Deep within the forest, with Squire Charles at their head, a procession of four white-robed men pressed forward along an untraveled, uneven trail. Their pace was determined by the movement of a six-legged creature they surrounded, the weight of the satchels and bags strapped over its frame hindering its speed.
Ancient, gnarled trees loomed on all sides, their twisted branches intertwining to form a dense canopy that draped thick shadows over the procession. An unusual atmosphere surrounded the group, a sense of unease that left them tense and rigid. trailing
They entered a section of hanging vines when, without warning, Charles raised a clenched fist. Seeing the signal, the men quickly unstrapped the large tower shields from their backs, the leather straps slipping free with a sharp tug. They swung the heavy shields into place and tightened their grips around the hilts of their weapons, ready for the signal to move. Heavy and taut silence fell, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves.
Charles carefully unsheathed his sword, the faint rasp of metal cutting through the silence. His eyes swept the woods, searching for the slightest hint of movement. Moments later, he lowered his sword before sheathing it.
The men relaxed, swinging their shields over their shoulders and strapping them into place.
At the rear, one man slipped as he clambered over a boulder. "What kind of stress is this?" he groaned, his irritation evident. Lifting his foot, he revealed a boot caked in dung. He bent to pick up a leaf, muttering as he scraped it clean. "Why did we have to come here? It's not even our quest."
Another man turned and shot him a glare. "Shut it, Ihsan. What if he's still around?"
"Knight Müller? "Bilal, you know he went ahead of us a while ago." Ihsan straightened up and scoffed, gesturing wildly toward the lumbering creature at their center. "Leaving us to shepherd this... beast."
"Imagine that," a man further up the line muttered. "That prick had the nerve to say we were slowing him down when he's the one who insisted on bringing it." He spat on the ground before crushing it underfoot. "Some Knight he is, doesn't even realize some animals aren't meant for this terrain. Why does he think we don’t use them?"
Ihsan chuckled. "Well, Aayan, there's always the matter of coin."
Aayan bristled, lightly punching Ihsan in the arm. "What are you suggesting? That I’m broke?"
Bilal laughed, slinging an arm over Aayan's shoulder. "With how much Ihsan's taken off you, that seems likely."
"Come on!" Aayan objected, shrugging off Bilal’s arm with a huff. "So I've been on a losing streak. Bonus day’s coming up—I’ll recover it all then."
Suddenly, Charles turned sharply, pinning the men with a scalding glare. "Do any of you have a shred of self-awareness? Don't you know where we are?" He gestured broadly toward the surrounding woods. "Stay vigilant. Anyanwu knows what might be watching, just waiting for us to slip."
The men stiffened, their eyes darting nervously to the darkened tree line. They slowly backed away from the woods, their confidence dissipating as they stared at the deep, tumultuous shadows.
Aayan forced a chuckle, trying to dispel the unease as he resumed his march. "What’s this, fear? Ihsan, Bilal, did his words shrivel your livers?" His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword, seeking reassurance in its familiar grip.
Bilal licked his lips, brushing aside a cluster of hanging vines. "Left mine behind after that stampede." He shivered at the memory. "I really thought I was done for."
Ihsan gave his shield a thankful pat. "Probably would’ve been, if not for these."
Bilal nodded grimly. "I’ll never complain during shield drills again."
Squire Charles glanced back, his expression tightening. "Squire Aayan, Bilal, Ihsan—you still have energy for jokes. Good." He nodded toward the trail ahead, where it steepened into a jagged rock face. "The steed won’t make it up on its own. Get ready to hoist it."
Ignoring their muttered grumbles, Charles turned to the incline. He exhaled slowly before placing a steady hand against the rough surface, seeking purchase as he began his climb.
His face hardened with each step, thoughts slipping to the men below. "Always frivolous," he muttered, fingers curling around the rock's edge. "Even if they don't understand their duty, I do."
Charles hauled himself onto the ledge, then turned to beckon the men below. "Its front limbs can reach. Lead it forward—force it if you have to."
The men worked to maneuver the creature, leaving Squire Charles to watch from above. A chill raced up his spine, and he snapped around, instinctively drawing his hand to the hilt of his sword. His sharp gaze swept the gloomy and overshadowed forest, attempting to pierce its depths. There it is again—that strange presence. He rubbed the back of his neck, a shiver crawling up his spine. "Is it just my imagination?" he muttered.
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I'm surrounded.
Knight Müller froze, the chilling realization gripping him. His eyes darted through the dense woods, tracking the wispy, shifting shadows. Four? No... five beasts. His hand twitched toward his sword, but he held back. Not yet.
