Chapter 27: No More a Hunter (End of Arc 1)
One knee against the ground and leaning on my blade-spear, I stood panting as my breaths came harder and harder. Around me were the bodies of a pack of Black Wolves. I gritted my teeth as blood dripped down from the lacerations on my back. On my right biceps, there were a few claw marks. And all over, I was sporting some bruises and some smaller wounds.
A howl resounded throughout the area where I stood. And from between two trees, an enormous White Wolf came leaping down. As it landed, all four of its paws made dents in the ground, crunching a few stray branches. The beast’s pair of scarlet eyes stared at me and its rows of fangs, as white as its fur, were dyed red with blood.
Suddenly the White Wolf lunged toward me, closing more than thirty steps in an instant. In the middle of it all, I closed my eyes, settling my breath.
When I opened my eyes again, the black nose and muzzle of the White Wolf was so near me that I could feel its hot breath and the smell of blood in its mouth. Remnants of its last dinner, pieces of fur and flesh, were stuck between its fangs.
“Good to see you, Ceres,” I said, a grin on my face. The White Wolf was friend, brother, and follower to me. It was also the strongest wolf in the Desolate Forests Range.
Ceres let out a small whine, his eyes looking worried about my wounds. Ever since I had Blood Bonded with Ceres, I could sense all of its intentions and what it was thinking. Not to mention the fact that I could always sense the direction of his location.
“Don’t worry about me. This will heal after a moment or two.” My eyes glanced at its lower left limb. “What you should be worried about, however, is that injury on that leg. Did one of the Black Wolves get you?”
Ceres nodded at me, his muzzle moving slightly downward.
“I think that was all the Black Wolves, right?” I asked, my eyes warily glancing at my surroundings.
Ceres affirmed my question with a victory howl.
A relief went through me and I fell down onto the small clearing of the Desolate Forests Range. Wincing a little at the pain from the lacerations on my back, I laughed. Then I released my grip onto my blade-spear, letting it fall down beside me.
Up above, the stars glittered like mysterious things. Unreachable and always twinkling, as if they were winking at me, watching over me. I reached a hand out at the stars as if making a grab for them, though I knew it was futile.
Another laughter bubbled forth from deep within me. “It has been six years since I found you as a growing cub left alone to die, Ceres. And eight years since Hunter passed away. Two years ago, Dance of First had her Ritual of Age, her horns fully grown. Many years have passed, yet why is it that I feel as if I had not grown at all?”
My question was not answered. Ceres merely gave an empathic howl toward the stars, toward me. Then he laid himself down beside me, his considerable head, almost the size of my body, supported by two of his paws.
For a long while, the two of us slept until my wounds had healed. And although there were corpses surrounding us, and the scent of blood wafting through the cool nightly breeze, we slept on, knowing that none of the creatures nearby would dare harm us. This was our territory, and all those who trespass would meet our blades and fangs. The bodies of the Black Wolves were testaments to this.
When my eyes opened again, the night was well on its way toward dawn. And some of the corpses of the Black Wolves had been dragged away by brave scavengers. But the corpses that had been dragged away were only the ones on the outer edges. None of the scavengers had dared come close to the bodies near us.
Taking a deep breath and my blade-spear, I stood up. Then I started sprinting through the forest, racing alongside Ceres. We kept pace with each other, bringing out a little competitive spirit.
Finally, we exited the Desolate Forests Range and arrived at the Bleary Grasslands. There, on a small distance, a wooden cottage stood in its grey background.
A figure came out of the cottage and toward me.
Getting down on a knee, I greeted the familiar figure. “I have returned, Master.”
Ever since five years ago, when I had turned thirteen, I had abandoned my duties as a Hunter, running away from the Piercing Moon tribe. Of course, I still had the sense to tell Dance of First and my seven Brothers of my plans. But I didn’t tell Grandmother Moon Bird, for she had passed away six years ago.
As for Magus Embracing Flower and her daughter, they relied on each other for support. With that, Hunter’s death had been overcome by them. A big bump in their roads of life, but in the end, they had overcome it. They had no need of me to take care of them. I was still a child, a child who knew nothing. Then again, even now, I still know nothing.
