Ymra sprinted across the yard, casting the very simple spell that Gerren had taught her to increase her speed. At first, using this strange magic had felt weird and unnatural, but she had gotten used to it somewhat quickly. She reached the other end and rang the signal bell, thus concluding today’s exercise in sprints. Yes, Ymra did find it a bit demeaning to be taught how to sprint, a skill she couldn’t remember not possessing, but it was quite different when magic came into play, as her legs moved faster than she could ever make them do on her own. All in all, she had enjoyed the past fortnight of training, which had begun almost directly after the Ritual of Inception, as Gerren had named the mind-mage’s spell. She had fallen into a routine, sort of. At least as much of a routine as one can find when one is essentially being held captive. At least, she didn’t sleep in the cell anymore, but had gotten a proper chamber with hunters’ order.

“Excellent, Ymra, but you still hold back. The Krathen always puts you in a struggle for your life, so you must learn to be as ferocious as it is,” Gerren said from the shadows to the left of her. She had noticed his preference for staying out of sight. Smart, but unnecessary in the Cities, though she did understand how difficult habits could be to break.

“I have lived in the forest all my life. I recognize its dangers. I also recognize that the forest doesn’t take kindly to recklessness,” she responded in a cold tone. She might enjoy the sensation of being a mage - or at least a novice -, but she still held a grudge against the man, who had torn her away from her branch. They still presented themselves in her sleep, and one morning she even found wounds on her palms, as if she had clenched her fist hard enough to break the skin. She hated having a desire but not the power to satisfy it. At least the exercises provided a small window of vindication, and so did talking back to Gerren, the man who was now her mentor.

“I am not telling you to be reckless, but to channel your emotional drive into your legs alongside Krathen’s mana.” Gerren was certain that it had sounded more profound when his own mentor had said those words, but what can you do? “I am telling you to use more of your strength, for you will need it, depend on it. We hunters live on the edge of death, Ymra. Understand that.”

The girl, his student, tensed again, a signal that Gerren had come to interpret as defiance mixed with unwilling understanding. Typical young hubris but then again, Ymra wasn’t like so many others of his students; she had a type of experience that one doesn’t just replicate. He sighed. It was times like these that Gerren wished Oliva was still alive to help him figure out what to do next. He knew that discipline was crucial to his craft, but it didn’t seem to sit well with Ymra. He couldn’t care less if his student was comfortable during her training, but she seemed to actively ignore him, whenever he taught with a firm hand.

Ymra had started running around. Was he really getting so old as to not have noticed that when absorbed in thought? Once again, he sighed. But then he started focusing in on her movement; it was not sporadic like the play of a child, but precise, yet experimental. Suddenly, the stars aligned in Gerren’s brain:

He would provide the basics, then Ymra would teach herself under his supervision from the shadows.

Yes. That could work.

Ymra was dead. There was literally no other explanation for her continued absence. Of this, Egira was certain, and she had made her logic clear for her branch, who had all mourned the loss of their sister with her. This was a week past now.

And their family was in complete disarray.

Egi hated seeing them like this; she saw herself as their maternal figure, and her role was to take care of them all, to make sure they were fine and healthy, but even she had no idea of what to do right now. The Snake’s Eyes refused to spend any time with the rest of them, Tasar kept even more quiet than usual, and Dum-Dum had been assisting the Hunt-Mother with various errands that mostly involved carrying heavy objects from one place to another. Only Ern remained somewhat steadfast in his outward appearance, but Egira had heard how he growled in his sleep. She was concerned for him, for all of them, but there was nothing to do.

Nothing at all.

How in the name of Niquol, was she supposed to bring happiness back to her family? She did not know. She needed guidance. She nodded silently to herself.

That night she sought out the Dreamer in his tent to which the door was always open to those with an honest spirit. The old man himself sat cross-legged surrounded by scented candles that gave the room a very calming effect. Egira bowed, before taking a seat before him. His eyes were closed, and she knew that he expected her to break the silence. Unfortunately, she could not find the words, she was looking for, even though it should be so simple. Then, she just spoke.

“Honored Dreamer, Spirit-Guide of the Niq, I come here to seek your counsel. Ever since the loss of my sister…” She got interrupted, when the Dreamer growled in a low voice, but when he returned to silence, she continued. “Ever since Ymra was lost to us, my branch has been broken. I therefore ask you this: What can I do? How do I bring light back to our souls? Will we ever be able to mend what was broken?”

Her question was followed by a long inhale and a longer exhale, before the Dreamer finally spoke: “Faltering is only natural after the loss of a loved one, my child. Time mends most wounds, but there will always be scars. Even the freest of spirits are full of them. You say, you want to bring light back into your branch, but it never left in the first place. You simply must allow the shadow of grief to pass. Perhaps… No, you are too young. Then again…?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Perhaps a pilgrimage to the Heart of the Forest could cleanse your soul. Would you be prepared for such an undertaking?”