In one swift motion, he leaped onto the bough of a nearby tree. The wood groaned faintly beneath his weight before he launched forward, bounding from tree to tree. His movements were quick and precise, his sharp gaze flicking to the blurs of motion at the edges of his vision.
A smirk curled his lips as he spotted a clearing ahead. Perfect. He sprang across three more branches before bursting from the trees, descending gracefully into the open space.
Upon landing, Müller spread his feet apart, his right foot slightly forward, knees bent to promote stability. With a fluid motion, he drew his sword, gripping the hilt with both hands. The blade hovered parallel to his chest, the tip angled forward. His breath remained steady as his eyes swept the clearing, instantly mapping every detail.
GRRRR! A low, guttural growl reverberated through the space. Müller shuffled back as the beasts emerged from the tree line, their low growls echoing around the clearing. More wolverines? This forest seems full of them. He kept his dominant foot forward, his stance firm as his gaze roved over the pack, cataloging their every movement. Across his countenance, a wide, unnerving smile stretched, his body trembling with barely contained excitement.
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Suddenly, one sprang forward, its massive paws pounding the earth, eyes gleaming with reckless intent. The Knight held his ground, his body loose yet poised, watching, waiting.
Just as the beast lunged, Müller's gaze sharpened. He surged forward, his right foot stepping out while his rear foot slid diagonally to maintain balance. His focus locked on the creature’s neck, his sword blurring as it rose to shoulder height. He unleashed a sweeping diagonal slash, the blade slicing through the air with a sharp whistle on its way to the target.
Müller sidestepped, allowing the beast to hurtle past him. He swiftly turned, his gaze falling on the large frame of the wolverine sprawled lifeless on the ground, blood spurting in rhythmic bursts from a clean slash across its throat.
He swiveled to face the remaining beasts, his smirk widening as he caught the glint of fear in their eyes. Slowly, Müller spread his feet, raising his blade until it hovered parallel to his chest. "Should I wait for them," he mused, fingers tapping his hilt, "or take the fight to them?"
His figure blurred, vanishing in an instant. He reappeared beside the farthest wolverine, catching it mid-step. Before it could react, Müller's sword drove forward, burying to the hilt in its side. He smiled, savoring the creature’s anguished roar as he pulled free. Of course, he thought, watching it stagger and collapse. I'll take the fight to them.
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The Hunt Master cast a final glance around the cave, his eyes lingering briefly on the shimmering oasis before he turned and stepped into the open air. Outside, the hunters silently stood, hands gripping grass sacks and leather packs, their faces hardened with readiness. He motioned to Hutu. "Seal it."
Hutu grunted in acknowledgment, moving past him to a massive boulder a short distance away. He placed his hands against its rough surface and heaved, the force force required bulging his veins.
The boulder briefly inched forward, scraping against the ground with a low growl. But as momentum built, it glided into place, sealing the cave entrance from view.
"All right, let's move." The Hunt Master bent down, slinging a hefty sack over his shoulder.
"Wait!"
He paused mid-step, turning his sharp gaze on Puty. "Yes?"
"I need a word with you," Puty said, his voice steady but firm as he stepped forward.
The Hunt Master studied him, noting his serious expression. With a sigh, he waved the rest of the hunters on. "Relieve Lak. We'll catch up shortly."
The men disappeared around the bend, leaving the two alone. Puty stepped to the side and settled onto a nearby rock, his movements slow and deliberate. "What are you hiding?"
A rueful smile crossed the Hunt Master’s face as he sank onto a rock across from him, the sack dropping with a light thud. "You catch everything, don’t you, old man?"
Puty chuckled, his fingers idly stroking his beard. "A good scout has to."
The Hunt Master’s smile faded, his expression darkening. "Would you believe me if I said there’s nothing wrong?"
The old man's brow furrowed. "Not for an instant."
The Hunt Master exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "I didn’t think so. I saw a skoteinos."
Puty froze, his hand stilling mid-stroke. "Skoteinos' aren’t real. They’re just stories to scare children." His voice lowered, his gaze biting. "You know that as well as I do."
"That doesn't change what I saw," the Hunt Master said, his tone clipped. His brows knitted as he massaged his temple. "It looked exactly as the tales describe—large and menacing, rows of razor-sharp teeth, and those cursed white eyes that seem to strip away your soul."
Puty’s gaze turned distant. "Sounds horrifying."
The Hunt Master let out a weary sigh. "Horrifying doesn’t even begin to cover it."
Puty rose from the rock, his movements deliberate as he began pacing away. "What do you suggest we do?"
The Hunt Master stood, hefting the grass sack onto his shoulder. "What else? We inform the Elder."
"Do you think he’ll believe us?"
A low chuckle escaped the Hunt Master as he rounded the bend. "Who do you think started those tales?"
