Hunting was never an easy task for me. Animals could sense the predator in me long before they ever saw me. That meant I had to approach from afar, and shoot from even farther away. Grandpa made sure I didn’t miss: there were always enough bullets and practice sessions.

From the age of twelve to fifteen, in addition to the standard fortifying alchemical adaptogens that all clan children took, I drank a modified version of the "Eagle’s Vision" elixir. It altered the lenses of my eyes and affected my retina. My vision didn’t quite become eagle-like, but it was no longer ordinary either.

I let Sean pull ahead to a distance where his magic shouldn’t have been able to sense me, and where his figure almost blended in among the trees. Then I followed, keeping track of the flicker of his blue kilt through the woods. The warlock wasn’t trying to hide; he walked directly along a winding path toward home.

When we reached the garden of the clan enclave, I had to make a detour to avoid walking straight into the younger folks setting up the "celebratory" tables under the open sky.

For a moment, I lost track of Sean, but I assumed he’d head straight home. Picking up my pace, I ran past several houses, skirted those with the most notorious barking dogs, and reached the yard of Ferguson McLilly. I slipped into his gazebo, hidden by a thicket of jasmine. Ferguson would probably have been surprised to see me there if he weren’t at the Ancient Stones with his family.

I’d chosen my ambush spot just in time. Sean Feron entered his house and drew the curtains on the first-floor windows. Moments later, something flared behind the curtains, and the decorative bell on his porch swayed but made no sound.

My right arm was suddenly yanked back, twisted painfully. A knee pressed into my right shoulder blade, and strong fingers wrapped tightly around my neck. A familiar move.

“Logan!” I hissed.

“What are you doing here?!” my cousin growled softly, his voice carrying the undertone of his half-beast form.

“Look!” I said.

Another flash lit up behind the curtains, and the bell swayed again.

“He’s just blowing off steam after losing,” Logan said dismissively. “Threw up a silence dome so no one would hear him embarrass himself. I’m asking, what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for him to cool off and head to the tables.”

“And then?” Logan pressed.

“Then I planned to sneak into his house and search it.”

“You’re counting on his wards being down and the mess covering your tracks?”

“Pretty much.”

“Idiot,” Logan said, releasing my arm and neck. “Usually, I’m the one acting impulsively.”

“I thought it through. Uncle’s already the head of the clan. You all need to be with him. I’m only risking myself.”

“That’s basically what he said when he asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“Bryce?”

Logan nodded.

“And I’ll tell you something else – Evan found Simon’s trail.”

“Where?”

“You can ask him yourself. Let’s go back. We need to show up there before Feron does.”

Logan convinced me. The family needed to honor Grandpa today, and Uncle Bryce deserved our support. He had taken the oath, and the crowd had poured back from the forest. The smells of grilled meat filled the entire enclave, driving every dog mad, while barrels of cold beer stoked the men’s appetites.

Logan grabbed two mugs and shoved one into my hand.

“Time you learned how to drink like a proper man, brother.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll get drunk and start running my mouth?”

“Nope. I’ll just knock you out if you do,” Logan promised. “And remember, I’m not letting you out of my sight tonight.”

“Not even if Jenny decides to comfort you?” I grinned.

I needed to probe for possible ways to shake off this babysitter. Things with Jenny were serious for Logan – our family had already approved of the girl long ago and turned a blind eye to their antics, as long as she didn’t get pregnant before the wedding.

“Damn it, not today!” Logan muttered in frustration.

“You’re practically married already,” I teased.

“Brother, you’re...” Logan shook his head and took a large gulp of beer.

I sipped my own drink, thinking about how to stay sober. This wake was supposed to be in the style of “The king is dead, long live the king!” Everyone would be drinking. If Uncle woke up with a hangover tomorrow and I caught him before he downed a sobering elixir, I might be able to get more out of him.

The first toast was for the old clan head, the second for the new one, the third for the clan itself, and after that, everyone drank as they pleased, paying little attention to their limits. People drank like it was their last time.

