Chapter 1 A Hunter's Burden, A Father's Care:

A shadowy figure sits nestled within a snow-covered tree. A quiver is attached to their side and a hand slowly pulls out an arrow. Knocked to a wooden bow and drawn to a full arch, brown eyes aim out.

A bunny barely visible in the snowy landscape is nibbling on some exposed clover. The bowstring against their lips a steamy breath is released before the fingers simply release and it whizzes through the air directly piercing through the bunny’s torso pinning it into the ground.

A splatter of red is seen through those brown eyes and the shadowy figure's right arm pumps in the air.

“I did it!! Hahaha!” - Shadowy figure

A child around ten years old sits on a snowy branch with his right fist in the air. Putting the bow on his back he puts his left hand on the branch and drops from branch to branch alternating hands gripping branches all the way down.

A little thud softened by the snow-covered ground leaves a flat print on the ground. The child rushes to his taken-down prey, 

Leaving the arrow in he ties up its hind legs and attaches it to his hunting belt. After ensuring it doesn’t hinder any movement he begins moving around the mountainous forest checking traps.

 Although most hadn’t caught anything a couple had some rabbits. One was a mother with her kits that he let go, but for the ones that were caught alone, he simply gripped them at the base of their necks, put his other hand under their chin, and with quick upward motions snapped their necks before tying some rope on their legs and attaching them to his hunting belt.

During one of the last few traps he had left to check, the trap was destroyed with wood fragments and sliced rope everywhere.

The kid goes on full alert and stays completely still, after waiting for five minutes of silence and inaction he pulls down the furred hide around his face and takes some deep breaths. 

“I have to get back.” - Kid

The kid puts the hide back around his face, pulls out a little dagger made of bone, and slowly makes his way back toward his home, doing his best not to leave tracks.

Trudging through the snow-dusted forest, the small figure bundled up in furs navigated the terrain with familiarity and his footprints barely left an impression.

Finally, in the distance, a thicket of colossal trees emerged with gnarled branches reaching skyward. 

At the summit of one of the trees, rested a treehouse. Made of wood and weirdly meshing in with the tree itself the only real noticeable feature in the night would be the stone chimney emitting smoke.

The child’s eyes lit up at the sight of home, and once at the base, he readied himself for the climb.

Focusing inwards the child draws from the ball of energy located around his heart towards his hands and feet before beginning his climb.

His small hands gripping weathered knots in the bark and feet finding familiar footholds, he ascends swiftly with some branches creaking slightly under his weight.

After a laborious climb that took several minutes, the child arrived at a weathered cavity in the ancient oak, roughly the size of a grown man and positioned about fifty feet above the forest floor. 

With practiced ease, he navigated the entrance, pushing open a substantial, handcrafted wooden door. Upon entering, he closed the door behind him, securing it by wedging a sturdy plank into its holders, ensuring the door remained firmly shut.

The interior offered a comforting contrast to the biting cold outside. Shedding his heavy, furred coat, the child hung it on a wall hook, revealing underneath a simple cloth tunic and leggings. 

Balancing the hunting belt in his hands, the child carried it towards a ladder tucked in the corner of the room, its wooden rungs showing signs of frequent use. With practiced agility, he ascended once more. 

At the top, he located a wooden hatch, deftly pushing it aside and hauling himself up, revealing a well-organized living space. 

A small fire pit crackled in one corner, casting a warm glow over the area. Nestled nearby, a grown man lay resting in a simple bedding arrangement, the faint rise and fall of his chest indicating peaceful slumber.

Seeing that his father is peacefully resting, he retreats to another room that houses an area for disassembling caught game. Having helped and seen his father dismember and take apart plenty of different things, he begins field-dressing the rabbits he caught earlier in the day. 

Using a large bone knife he chops off the heads of the rabbits and hangs them upside-down over a bucket to drain what little blood they have. 