They regrouped with the hunters, and under the Hunt Master's lead, they began their journey through the forest. Each path was meticulously scouted to avoid unwanted skirmishes with its animalistic denizens. Before long, they reached the forest's edge, where the dense canopy gave way to an open expanse.
As they approached, the men unconsciously slowed, their eyes widening in wonder at the strange sight before them: an empty gap stretched between the main forest and a thick outer ring of trees. The divide, blanketed in short grass and dotted with scattered mushrooms, extended endlessly in both directions, forming a natural boundary that defied explanation.
Ignoring the awe-struck younger hunters, the Hunt Master crouched low in the foliage, his sharp eyes scanning the gap for any signs of danger. Once satisfied it was safe, he straightened and motioned for the men to follow.
One by one, the hunters stepped out of the forest, squinting as they emerged from the cool shade into the open light.
The Hunt Master tilted his head to the sky, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The breeze swept over him, the feeling of freedom igniting a flicker of contentment. While some lingered hesitantly at the tree line, he strode forward with purpose, eager to leave the confines of the trees behind.
As they neared the outer ring, the Hunt Master’s pace slowed. His grip on the sack loosened, and with deliberate care, he crouched low. Opening it, he revealed its grisly contents: a heart, dark and sticky with clotted blood, another blackened and oozing foul liquid. A brain lay green and sunken, while another had rotted into a slimy mass crawling with maggots.
Unbothered by the rancid smell, the Hunt Master handled each organ with shaking hands and a reverent gaze, arranging them carefully on the grass.
The hunters moved into a half-circle around him, silent observers as the Hunt Master began a deep, rumbling chant. The guttural sounds echoed briefly before fading into stillness, leaving only the whistling wind in their wake.
Standing tall, the Hunt Master clasped his hands before him and called out, his voice firm and solemn. "As we have taken, so do we return."
The Hunt Master stepped back, his gaze fixed on the earth as it swallowed the organs, the ground sealing shut above them. A low tremor rippled beneath their feet, quickly building into a steady, violent quake. Yet the hunters stood firm, their feet braced hard against the shifting earth.
Suddenly, the trees ahead began to stir, their trunks groaning as they shifted aside, parting narrowly to reveal an open path for the hunters to pass through.
The Hunt Master smiled as a waft of dry, dusty air hit him, the sensation against his skin comforting and familiar. Slowly, the hunters passed through the opening, squinting as they shaded their eyes to block out the sun's harsh glare.
He waited until the last man had passed before picking up the empty sack. Turning back to the forest, he lingered for a moment—extremely relieved, yet sad at leaving. With a deep sigh, he turned before stepping through the gap, the trees groaning softly as they creaked back into place behind him.
A vast expanse of sand stretched before him, rolling dunes that reached toward the distant horizon. The shimmering heat waves danced in the air, distorting the edges of the landscape. Simultaneously dropping their loads, each hunter whistled a unique tune that echoed clearly into the desert, carried by the wind.
Moments later, a bump appeared in the distant sand. Initially small, it grew rapidly as it streaked toward them. The surface bulged and shifted, rippling with waves of displaced grains. Soon, more trails emerged, weaving through the dunes and converging on their position.
Suddenly, the first creature burst from the sand with an explosion of grit, its body gleaming with an oily, segmented carapace that shimmered in shades of deep bronze and black. The creature’s body was long, each segment flexing with a fluid precision as it twisted through the air. Thin, spindly appendages tipped with curved claws clawed at the air, scattering grains of sand like mist.
The Hunt Master laughed, stepping aside as the creature landed and burrowed back into the earth. All around, similar scenes unfolded as the hunters reunited with their companions. His gaze swept the group, his wide smile reflecting their shared exhilaration. I never tire of this moment, the reunion with the chthonidra.
He pursed his lips and let out a low, sharp whistle, the sound cutting through the desert air.
The bump emerged again, but only the upper section of the chthonidra broke through the sand. The creature widened its mandible-like jaws, revealing rows of serrated teeth glinting faintly in the light. The Hunt Master reached out, lightly rubbing the chthonidra's head in slow, concentric circles before carefully inserting his hand into its maw. Swiftly, he withdrew his arm, clutching a bundle of white garments. He placed them on the sand and thrust his hand back inside, retrieving a folded wooden board and leather reins.
Unfolding the board, the Hunt Master assembled it into a sled and quickly and efficiently attached the reins to the chthonidra. As he finished, he glanced at the other hunters, each engaged in their preparations. "Hurry up," he called out, stooping to gather the garments. "We’ve got a lot of ground to cover."
He unfurled the fabric to reveal a thin long robe, then turned his gaze to the horizon, his eyes narrowing as they scanned the endless desert. "We’ve been gone long enough."