I awoke to pain. My entire body felt like it had been stabbed with small swords sharper than an assassin’s knife. I screamed in pain, except it only came out a hoarse rattle. My throat was sore and drier than a desert. I tried to get up, but my body wouldn’t move.

I felt someone grab my shoulder gently and say, “Calm down, Jonas. It’s okay.”

My body felt so heavy, above all the pain, and I drifted back into the darkness.

This time, I dreamt. I found myself in the hall of a castle. I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I did. The hall stretched further than I could see and was just as tall. The walls were decorated with intricate tiling and murals. I tried to step back and see the entire mural, but it was too big and the torches positioned along the hall didn’t cast enough light upwards for me to see.

I heard footsteps echo from down the hall, too far for me to see the source of the noise. It sounded like an entire army running down the hall. I turned and ran, my heart pounding with fear. I heard someone call out my name. Not Jonas Dreadstone, but a different name that I couldn’t make out but somehow recognized.

I woke up in a cold sweat. My Hunter’s Mark burst into a burning agony and I pressed my hand against it. The pain stopped, but my Mark felt hot to the touch. I took a few deep breaths and tried to think.

First, I was in a lot of pain. Enough that it was hard to focus, but not enough to make me pass out. That was a good sign. That meant I was alive.

Second, I was dizzy, but that was likely from dehydration. There was a glass of water on the bedside table next to the bed and I grabbed it, guzzling it down. The cool water felt like ambrosia as it rushed down my throat.

I sighed and tried to ignore how much my arm ached from picking up the glass. I tried to ignore it and continued my survey.

Nearly my entire body was covered in bandages. Someone must have changed them recently because no blood had seeped through them yet. They were clean and looked medical grade. That was a good sign, I probably wasn’t going to die of an infection.

The wound in my side hurt, but it didn’t feel like a gaping hole anymore. Someone must have stitched it closed. Was that even possible with a wound that size?

“I should be dead,” I said under my breath. A lump formed in my throat and a strange tightness gripped my heart as I repeated myself. “I should be dead.”

But I wasn’t. Why wasn’t I?

The most obvious answer was that I was a Hunter. Hunters heal fast, right? Yeah, but we aren’t immortal. Our bodies can get pushed to the limit like anyone else. Any further than that limit, and you have a dead Hunter on your hands. I’ve seen Hunters die from regular knife wounds. I’d been gored by a minotaur—that’s another step up.

We might heal fast, but we couldn’t heal from some injuries. Hunters could lose arms and legs and they wouldn’t regrow. Some things were just…too big. So why was the hole in my side healing over? I’d been slammed into walls, sliced open, and been thrown around. Realistically, I should at least be a bit crippled.

I tried to get up and while the pain quickly stopped me, I could feel my whole body hurting and it all moved, even if just slightly. That was a good sign.

I looked around the room. I was in some rich person’s bedroom. It was about twice the size of my room at Xico’s and twenty times as expensive. My bed was king-sized and had expensive drapery and silk sheets. It was so soft it made a cloud seem like cement. Light streamed in from the windows, partially blocked by half-drawn drapes.

Paintings of people I didn’t know and places I didn’t recognize stared back at me from the wall. After a second, I sighed and laid back down. I spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling, bored out of my mind, before someone opened the door and came in.

I sat up and saw Char, dressed in overalls and a simple shirt. She looked a bit like a farmer.

I tried to say, “Hey,” but it came out a pained groan.

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Char smiled and pulled a chair next to the bed.

“You’ve been out for two days,” she said, answering the first question I was going to ask.

Unfortunately, her answer only gave me more questions. Even if, by some miracle, I survived, I shouldn’t be in any shape to move more than a twitch for weeks.

“Where am I?” I groaned. It came out slurred and confused.

“My house.”

“Nice place,” I said, finally getting my tongue to make the right shapes.