And with Dance of First, we had eventually strayed apart in the years as I locked myself into a reticence. My Brothers too, of course, they had strayed apart.
Part of my reticence had to do with Hunter’s death, of Arkiees death. But most of all, it had to do with my growing dissatisfaction. A disappointment in being a Hunter, a role that had chosen me, and not a role I had chosen.
Strangely enough, my seven Brothers were all content with their roles, even Dance of First who had been discontent with her role as a Magus. She had grown to the role now, and was making fine progress, already a Magus of the Second Foci.
And in those three years since Hunter’s death, my blood had begun Surging more and more. Always active. Always relentless. It was calling me somewhere else. It was leading me elsewhere. Until finally, my discontent had spilled over.
“Welcome back, Wolf Under Stars,” said the Ritual Master, said One Who Walks in Grey Night.
“Yes. It is good to be back, Master.”
“You know, Wolf Under Stars. I had a feeling we would meet again. I didn’t know when eight years ago, but I knew that the troubles you met would bring you back to me.” The Ritual Master smiled. “The ones who are chosen by the Red Heart are always the ones who are dissatisfied. Different from the others. And until they finally know their own passions, they become radiant.”
The Ritual Master locked eyes with me, but I didn’t flinch from those dark eyes. “So you are a rare existence, a Hunter born with a Surge. But even rarer, a Halfling Hunter born with a Surge. But one that has been broken.”
“You have told me this when I told you my secrets, Master,” I said. “Of my abilities with my blood.”
The Ritual Master nodded slowly. “I had a feeling you were hiding some secrets. And now that you are eighteen years old and strong enough, I can tell you my own. You see, there have been Hunters born with Surges before in the past centuries. The previous Ritual Master told me this before, as did all the past Ritual Masters to the next. For more than two centuries now, there have been no Hunters born with Surges. Ever since the first Dread invasion and ever since the Guardians of the Wastelands were attacked, there has never been a Hunter born with a Surge.”
“So you are saying that I am the first one to be born once more?”
The Ritual Master nodded. “Arkiees told me that your Surge was broken and that even after some years of testing, it never returned, so I left it as an oddity. Now that I know that your Surge is still working, albeit somewhat strangely, and that you are strong enough to survive, you will make a journey to the Wastelands.”
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“Wait. Why should I do that?”
“Ah right. I did forgot to mention the reason.” The Ritual Master grinned. “Old age has its disadvantages.”
“You are just trying to draw out my anticipation,” I said, also grinning.
“The Guardians of the Wastelands are all Hunters who have been born with Surges. They live far longer than I would think it possible. The youngest of them are already over three centuries old.” He shivered. “I can’t even imagine living that long. I already think my age is old enough as it is.” Another grin. “I feel younger just comparing myself to them.”
The surprise of his revelation hit me hard. I fell into a silence, pondering on what the Ritual Master had told me.
“Wait. How is the attack on the Guardians of the Wastelands related to no more Hunters with Surges being born?”
“That is a good question. I was wondering if you would ask about that.”
“Really now, Master?” I asked, shooting him a look of irritation.
Not paying heed to that, the Ritual Master explained. “There is a reason the Guardians stay in the Wastelands.” A small pause, as if trying to draw out my anxiety. “And that is to guard the main hearts of the Star Behemoth King.”
“So these hearts were attacked and thus resulted in no more Surge Hunters being born,” I said, instantly connecting the two. It made somewhat of a sense. “Who attacked the hearts and for what reasons?”
A shrug. “As for the reason, I do not know about it. However, I do know of the attacker. It’s a tale that has been passed down to every Ritual Master. The being who attacked the Guardians was a lady with two alabaster wings, the feathers as white as snow. Her face was simply perfection, an immaculate grace, unmarred by nothing.”
Seeing the doubts on my face, the Ritual Master shrugged. “I know, I know. Such a beauty is impossible, but I only tell it as the previous Ritual Master told me.”
“If you say so,” I said.
“At the end of the battle,” Master continued, “she escaped heavily wounded, retreating. The Guardians attempted to catch her but failed in the end. And that’s about it. She never showed her face again in the centuries that have passed. And back then, we were simply busy with the Dread invasion.”
“Does she have a name?”