Egira’s thoughts lingered on doubt for a moment before agreeing with her spirit: “Yes, we are”.

The Dreamer’s face lit up in a smile. “Good. You will leave at dawn. Inform your branch.”

That marked the end of her consultation. Egira spend the rest of the evening spreading word to the others, urging them to pack the essentials and to strengthen their resolve for the journey ahead. Despite the past weeks, the word of the Dreamer was law to the Niq, and so they left first thing the next morning. For the Heart of the Forest. For the Sacred Tree of Life and Death. For the Niquol.

Ymra slid the grindstone up and down the edge of her blade, until it was sharp enough to draw blood from the lightest touch. Then she threw it to the side and picked up another sword from the pile, she had collected during the day. There was no point to this exercise, no purpose, and yet, she was being compelled to continue by some incorporeal force that she dreaded to name.

Fear.

(Coward)

All her life, she had been taught not to seek danger, to hunt only the animals she could handle and to never disturb the greater wills of the forest but now, she was going to seek out an enormous, destructive beast, attempt to kill it and probably die in the process. “Why” was a question, she had asked herself repeatedly for the past hour or so, while she had been preparing her tools; her spear, her knife and her sword, but the only answer, she had found, was, “Because Gerren said so”. The adrenaline kept pumping through her veins.

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When Gerren come to her, she had abandoned her pointless distraction and had gathered her provisions and materials, which were already packed neatly into a traveler’s pack that wouldn’t hinder her movement to much when on the hunt. Her knife and sword hang on her belt, while she carried her spear in her right hand, where it belonged. The hunters of the Cities only used their barbaric blades, typically crafted with a touch of sorcery to make in more effective against the horrors of the night - as Gerren would have put it -, and while Ymra had adapted to this form of hunting, she wasn’t going to forget her roots and ways so easily. Her spear was a part of her, even if it was a newly made one, cut from the branches of the outermost trees of the Krathen forest. How weird it was to name the forest, which she had considered the entirety of the important world before. She sighed.

In a calm voice, Gerren asked a simply question with a very complicated answer; “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Not so complicated if said out loud, apparently.

“Then let’s go. Tracking an emperor-ape isn’t as simple as one might expect. They are surprisingly fast, silent and extremely strong. But I am certain you will do just fine.” Then Gerren took off into the night, and Ymra followed even more unsettled than she had been before.

A few weeks back, she would have been completely lost in the maze that was Selma’s Bay, but now she navigated it with the same ease as a native - not that the city was that complex, but Ymra would never accept that. From her point of view, she had done something impressive, a necessary accomplishment to stave off that annoying voice in her mind, chest, arms and legs.

(You will never be rid of me. I am you, don’t you see?)

“Gerren,” she asked with a weak voice.

“Yes, little one?” He had started calling her that since she had stood next to the other hunters, and he had realized, she was one-and-a-half heads shorter than the smallest of them. It was only mildly infuriating.

“Have you ever felt… that you have a void, where your drive, your ambitions, even your happiness should be?” she asked, breathing out very slowly. She had never asked that before, not to anyone. Not even Ern. It felt somewhat…

Nice. Maybe.

(You can’t handle your own problems, can you?)

Gerren gave her a look. Ymra had feared one of stone, but his eyes were far softer than that. Almost sad.

“I once caused the death of a young woman. I had to carry her body home. It tore my heart out, and I lost myself to the sword and to the flask. I was filled with wrath and sorrow and, yes, I wanted oblivion. My fellow hunters and my mentor pulled me back, though. Ymra, we all depend on each other, especially in a field as dangerous as ours. Our magic even reflects that; we draw on the strength of the wildlife around us, we sense it, become it. Never fear your need for safety and comfort. At the end of day, it is what makes you human.”

“Maybe…”

“It is so. Trust me.”

She could feel her eyes watering just enough to be rage-inducing, but not quite wailing.

“Thank you, captain.”

He looked at her again, and this time a smile danced lightly on his lips.

“What else is a teacher good for, if not to help?”

For the first time in too long, Ymra smiled sincerely.

And the voice kept silent.

As the sun rose above the trees, the forest grew thicker and the pressure on the outskirts of her senses increased. Somewhere in the back of her consciousness, she knew where they had ended up. The emperor-ape had led them to the tree of life and death itself, the divine spirit that the Niq had named themselves after.

The Niquol.

Ymra voiced her concerns about spilling blood on holy ground, but Gerren, being of the Cities, did not care, though he too felt the presence of something… or someone… powerful and intense. Despite this, though, he decided to press on, carefully, with guards up. He even drew his sword, so Ymra raised her spear, ready for anything.

