Under the blistering afternoon sun, Hunter moved through the streets of Delphare. Its fiery rays blazed a trail through the city, forcing brave souls to seek refuge beneath the shade of merchant stalls. Even the heavy, armored hoplite guards abandoned their patrol in the plaza.

Hunter wasted no time, forging a direct route across the small square toward the blacksmith's forge. Approaching the cool embrace of nearby buildings, he couldn't ignore the sight of children darting between merchant stalls. Fear and hunger glinted in their eyes, draped in ragged tunics clinging to their slender frames.

Initially, it seemed like a game of tag, but Hunter soon grasped the reality—they were pilfering bread and other sustenance, nimble fingers slipping into the pockets of customers, particularly servants of noble houses.

A pang struck Hunter's chest.

He took a copper coin from his inventory and scanned the stalls until he spotted a woman in fine Trinity Temple robes, her eyes betraying kindness amid the chaos. Approaching her, he made his request, exchanging the copper coin.

“May Ploutos the god of good fortune bless you and your family. I will see to it they are well fed.”

Hunter nodded in respect and slipped away before she could ask him who he was. Eager to make up for lost time, he quickened his pace. Arriving at the blacksmith's forge, he swung the door open and collided with the broad, hairy chest of a dashing young adventurer.

It felt like slamming into a brick wall.

Nose smarting, he resisted the urge to rub it as he backed away. “Sorry, I was in a bit of a rush to escape the heat.” He let his lie slip out with ease.

The young adventurer's easy grin put him at ease. “I don’t blame you, mate. It’s hotter than Vulcan’s hairy balls out there.” Tipping his head, he strolled past, trailed by an older man with a flint-hard gaze.

The young adventurer clapped his companion on the shoulder, steering them in the opposite direction. “We’ve got a couple of hours to kill while Mercos works his magic. How about we fortify ourselves with some Buckfast wine at the Tangled Mermaid?”

The older adventurer scowled. “Only if you promise not to disappear upstairs like you did the last time, you horny bastard.”

Hunter chuckled, leaving their raucous laughter behind as he entered the welcoming, cool interior of Mercos’ forge.

Mercos, with a single nod at Hunter, placed a hand on the counter. He dipped low, retrieving a metal tray and set it off to the side.

Shadows overhead signaled the descent of the forge's winged guardian.

Hunter pulled seed from his inventory, holding his palm open. Out of the shadows emerged Monty, a large gray parrot with fierce round eyes. It flew straight at Hunter, executing a tight circle above his head.

Hunter, unfazed, slowed his walk until the bird circled back and landed on the counter beside Mercos, the clacking of its talons echoing within the shop.

“Hey Monty, glad to see you’re in flying form.” Hunter arrived with a cheesy smile at the counter, keeping his offering available in an open palm while leaning with his other hand.

The bird squawked, almost inhaling the seed, he gobbled it that fast.

Mercos, his scarred eye puckering, scrutinized Hunter. He offered him a much cleaner hand this time. “I thought the Kraken got you. Jakob of House Tannerous, isn't it?” As they shook hands, Hunter sensed a testing undertone in Mercos' demeanor.

With a sharp inhale, Hunter smiled. “That’s me. So sorry for the delay; I was buried with work. No encounters with Krakens to blame—I’m not the seafaring type.”

Mercos nodded slowly, still sizing him up. “Is that so? Well, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to thank you. Seems like you put in a good word for me with the Obsidian Rift leader, Sabyllos.”

Hunter’s stomach lurched. He resisted the urge to look away, attempting to muster up the confidence. “We got to talking after the tavern brawl. Your name came up when he was looking for somewhere decent to mend his weapons that wouldn’t rip him off. Seems to be a growing trend in the city.”

Mercos scowled. “It is. Lucky for me, Sabyllos can convince a lion to become a damn vegetarian. He was so impressed with my craftsmanship he spread the word in the Pyronian Adventurer Guild.”