Char chuckled but I could tell from the bags under her eyes that she hadn’t slept much. Was she worried about little ol’ me? If my face wasn’t wrapped in bandages, she would’ve seen me blush.

“Thanks,” she said. She was silent for a minute, just looking me over. “You’re lucky to be alive,” she said, quietly.

“I fought a minotaur hand-to-hand and won,” I said. “I saw one of those rip apart a bunker once. I shouldn’t be alive.”

Char just shook her head.

“You shouldn’t,” she said, sounding a bit dazed. “Yvlan got in contact with me, after the fight. Her medics stabilized you and brought you here. I didn’t want to take you back to the Guild.”

I didn’t want to question how Yvlan knew about Char because, well, that was just another mystery I didn’t want to solve.

I tried to give Char a curious, but assured look, but that hurt too much so I just asked, “Why?”

She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

“You should be dead, Jonas. We can't survive what you just did. There’s something wrong with you.”

Ouch. That one hurt a bit.

Char must have realized, because she quickly added, “I didn’t mean it like that, sorry. I just…” She looked down, hanging her head. “You’ve survived something you shouldn’t have. The Guild naturalists and arcanists would have a field day with you. Anyone else would say your recovery was miraculous, but…”

“The Guild doesn’t believe in miracles,” I muttered, grimly, “only causes and effects. They’d probably want to cut me up, experiment a bit.”

Char nodded uncomfortably and wiped her eyes. I noticed they were red and puffy. Had she been crying?

She stood up and said, “Sleep. There haven’t been any breaks in the case yet. I’ll keep you updated.”

I started to say something but Char gently pushed me down.

“Sleep,” she said, a bit more forcefully. I groaned in protest, but as soon as my head hit the pillow, I felt the embrace of sleep pull me in once again.

It didn’t last long, though.

Again, I woke up in pain. Less now. I’d dreamt of something, but I couldn’t remember. It was dark out, and Yvlan was sitting in the chair by my bed, her head resting on my legs, asleep. It was almost cute. Unfortunately for her, I wasn’t in a great mood. I shook her awake and in an instant, her hand shot out and wrapped around my throat, tightening around my windpipe.

“Gods above,” Yvlan said, releasing me and shaking her head. “Don’t do that. Sorry.”

“No, no,” I croaked, massaging my throat, “my bad. You’ve got good reflexes.”

Yvlan rubbed her eyes and muttered, “You have to, in my business.”

Then, she looked toward me and wrapped me in a hug. It hurt a bit, but I could tell she was trying to be nice, so I didn’t complain.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

She released me and sat back in her chair. I sat up and found it wasn’t too painful.

“Thanks,” I muttered. Then, I said, “I’ll need your records.”

Yvlan sighed and said, “You’re never off, are you?”

I shook my head, my neck aching in return. “Nope.”

She pulled a stack of papers from a bag next to her chair and handed it to me.

“Here,” she said, “everything we’ve had in for fights. And from all the rings in the area, too. I pulled in a lot of favors to get this.”

“How’d you know which records I’d need?” I asked, taking the papers from her. I leaned over and flicked on a lamp, giving me enough light to see.

“Char told me,” Yvlan said. “Plus,” she added quickly, “whenever a Hunter comes by, it’s always about some escaped monster. I assumed much of the same about you.”

I nodded and began to read the papers. I’m a fast reader, so I was done in less than half an hour. I sighed and handed them back to Yvlan.

“Done already?” she asked.

I groaned and said, “Unfortunately, only with your records. Nothing there matches what I’m looking for.” Hardly any fights involved monsters and the ones that did all had far different MOs than what I’d seen. Sure, a cockatrice was dangerous, but when one got loose, it turned stuff to stone for its nest, not tore things to shreds.

“How long was I out?” I asked.

Yvlan thought for a second and said, “Three days in total.” I started to get up but she pushed me down and said, “But it’s nighttime now, so you can’t do anymore today. Just sleep until morning, at least.”

Again, I acquiesced.