After a while, he takes one down and removes its feet with the large bone knife, then he cuts skin around the hock joints of the legs and between, across the lower part of the body.

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He then removes the tail and pulls the skin down and forwards over the body. He places the freshly flayed hide in a large wooden barrel of cold water and goes back to the now unskinned carcass.

He makes a careful cut on the belly after pinching the skin to raise it off the organs underneath. Once he reached the ribcage he cut through the breast bone and opened up a cavity exposing the organs on top.

Carefully avoiding the urine sac and colon, to not ruin the meat. He cut the small membrane keeping some of the major organs intact and removed them all making sure to separate what he deemed edible in one area and tossing the rest in a wooden barrel in the corner. 

After taking the organs from the rabbit he returns to the water barrel takes out the now-soaked hide and hangs it outside to keep it frozen and ready to be tanned later.

He repeats this process for all five bunnies he has and five hides hang outside in the freezing weather.

He separated the legs, cutting them into small, diced portions intended for later use. The remaining meat was sliced into slender strips, arranged on a wooden rack suspended a safe distance above the crackling fire.

Beneath the rack, a stone pot, positioned directly over the flames, gradually reached a rolling boil. Into this pot went a carefully selected assortment: the rabbit organs, the cubed legs, and a handful of foraged mushrooms. 

The child retrieved a handful of salt from a sizable sack, tossing it into the pot as the aroma of simmering ingredients filled the air.

Adding a few additional elements and maintaining a vigilant stir with a wooden spoon, he waited patiently, allowing the flavors to meld and infuse.

After a while, he carefully ladled a portion into a bowl and carried it over to his father.

The older man stirred awake with a groan, his voice tinged with concern. "Kane, what's this? You went out without me again?"

"Yeah, Dad. You're still weak from that last encounter with a dire monster. I made sure to cover my tracks and stuck to the outer rim. But here, have some rabbit stew. It'll do you good." - Kane

The older man's weary features softened with gratitude as he accepted the bowl, the warmth from the stew promising comfort. "Thank you, son," he said, taking a sip. The taste seemed to briefly melt away the weariness that clung to him. "You're getting better at this, Kane. I'm proud of you, and I know your mother’s smiling on us from above."

Kane hugs his dad and says, “I’m still not great at tanning and don’t wanna mess it up so, I left them outside to freeze.” 

The older man with the wooden bowl of stew in hand winces a bit from the abrupt hug and sits upright revealing bandages covering his entire waist. “Haha don’t try and break me now, and it’s alright son, I’ll get to them later. How many did you manage to get?” - Father

“I got five rabbits, but I think the dire monster destroyed one of our traps closer to the river. Everything over there was ripped up and broken.” - Kane

The older man's brows furrowed with concern upon hearing about the destroyed trap. He set down the wooden bowl of stew and leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on Kane. "The river... that's near where the dire monster was last spotted, isn't it?"

Kane nodded, his expression grave. "Yes, Dad. I heard growls and noises from that direction. I didn't want to risk going closer. The trap was torn apart, and wood splinters scattered everywhere. It's not safe out there."

The father's face reflected a mix of concern and determination. After a moment's contemplation, he spoke, "Kane, we can't take chances. That area is too risky. We'll abandon those traps for now. We'll find a way to fortify and safeguard the perimeter without risking a direct encounter with the dire monster."

Kane's voice wavered slightly, "But Dad, what about our food supplies? If we abandon those traps, it might be harder to find food."

"I know, son," the father responded, his tone heavy with concern. "But our safety is the priority. We'll focus on reinforcing other areas and finding alternative ways to secure our food. We've managed before, and we'll manage now. Our safety comes first."

As his father headed out to tend to the hides outside, Kane began surveying the stash of sticks in the corner, he plucked out a bunch, looking for the ones that would make decent arrow shafts.

He carefully selected the straightest sticks, running his fingers over the rugged surface, considering the possibilities each one held. Then he began to meticulously carve away imperfections, refining their shape into something arrow-worthy.