“I’m glad to hear business picked up, especially with Xuthos and his cronies throwing weight around.” Hunter said the last part without thinking. Fear clenched his gut that Mercos would question him further and find out who Hunter really was.

The big man’s eyes narrowed, and Monty ruffled his feathers at the mention of Xuthos' name. “You know the rumors are true.” He leaned in close, lowering his voice. “His cronies, Nastes and Aspa, have returned. Such a ruthless duo.”

“I heard they were sent to the drunk tank courtesy of Elijah, the owner of the Tangled Mermaid.”

“You heard right. But did you hear that Xuthos asked his pal Vassilus to hasten their release? A little bird told me.” He relaxed, straightening his posture. “A big ask, given Elijah is not one to be trifled with. As much as he’s a lone wolf, he has no qualms making his presence known if Vassilus gets in the way of his business.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say Elijah wasn’t always a bartender.”

“No flies on you. He was as much a bartender as I was always a blacksmith… or you an adventurer…”

Hunter opened his mouth, his mind racing with ideas of how to explain why he’d hidden who he was the last time they met.

Mercos raised a hand. “Relax. I know enough not to pry, especially if Vassilus gets wind that we have talked. And when I mentioned earlier 'a little bird told me,' I meant a cranky old, ass-pecking parrot.” He nodded at Monty, and the bird squawked in protest, fixing Mercos with a murderous glare.

Hunter calmed the bird with more birdseed.

Mercos leaned back, crossing his arms.

Hunter glanced around the forge before turning back to Mercos. “You know who I really am, then you know who my sister is. I fear she’s in danger from Nastes and Aspa—they practically said as much in the tavern.”

“Tell you what, I owe you a favor. Told you before, Monty does as he pleases, doesn’t go in his cage. He’s so nosey he flies about the city and sometimes he sees and hears things. And if it’s juicy enough, he can’t keep his beak shut about it to me. I think I can bribe him to keep an eye on your sister and relate back to me if Nastes and Aspa try anything fresh.”

Relief flooded Hunter. “Monty can do that, willingly?” He turned to the bird. “I'll be forever in your debt if you keep my sister safe. She means the world to me.”

The bird held his gaze for a moment, opened its beak, and released a haunting, sweet call that matched the earnest look in its eye.

Mercos shook his head. “See! The damn bird thinks he’s a knight in shining armor, wouldn’t hesitate to rescue a damsel in distress, even if she is well capable of saving herself, which I’m sure she is, as she’s your sister.”

“Too right, but better to be cautious given the level of threat against her.”

"Speaking of threats, it seems I misjudged that rusty old dagger of yours."

Mercos slid the metallic tray toward Hunter with a caution that was almost reverent. A red velvet cloth masked its contents, but the silhouette beneath was all too familiar to Hunter.

"Mind if I...?" Hunter's hand hung in mid-air above the tray.

Mercos flashed a wolfish grin. "All yours son...."

Peeling back the velvet, Hunter's eyes stretched wide and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Nestled on the cold steel was a weapon he could've sworn he didn't know, save for the familiar wooden handle and the distinctive shape of the blade. Rust was a stranger to it now; it gleamed like obsidian, slick as oil under a moonless sky. A gilded shield bearing the Gorgon Stheno was etched near the base of the blade.

He lifted it.

The dagger danced rainbows as it caught the light. But there was more. His thumb traced the polished surface, revealing a hidden inscription, now liberated from its rusty prison. The words 'Be Prepared,' etched along the blade, entwined with runes symbolizing Earth and Wind.

It hummed with a power that had lain dormant. His mouth turned to cotton, pulse racing as he prepared to identify it. Chi bubbled in his core, flowing into his energy channels, honing his senses.

[House Filo Dagger of Earth and Wind. Common tier weapon.]

Hunter scowled. Something didn't add up.