As dusk fell, a bonfire was lit, musicians pulled out flutes, bagpipes, and drums. Lewis Lough brought his fiddle, and Dunn Feron carried in a guitar. The wake slowly turned into a celebration of life.

I stood out like a pale, brooding shadow against the festive crowd, despite Logan’s efforts to keep topping off my beer and generously spiking it with whiskey. I poured most of the foul mix under the table, and eventually, I left altogether.

“Where are you going?” my cousin asked.

“Home, Logan. Honestly.”

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

“At least grab some meat and beer. I’m not coming back here.”

Logan grabbed a beef roast and a small ten-liter keg.

“So, what are we going to do?”

“You – drink. Me – read.”

“Ugh, how boring!” Logan spat.

“Grandpa’s journals,” I replied.

Every gifted member of the clan kept a journal. It was considered as personal as it was sacred. The journal was the first thing people looked for after a hunter’s death, as it often shed light on the circumstances surrounding their demise.

“Didn’t Uncle take them?”

“Just the last one.”

“Are you sure?” Logan asked, skepticism in his tone.

I understood his doubts. The successor was supposed to read the journals, and Bryce was the successor. But for the past nine years, Grandpa and I had lived alone. We shared all the housework, cooking, and laundry, and we trained together.

“Some things Grandpa left specifically for me,” I said.

For a clan head, Grandpa had a modest home. He always said two people didn’t need anything bigger. The stone house had two floors: a library, an office, and a combined bedroom-storage room upstairs. On the first floor, there was a living room with a fireplace and a large radio, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a spacious bedroom that belonged to me. There was also an alchemical lab and a summoning circle in the basement, but Grandpa rarely used them, preferring to work at his desk in the office. That’s where we headed.

Logan flopped onto the couch by the wall and busied himself with the keg. Meanwhile, I moved the desk aside, lifted a loose floorboard where one of its legs had rested, and used the dagger to pull out a leather bundle marked with a preservation charm. Inside were three different journals with clasps on their leather covers and a fat envelope labeled simply, “For Duncan.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Once again, I used the dagger for something other than its intended purpose and sliced open the envelope. Most of it contained documents, but there was also a letter.

“In here are the house papers,” Grandpa wrote, “and a bank account. Don’t touch the account – It’s better left alone. To start, you’ll have enough from what’s in the safe. The code is thirty-two fifty-nine.

“In the gray journal, I wrote my thoughts on breaking the seals. There’s not much information, and even less practical use, but at least you can immediately rule out dead-end approaches.

“The brown one covers the time you got into trouble with Simon. Be sure to read it. I don’t think the boy will ever forgive you – consider him your first mortal enemy.

“The black one is empty. If you ever decide to stir up trouble, record it for your descendants.”

In Grandpa’s style: brief and to the point.

I picked up the gray journal, unclasped it, and flipped through the pages. It was less than a quarter full. The brown one, however, looked much more worn. Stains that couldn’t be cleaned off still marred the leather cover, and they’d soaked through onto the yellowed pages.

I sat down in Grandpa’s chair and pulled the desk lamp closer. The entries varied in length – sometimes just a few lines, sometimes several pages. The dates followed day by day, then disappeared for months at a time.

I found July 10th, 1931 – a day I would never forget.

Grandpa’s account of the events was dry, but to my surprise, I discovered that he had known about my preparations and, to some extent, even approved of them. What he hadn’t imagined was that I would summon Ferrish.

What followed was chaos in the clan. I was shocked to learn that Sean Feron had demanded I be sacrificed to Ferrish to restore his son’s power. Grandpa had prepared for internal war, keeping an eye on many members of the clan. But tensions quickly subsided. The Ferons lost their influence, and Logan’s talent emerged among the Kinkades. Simon harbored a grudge.

Grandpa didn’t expect anything good to come if both of us stayed in the clan. He didn’t want to send me away, fearing Simon would remain an insider while I became an outsider over time. So, Grandpa ordered a trusted associate – whose name he didn’t mention – to plant the idea in Simon’s empty head that American shamans could remove seals. Grandpa himself pushed Simon to run away!