Expect the one thing she saw.

The tree was larger and far more chaotic than she could ever have imagine. Its roots twisted under and above the ground, connecting every tree, undergrowth and flower to an enormous trunk which grew into the sky itself. The tree had cleared a pseudo-meadow, by assimilating every ounce of life around it - or maybe none had grown there in the first place -, and yet it was still the most difficult terrain to traverse that Ymra had encountered.

“There,” Gerren observed and pointed to their prey, perching on top of a twisted root some twenty meters above them. “You go around right, I’ll take the left.” He pointed to two spots, to which she nodded in response.

She had almost reached her position only to choke on her own heart. There, amongst the wood, walked six Niq. And not just any Niq: It was Egira, Ern, Demur, Darlin and Parlin. Her branch, her family! She could recognize that tangled mess of character defects anywhere, anytime. What in the name of Selma - an exclamation she had picked up from the captain - were they doing here? Suddenly she was torn between jumping down to hug each and every one of them and staying unseen among the roots and leaves. She had abandoned them. But now she could fix that, could she not?

(They hate you. Face it. You are a failure)

The hunt. She had to focus on the hunt. So, when Gerren gave the signal, she did her duty and struck down the ape. Unfortunately, it didn’t die. It only got angrier. It swung out with one oversized paw, which caught her in her dodge and threw her of the root, she stood on. Midair, she cast a spell to prevent her legs from shattering upon impact with the next excuse for footing, but it didn’t prevent it from hurting like all known forms of torment. Between screams of pain, she saw the ape fall, blood gushing from a slashing wound in its neck. Gerren had taken advantage of her unintended distraction, then. Good. He always said that corporation was the most important part of the Cities’ hunting tradition.

(But you still failed)

(How dare you be proud, when you can’t even stay on your feet?)

(How dare you be happy?)

In her mind, she sighed, while her actual mouth still snarled from the fall. It was right, as always. Slowly, she moved to stand up, but a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Hey, you up there! Are you okay?”

By the Niquol (admittedly, it felt weird to swear by the divinity that you stood on), the words of her people awakened a homesickness in her that she never thought she had, not after her time with Gerren and the other hunters. They had taken her in as one of them, never questioning her desires and respecting her privacy. She had learned so much, developed so many new skills and abilities that she would never even have known existed had she not been taken hostage that day. Even her second voice had calmed down and she found herself laughing from time to time. It felt good.

But it was not her family. It was not her home. There were no community feasts in the Three Cities, no verbal clashes with Egira and - most importantly - no Ern. The Stonearse was the one thing, she missed beyond measure, even if his nickname was a callback to another one of her failures, when he had beaten her in combat.

From the other direction sounded another shout, “Young one! We best get out of here! We do not want bloodshed with the Niq!” How kind of him to refrain from calling her family savages, though there was no way he could possibly know their identities.

She nodded in responds and forced herself to her feet. Dressed in the leather uniform of the Order, she would not be recognized, so she dared to take one final look at her branch, her brothers and sisters, Egi, Dum-Dum, Greentoe, the Snake’s Eyes and Stonearse.

“Goodbye,” she said in the city-tongue.

Then she turned her back on the past and follow her mentor back home.

A grey-haired Ymra observed her young recruits going about their training, correcting a poor stance here and a clumsy grip there. In the furthermost part of the yard, a small group of girls had gathered around a dashing young lad with blond locks that reminded Ymra of her branch-brother, Ern, or at least how he had looked in her childhood. She sighed the mentor’s sigh, as her late captain had dubbed the gesture of understanding frustration, and asked the night’s sky, “Egi, sister, I wonder what you would have done, were you in my shoes?”

In the middle of the forest, a singular, female figure stood and observed the trees changing from their summer-coat to the brown autumn-dress that she so loved. Behind her, an older male approached, spear in hand and smile on his lips.

“Sister, what are you doing out here alone?” Ern asked.

“Contemplating.” By sheer force of will, she shifted her gaze to him.

“Same as always, then.” The jab earned him a hard poke in the chest, which only had him grinned broader. Despite his years, he was still a child. Thank the Niquol for that.

Parlin and Darlin emerged behind Ern. The twins had not yet lost the red in their hair, but Darlins beard had a few strands of grey here and there. She could not imagine a world without their constant support of not just each other, but also the rest of their branch, no matter that they were doing. Without them, Greentoe would never have risen to the position of Dreamer and Dum-Dum’s death would have been impossible to bear. They waved for Ern and her to follow in that typical, restless, Snake’s Eyes manner.

As they turned to join the rest of their tribe, their family, for the celebration of a newly born brother, Egira looked again to the forest and answered, “I do not know.”