His gaze flicked to Mercos who stood, grinning ear to ear. "Pure genius, that. All that beautiful craft hiding under layers of muck and rust. Those are the jobs I live for. Don't look so flummoxed lad. You're right, it's worth more than its common tier title suggests. That enchanted house crest of that terrible beauty Stheno allows the weapon to level up, the more chi you pump into it, the more it evolves."

“Glad to hear it. I need all the help I can get given my limited stash of weapons, armor, and decent footwear.”

Mercos clapped his hands together. "I told you to hit up Tyche's Tannery! All you need is..."

“Almond bark.” He pulled some from his inventory to show Mercos. “Thanks to Jo, I got some in Xuthos' courtyard on my visit.”

Mercos laughed. “I bet that old goat would have a fit if he knew. So the tannery best be your next stop.”

Mercos rummaged under the counter and emerged with a scrap of parchment no bigger than his pinky. "When I have news, I'll write it on this, roll it up, and attach it to Monty here like a carrier pigeon."

Monty squawked with indignation at the comparison.

Ignoring him, Mercos leaned across the counter, lowering his voice. “So where in the city can Monty find you?”

“Ehh about that…you won’t find me in the city.” Hunter drummed his fingers on the counter, choosing his words with care. “The best place to reach me is the tower.”

Mercos scratched his head. “Monty spied you about the city, so I assumed you had lodgings here, but I also heard talk of you spending time on Death Island under the guardianship of Nicander. Is that not still the case?”

“No, I’m a member of the Roaming Cultivators Guild… but I do have a message to send to Nic.”

***

The fire of ambition that burned within him on his return to the tower faded much quicker than he expected. Still, he was proud of how much he had accomplished in such a short time.

Hunter’s visit to the tannery earned him a new pair of footwear, as the Tanner was looking for a test subject to try out his new leather footwear that could be worn underneath leg armor. While they weren’t as robust as the hoplites, they'd earn him more protection than he had the last time he entered the Refiner Gate.

Retreating to the cool confines of the library, he intended to pore over the Divine Order Scroll and understand how best to use those time management strategies Jo had recommended. With the mountain of tasks looming ahead, sleep seemed an unlikely indulgence. But as he flipped through the pages, his eyelids grew heavy.

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Exhaustion won the battle, dragging him into a realm of dreams.

Dawn broke in hues of burnt orange and moody blue, each color stubbornly refusing to blend with the other. A wave of dread crashed over Hunter, icy and unyielding.

I know this dream.

It was a recurring nightmare, one he'd been reliving since his mother's death. Grief and anger were now old companions, their presence as familiar as the iron taste of despair in his mouth.

He stood before a gaping grave in the loneliest corner of the cemetery, a place so desolate not even grass dared to grow. It was a terrible tribute to the thousands buried there, left to waste away on Death Island, victims of the Scale Rot disease.

In a flash, rain poured down, and the scarred earth opened up like a festering wound, exposing the decaying bodies to be trampled into the mud.

Nausea clawed at Hunter, bile rising in his throat.

He stumbled backward, but there was no escape. The dream was a distortion of the real memory, but the emotions were the same as the day he found her. The taste of death, like blood and ash, filled his mouth. He knew what was coming next. As he screamed out his rage, there she was.

His mother.

Lying still in the pit below, a poppy-colored bruise stark against her silver-skinned temple. She looked peaceful, as if she were sleeping amongst the dead.

The pale sun broke through the clouds, casting her in a golden glow. A goddess in his mind, he moved closer. Falling to his knees, he sunk into the muck, coldness seeping inside his every being.

He brushed her ashen hair from her silvered brow, one of the few signs that her higher cultivation stage had spared her from the harsher outward symptoms of the disease.

Anguish washed over him like a high tide, threatening to drown him in endless sorrow. He tried to resist the flood, but his emotions surged like a Kraken from the depths—a deep, dark, bottomless rage he'd spent years trying to suppress.

He stared at his mother, her lifeless form merging with memories of the last time she held him tight, kissed him with pressure firm enough to last days as she promised him she'd recover and return from the Isle of Spirits.