That same man, whose name Grandpa still didn’t reveal, tracked Simon to Farnell. The trail disappeared after that, but Grandpa assumed Simon had managed to board a ship.

I tossed the journal onto the desk and rubbed my tired eyes.

“Pour me one,” I said to Logan.

My brother quickly filled a clean mug for me.

“Digging into the dirty laundry?” he asked, eyeing my face. “It’s written all over you. I don’t want to know!” he warned preemptively.

“Bollocks, it’s just…” I said, taking a long swig.

“I believe you,” Logan replied.

I understood that Grandpa hadn’t done it just for me, but for the clan. Conflicts needed to be dealt with, and they had to be handled in a way that didn’t tear the clan apart in a civil war. It was a surprisingly clever solution. But beyond the logic, there were emotions. Emotionally, I wasn’t ready to read something like that.

Simon had gone from being a complete bastard to just a spiteful wretch – one who, perhaps, even had a right to vengeance. And once again, guilt started gnawing at me. What would happen if I killed him? How would the clan react? How many more dirty secrets would bubble to the surface in the process?

I had a sharp urge to tear those pages from the journal and burn them to hell.

Sure, these pages painted the old story in a new light, but… Simon had been indiscriminate in his methods of revenge. This was between us, yet the blood he spilled belonged to someone who had tried to resolve everything peacefully.

I didn’t think Feron would stop with what he’d already done, which meant I had no choice: Simon had to die.

A thought crept into my mind – were my motives really so pure, or did I just want to break these damn seals? The thought was unpleasant. I chalked it up to the alcohol and shoved it aside. To keep it from coming back, I grabbed the gray journal.

The beginning was familiar. In one way or another, I’d read most of it before – in books about ether, runes, higher spirits, curses, blessings, warlocks, and much more. By seventeen, I’d built up a solid theoretical base in energy practices and magic.

But Grandpa had dealt with all kinds of people. Sometimes his specialists weren’t well-known, but they were talented and intelligent. On the fourth page, I came across the overheating method I was currently using in my meditations. The expert who had suggested it was a wizard, and ever since, we’ve been sending him a large piece of smoky quartz charged with earth energy every month as payment for his advice.

I finished the gray journal well past midnight and found nothing particularly new or useful except the names of Grandpa’s old acquaintances. By then, Logan had emptied more than half the keg and passed out. I decided to get some sleep too – there would be serious conversations ahead.

The next morning, I went to see Uncle Bryce late. The new clan head was sitting in the kitchen with a heavy head, waiting for his wife to bring him some light broth.

“Aunt, Uncle,” I greeted them.

Bryce took in my determined expression and said,

“Let’s go to the office. Ailie, can you make us some tea?”

“Biscuits?” Aunt Ailie asked.

“We’ll manage without,” he replied.

Bryce’s office resembled Grandpa’s in many ways – the atmosphere was familiar, as was the situation. I’d already played the role of a petitioner before.

“Are we waiting for tea?” Bryce asked.

I shook my head.

“Logan said Evan found Simon’s trail,” I said.

“There is a trail,” Bryce confirmed.

“I want to take part in the hunt.”

“I understand what this opportunity means to you. And believe me, no one will lay a hand on him. Simon is your prey.”

“I want to be involved in the entire process, from start to finish.”

“I want, I want...” Bryce mimicked me. “That’s how children beg for toys. But before you...”

A knock at the door interrupted him. Bryce paused as Aunt Ailie entered and placed a tea tray on the table.

“Thanks, love,” he said.

“Thank you,” I added.

Ailie left, and Bryce continued.

“Before you start making demands, think about what you bring to the table. With your mark. What use are you? If Simon has truly mastered magic, you’re no match for him.”

“We fought, and I survived!”

“Because he overestimated his strength! And now you’re overestimating yours! Duncan, we’ll track him, catch him, and after that, you can do whatever you want with him.”

“Ferrish needs a hunt,” I reminded him.