The rough edges were tamed, the sides smoothed to a gentle curve, all in an attempt to fashion a set of arrows that would fly true. Kane's fingers danced over the wood, sculpting notches on one end and fashioning points on the other, each arrow beginning to take on its unique form.

In the dimly lit room, Kane's work was bathed in the golden glow of the flickering fire pit, casting elongated shadows on the wooden walls. The quiet rhythm of his carving filled the space, occasionally interrupted by the soft thud of wood shavings falling to the ground.

After finishing eight arrows, Kane’s dad comes back in and tells him it's probably time for him to rest.

Kane puts the arrows and knife down and heads over to his bed made of furs and hides by the fire. His dad puts a woolen blanket over him and tells him the tale of their kingdom's founder Maxmius the Brave. 

As Kane lay nestled in his furs, wrapped in warmth and the faint glow of the dwindling fire, his father's voice continued to weave tales of bravery and heroism. The flickering flames painted shifting shadows on the wooden walls, and the story of Maximus the Brave took on a new, vibrant hue.

"Maximus, son," his father began, the tale now shifting to the legendary defender of humanity. "He was a champion among men, a pioneer who ascended to the legendary 5th level, granting him abilities beyond ordinary mortals. He defended our people from the most fearsome of creatures, like the dragons that once threatened our lands."

Kane's mind stirred with images of awe-inspiring dragons and the figure of Maximus, a beacon of valor standing resolute against these colossal and mythical beasts.

"Dragons, massive and powerful, once posed a great danger to our kingdom," his father continued, his voice echoing with reverence for the heroics of Maximus. "Maximus faced these legendary creatures, his courage unwavering, his determination unyielding. He fought to protect our people, challenging these fearsome creatures with unrelenting bravery."

As his father spoke of the epic battles waged against the dragons, Kane's imagination soared. He envisioned Maximus, clad in armor, brandishing a mighty sword, standing defiantly against the massive, fire-breathing dragons. The echoes of clashing swords and the roar of dragons resonated in his mind.

"The stories tell of how Maximus, with unparalleled valor, defended our kingdom, ensuring the safety of its people," his father continued. "His legacy is a testament to the triumph of the human spirit over the most daunting of challenges."

In the dimly lit sanctum of their treehouse, Kane's father tended to his son's wounds with the utmost care. As the soothing herbs were applied to Kane's cuts and bruises, the older man's hands moved with a gentleness borne of both experience and paternal love. His touch was precise, ensuring the healing salve covered each injury, easing Kane's discomfort and promoting the healing process.

Once Kane was comfortably settled into a deepening slumber, his father, with an air of silent fortitude, shifted his attention to his own injuries. With a quiet determination, he began the process of untying the bandages encasing his waist, revealing the signs of a recent struggle etched in the form of bandaged wounds.

As the old bandages were removed, the wounds underneath, though on the mending path, still showed signs of recent strife. The father applied the healing herbs with a practiced hand, the fragrant blend promising comfort and relief.

Once the salve was delicately spread over his own injuries, Kane's father secured fresh, clean bandages, carefully wrapping them around his waist. Despite the discomfort and his own weariness, he bore the task with a quiet resolve, ensuring his own wounds were tended to, as well as his son's.

The crackling fire offered the only illumination in the cozy treehouse, casting soft glows and elongated shadows around the chamber. Kane's father settled back, a mix of weariness and contentment etched on his face. His son, now resting peacefully, was his utmost concern, but the older man also recognized the importance of self-care in ensuring he could continue to protect and guide his children through their challenging life in the wilderness.

With a deep breath, the father readjusted himself, making sure the bandages were secure, allowing himself a moment of quiet reflection before settling in for rest beside his son. The flickering flames provided a comforting rhythm as both of them succumbed to the embrace of a healing slumber, the herbs and the warmth of the fire merging into a tapestry of tranquility and care.