Rage boiled within him, just as it had that day when he realized Uncle Eratos had lied. How long had his mother been on the Island? As long as he'd been there and dug his first grave? Knowing the depth of his uncle's sadism, he was certain it was true.

They’d both been exiled to Death Island, only a barrier between them. If he’d known, wild horses wouldn’t have stopped him from finding her.

How many times had he snuck out at night to visit the workers' village and helped where he could to assist those who were ill and stuck behind the well-guarded quarantine village? He would have found a way to get past the protection array…but it was too late now.

His mother was long gone. Three years by his count.

Sometimes he wondered about his sanity between his vision of the tower and the stranger. But he now knew they were real—he’d touched them both.

He pinched his brow, thinking of another strange encounter in this dream state that thought alone was enough to summon the memory of their encounter.

At the time he'd thought she was a figment of his grief-stricken mind, but now he wasn't so sure.

Slipping back into the dream memory of that godforsaken day.

He didn't know how long he knelt beside his mother, but it’d been long enough for his body to numb, all except for the hurt tearing at what remained of his heart, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

Her harmonic voice was a salve, raw and real. "Hunter..."

Looking up Hunter squinted, shielding his eyes from her blinding aura. Tears seeped from the corners of his eyes, forming tracks down his cheeks.

With a slow ripple of golden wings, the goddess floated before him. Glistening red hair shifting with the tilt of her head, she held her arms outstretched like she was about to envelop him in an embrace. "I know this is a heart-breaking time for you, but you must know your mother was proud of you. She wouldn't want you to sit here, wallowing and blaming yourself."

Hunter wiped his tear-streaked face and stared with defiance. "Then who the hell do I blame? I was too damn trusting, too... unprepared. I should always be prepared..."

The goddess shut her eyes, shaking her head in the slightest. Her arms fell to her sides. She seemed smaller, more humble than at first. "I'm the one to blame, Hunter. And other beings of Divine Origin like me. You know me as Athena here, but I've gone by other names as well. Your loss,” she said with a sigh, “is our failure. It's our broken cultivation system that's at fault, encouraging and rewarding bastards like your uncle."

Hunter’s shoulders sagged.

A goddess admitting her faults wasn't much solace unless she’d come for a reason. "If you're really sorry, then fix the wrongs. Bring my mother back."

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. "It isn’t that simple, Hunter." Her voice carried a weight of regret and sadness that took him by surprise.

He clenched his fists. "Everything should be simple for you. You're a goddess!" Heat burned from within his core, threatening to sear the threads of his chi.

"Even Divine beings are bound by rules, Hunter. Gypas, the vulture harbinger of death, isn’t easily swayed. He has his devout principles. But you, Hunter, you can change things. You can fix this broken system."

Hunter cut her off with a raised hand. "I don't want to be some savior. I just..." His chest tightened, and he struggled to draw breath. "I just want to save my mother."

Suddenly, the warmth of her aura washed over him, cooling the burning rage that festered. "All I can offer is a healing light that nurtures your innate wisdom. Don't shut it out. You're grieving now, but in time, I believe your wisdom will guide you to forge a new path and challenge the old. Your mother left something for you in her ring. I hope you find it."

The memory began to fade, no matter how hard Hunter tried, he could never remember the goddess saying goodbye, leaving him. It seemed as though she’d never fully left, as if a part of her lingered to bring him comfort, much like his mother's unconditional love.

Besides the rats, Hunter was always the first soul to greet the dawn in the cemetery. Today wasn't any different. Nic had warned him to stay put, to wait for him before heading out to the cemetery.

But Hunter’s strong suit had never been to wait or do as others told him. He’d long taken Mistress Arista’s advice not to be a sheep. He vowed to never allow himself to be misled ever again or to follow others without a thought. All of that solidified once his uncle cast him to the island.