A few seconds passed by as the Ritual Master pondered. “I believe she called herself Morganna. A fake name, no doubt, for names hold power. And none would ever give their names out like that, especially to the Guardians.”
He slapped a hand at my head. “Now get up before your knee breaks from the kneeling.”
“That was uncalled for. I was merely paying respect to you, old man!” I said.
The Ritual Master went back into his wooden cottage, and I followed him inside. The cottage was simple and small. There were only two rooms, a bedroom and a storage room. We went into the storage room, and the Ritual Master dug deeply inside a chest, taking out ancient books, and a few other assortments of objects.
Finally, on the small table, the Ritual Master laid down a brown map, worn from age. Spreading it, he revealed a map of the Eastern Grasslands all the way to the edges of the Western Highlands. The main focus of the map, however, was on the Wastelands, a place large enough in size to be comparable to that of the Eastern Grasslands.
He pointed at the heart of the Wastelands. “This is where you will be heading to, Wolf Under Stars. You will be meeting with the ancient Guardians of the Wastelands. There, you will meet our ancestors, the very first Surge Hunters.” With a deft hand, the Ritual Master rolled the map again. “Try not to die.”
“Wait? Is it that dangerous?”
The Ritual Master chuckled. “Why do you think its called the Wastelands?”
“Because it is an empty place with only sand and desert for the horizons?”
He glared at me. “Real funny, Wolf Under Stars. Your humor has certainly improved.”
I simply shrugged at him.
“Anyway, you probably won’t die. I think you are strong enough. Probably”
A small silence. “Should I leave today?”
The Ritual Master paused for a moment, as if thinking about it. “No,” he finally said. “Spend the rest of the day with me.”
He smiled at me and I mirrored his smile.
“A final hunt, eh? Think your old bones can outrun me?”
“I was running before you were even born, Wolf Under Stars.”
==========
The next morning came quickly. At the crack of dawn, I was roused by the Ritual Master outside of the cottage where I slept. I was prodded awake by the hilt of a blade-spear into my stomach.
Startled awake, and chiding at myself for not even being able to sense his presence, my eyes glared at the Ritual Master, at his grizzled face which had become so familiar to me in the last few years.
I gasped then, seeing the weapon in his hands. It was the red blade-spear of our Piercing Moon tribe. “Why do you have that!”
“The Watchers entrusted it to me, saying that I should give it to the next lead Hunter of the Piercing Moon tribe. They found it in a place far away where the black fires of the dragon did not reach. And the tip of it was dyed black with the dragon’s blood.” The Ritual Master winked at me. “And mixed with blood and goo that could have only come from a dragon’s eye.”
The Ritual Master threw the blade-spear at me. I caught it with a hand, the balance of it smooth, but unfamiliar in my hands. Arkiees’ blade-spear. “Why are you giving this to me? I am not the lead Hunter. I do not think I am even of the Piercing Moon tribe anymore.”
“Let’s just say this blade spear, the Cruel Moon Piercer, is lost and can no longer be found. I think you should have it.” Another wink. “I was entrusted with the weapon after all.”
“I…” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t feel as if I deserved the weapon. It was too much of a burden for me.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t cry now. You are of the Red Heart, after all.”
“Yes,” I said somewhat weakly. “Yes,” I repeated, my voice stronger this time. “Of strength, of willpower, of passion, and of radiance.”
And just like that, after bidding farewell to the Ritual Master with a last gesture of respect, I left the Bleary Grasslands. With me, I carried the Cruel Moon Piercer, the map of the Wastelands in the pack I strung behind my back, and with Ceres beside me.
I traveled the whole day until the stars were visible.
And in that night, under the stars, Ceres howled to the moon and stars. And I stood beside him, my eyes following the stars.
I was leaving everything I had known behind, going off into the Wastelands.
Wolf Under Stars. It sounded just right.
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AN: Whew, almost 100k words with this and also the end of Arc 1. That said, hoped you enjoyed this chapter. And I may have skipped some things (not that important in the long-run) for I didn't want the story to drag on.
PS: Will be taking a break from this while I work on a new story, especially since I just finished Arc 1.
PPS: Thanks as usual to the readers and comments! :D