“No, he doesn’t,” Bryce said. “I asked. All you need to do is take his life. This isn’t the forest, Duncan. You have no experience in this kind of hunt. Let those who do handle it.”

Bryce’s logic was crushing. All I could do was grit my teeth and sip my tea.

I returned home in a state of complete frustration, but I didn’t stay long. Grabbing my rifle, a backpack with supplies, and some gear, I headed into the forest, toward the Ancient Stones. Grandpa’s death had thrown my meditation schedule out the window, and I also needed to recharge the ring’s corundum stone.

Today, the power spot shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. Semi-precious stones were laid out on the boulders, absorbing the energy of the place. Minerals weren’t placed directly on the ground – anything that wasn’t local stone was slowly consumed by the petrified earth. For the same reason, meditating on the ground wasn’t recommended. Two boulders were set aside for that purpose. Their positions were not fixed, as the field’s layout shifted over time, so workers selected the boulders as needed.

I spread my mat on the nearest boulder and began with the ring. Controlled charging took much less time than infusing raw stones, but the ring was a finished artifact, while the other stones here were absorbing power here for the first time.

Reassured that I’d have protection from bullets next time, I shifted my focus to my breathing and then dove into my Spiritual Core, where Ferrish’s seal lay embedded. To me, the seal appeared as a large sphere filled with intricate patterns. These “patterns” were, in fact, etheric runes, woven into a complex five-tier structure. For four years, I’d been hiking to Gromloch, pumping one particular rune in the seal with water energy until it overheated, burned out, and left a small breach.

That breach restored my ability to activate artifacts. The breach granted me access to three fourth-tier runes. Two glowed with fiery hues, while the third was stone-gray and easily yielded to earth energy. That was the one I planned to break next.

The ultimate goal was to reach the central rune and burn it to hell. In theory, that would collapse the entire structure – but only in the spiritual core. My third eye and elemental source would remain sealed. Experts claimed the seals on those were two-tiered.

It took several hours to overheat the rune, and that was considered quick, thanks to the elemental match. I didn’t even want to think about what I’d do if the next tier revealed elements not represented by any power spots in the Bremor Forest.

The searing energy began to cause physical pain, and I had to stop before I burned out the entire energy node. That was a very real possibility.

I got home by evening, cooked dinner, and started receiving visitors. Logan was the first to show up, followed shortly by Sally, who invited me to see her father. He was preparing to leave on an extended assignment.

I declined, and she tried to pique my interest.

“Come on, Dad’s heading out on the first mission from the new clan head.”

I knew exactly what kind of mission it was – if Bryce was sending Evan, it was to deal with Simon.

“No, thanks.”

“Really?” Sally pressed. “Everything’s so top-secret it’s almost scary, but he bought a ticket to Dramock.”

I looked into my cosin’s eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. She understood the importance of secrecy as well as I did and wouldn’t recklessly jeopardize her father. Why would she spill where Evan was going? Only if someone had told her to.

Fine. Why did I need to know where Evan was headed? So I’d follow him?

The whole situation reminded me of the trick Grandpa had played with Simon. The right person planted the right thought... Like father, like son, I guess... They were using the same methods! But why would Uncle want to get me out of town? That stung a little. Couldn’t he have just said so outright? Clearly, I hadn’t held myself together as well as I thought this morning. At least, someone had convinced Sally it was necessary.

What did I know about Dramock? Only that the former duke had trouble with vampires, and the city had been free of them for about fifty years.

The picture was coming together.

“Well, that’s all very interesting, but I’ve already eaten,” I said to Sally. “You should go; you’ve left the baby with your husband.”

“Yeah, let him suffer a little. Do you know how tired I am after a whole day!?”

“So you didn’t come to invite me; you just escaped from home!”

“Guilty,” Sally admitted with a laugh of relief. “All right, I’ll head back. See you, Duncan.”

“Take care, Sally. When’s your father leaving?”

“In the morning.”

I nodded. If Uncle wanted me out of the city, I wasn’t going to disappoint him.