Sliding next to his mother's lifeless form, he gently searched her hands for a ring. Nothing. Disturbing her final rest was a bitter pill to swallow, but Athena's words echoed in his head, a godsdamn relentless refrain. The ring was nowhere to be found until... there it was, glinting like an ice diamond on her sandal. She'd hidden it so cleverly, right under their noses.

He ripped off his own ring and slipped hers onto his finger. The metal adjusted to his size, fitting him like a glove. Inside, he found a surprise—her cultivation medallion and a note. A godsdamn note.

The slam of a door pulled Hunter from his thoughts. Nic was on his way. He quickly swapped the rings back, pocketing his mother's note for later.

Nic's face was a stormcloud when he found Hunter beside his mother. He swallowed hard, knowing Nic didn’t recognize her. He called out for the priestess, his voice gruff, an anger masking his twinge of sadness "Too many good folk have gone to the grave this past month. This island's cursed and that bastard Dimus doesn't give a rat's ass. I told you not to wander off alone to this grave."

The stench of booze clung to him like a second skin. His liquid courage for the grim task ahead. Yesterday, the island's laborers had come in droves, carting the bodies of the recent Scale Rot victims.

Now, only three figures stood by the mass grave.

"What would you have me do?" The priestess asked Nic, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nic's chin lifted in defiance, his face grim but determined. "These folks deserve respect, even in death. Give 'em a dignified send-off, a blessing or two. It's the bloody least we can do."

Hunter shut his eyes, the world fading to black. A ghost of his mother's smile danced behind his eyelids, her warmth seeping into him as if she was still there. The priestess murmured some holy nonsense, but he had a blessing of his own to give.

To his mother, to his father, to every soul that fell: Their lives meant something. They meant something to him. And he'd keep them alive, right there in his chest, as long as his lungs kept drawing breath. May they find some peace in the great hall of their ancestors. Their deaths wouldn't be for nothing. He swore it.

He'd shatter these godsdamn shackles they'd clamped on him. He'd find Jo. He'd do whatever it took to grow stronger, even if it meant no sleep—no rest. He made a silent vow, a promise to the departed.

His thoughts drifted to the medallion, his mother's parting gift. And Mistress Arista’s talk of a second chance advancement sprang into his mind. He was all Earth affinity, not Wind like his mother, but who the heck knew what could happen if he showed up at the Trial of Worth once he turned eighteen.

Three years. Three years to push this Pre-Refiner body of his to its limits, to squeeze out every ounce of strength it had to offer. Those law-upholding bastards had betrayed him, but he'd find a way into the Trial of Worth.

Rules be damned!

***

The Portalier drifted on the serene blue waters, reflecting on his past missions and the omnipresent specter of death that shadowed his travels. The death walker that carved through the landscape of his thoughts like a river with the color of bone.

A subtle vibration and a whoosh disrupted the calm lake, signaling the end of his solitary contemplation. With a swift approach, GATO skimmed low over the water, leaving silver ripples in her wake. Her round eyes glowed with a pink hue as she ascended to his eye level, coming to an abrupt stop.

I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but there's something I think you should see.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. The pain resurfaced whenever he allowed himself to dwell on what he had lost before becoming the Portalier. Yet, he knew that avoiding such reflections would transform him into one of the emotionless immortals for whom life and death held no meaning.

The Portalier would choose death over such a fate.

"Okay, GATO, show me what you got."

GATO presented a projection from Hunter's world, depicting him in a desolate wasteland surrounded by bodies. Initially mistaken for a battlefield, it became apparent that the chaos was a mass open grave. Hunter's shoulders slumped, and he sank to his knees in the soft, damp mud.

"I take it you have a good reason for showing me this." He cleared his throat, struggling to maintain a steady, emotion-free voice. "I'm already aware that Hunter works in the cemetery, digging graves."

GATO pivoted with urgency. Yes, sir, but this has only come to my attention due to the interference of the goddess Athena, who appeared to him.

