a bed. My master wasn’t there, only a Guild Representative. He congratulated me on becoming a fully-fledged Hunter and gave me my first mission. I got a sword and a rifle from the commissar and then I hit the road. I had a lot of questions, but I knew I wouldn’t get any answers.

I never saw my master again. Apparently, he died in combat a few years later. I wanted to go to the funeral, but the Guild had me on a mission at the time and I couldn’t get leave. He, like every Hunter who died in the line of duty, did not receive a grave. His body was burned and the ashes entombed in the Guild crypts.

Every time I returned to the Guild headquarters in the Capital, I tried to find my way back to the staircase he’d led me down. I never did. A part of me began to think it had all been a dream, but I had the Mark. I was a Hunter. Eventually, I stopped thinking about it and would only be bothered by it when it popped up in my dreams.