The Portalier straightened up. GATO now had his full attention. Any trace of self-pity was replaced by the urgency to understand why a goddess of that world had appeared to Hunter, and he was only finding out now.

“Curses for shmob’s sake!”

Sure, Divine energy fluctuations interfered with GATO's predictions and her ability to identify key events in Hunter’s life, but this… He leaned closer to the projection. Even before a goddess showed up, the Portalier knew this time in Hunter’s life would be significant.

A lump formed in his throat. "That's his mother lying there, goddammit. And he didn't know. His uncle is one cruel, callous fuck!"

Indeed, sir. An accurate description and an ultimate betrayal of love and trust. It is no wonder the poor boy struggles with authority and taking advice. I simply believed he was a hot-blooded young male who thought he knew better.

"He doesn't just have trust issues. Look at him. I've seen it countless times before. There's a dark rage churning inside him. I hope he deals with it before it's too late."

Time heals, sir, but wounds run deep. I have an awareness of what you have suffered. You prevailed; he can too. While it is sad, he is grieving one person here, it is not comparable to the loss of an entire civilization.

The Portalier winced at the unintentional coldness of her words. He knew she meant it as reassurance that the boy would be okay, but there was no accounting for death. He couldn't place a weight on feelings, run a cost analysis, assign an appropriate level of grief, and predict a recovery time.

It was all relative to one's own experience.

He didn't know what was more tragic for himself—the fact that his own family was gone or the realization that he could never go back and save them or his world. Either way, the Portalier couldn't pretend that what he was searching for could be found by going home. He had no home. His sanctuary was an illusion given to him by the goddess Kthyia to keep him sane.

"You know, GATO, Hunter losing his mother so young is like losing his entire world."

GATO stopped circling and came to a rest in front of him.

I sense a drop in dopamine, and your facial expressions convey deep sadness. You are missing your loved ones just like Hunter. I can remedy that by projecting an avatar in Buck’s likeness using your memories.

Fear spiked in the Portalier. "No, don't you dare."

A heavy silence followed.

I’m sorry, sir, have I done something wrong?

He swallowed hard. "No, you mean well, but please leave my memories of Buck alone. I can’t bear the thought of you observing them like you’re watching a movie. It was my life. He was my life. Stay out. I don’t need you to fix me; I’m not broken."

His mind whispered the truth. Take away a man’s child, and what is there left to lose? Hunter’s pain was his pain.

GATO’s projection hazed as the goddess appeared.

One moment… adjusting to account for Divine interference.

The crackle and hum made the Portalier's skin itch. They watched as the projection cleared, and the goddess Athena spoke her truth to Hunter.

"I admire his bravery standing up to a Divine being. He's got balls, given that. It's becoming much clearer why the god Claude chose him."

"Tell me more about Gypas, this Vulture god."

He is a harbinger of death in this world, its origins steeped in rituals of sky burials carried out by the Lungpa Nyen tribes that live on the Cailan mountain range. While the practice has died out in many parts, Gypas still has worshippers at his nature-born shrine—the fabled Tree of Souls. This location is lost to time, although there are some necromancers of great renown who supposedly know where it is.

“Thank you, GATO. I think I've seen enough." He looked away as the projection ended.

Would you like a drink, sir, or perhaps something to eat?

"Not right now, thanks, GATO. I don't have much of an appetite. Would you mind if I stayed here on the lake, on my own, for a while?"

Of course, sir. I have reviewed my logs of our earlier conversation. It seems that I made an error in comparing the death of one with the death of many. For that, I am truly sorry.

"There's no need to apologize. I know you meant well. It’s just you can’t quantify grief or measure one person’s against another’s, at least not in a meaningful way."

I think I better understand now. I scoured the records of all my predecessors and came across these words experienced back on planet Earth. It was in a movie, but I feel it makes the meaning no less real. Would you like to make the words my own?

“Sure, go ahead GATO.”

I better understand Hunter’s loss as ‘the name for God on the lips and hearts of children is mother.’