“Fighting’s the easy part,” he said. “Tracking’s what keeps you alive.”
The Hunters along the ridge began moving without being told. Ropes were gathered. Small iron markers clipped to belts. A pair of them dropped down the narrow descent carved into the stone wall.
Dagan jerked his chin at the boys.
“Move.”
They didn’t go far from the stronghold.
Just beyond the ridge.
Into a strip of forest where the ground was uneven and wind cut through in unpredictable bursts.
Dagan didn’t teach with patience.
He taught with correction.
“Broken grass isn’t always a trail.”
“Weight tells you more than prints.”
“Stop looking at your feet.”
They were shown how to read disturbed soil. How to tell the difference between animal movement and something heavier. How to measure stride length by the spacing of crushed leaves.
They followed false trails.
Missed real ones.
Corrected.
Again.
And again.
Takumi adapted quickly.
He observed.
Measured.
Adjusted.
Yukito struggled more.
He relied too much on instinct. Looked for presence instead of pattern.
Dagan didn’t sugarcoat it.
“You’re chasing feelings,” he told him once. “Feelings don’t leave tracks.”
But by late afternoon, both boys could follow a marked route through brush without getting lost.
Not good.
But not blind.
Dagan stopped walking.
“That’s enough dirt work.”
He turned.
“Now we see if Havencrest actually taught you something useful.”
Dagan stepped into the center of the basin.
“Archons don’t just leave physical trails,” he said. “They leave Virtue scars.”
His gaze moved first to Yukito.
“You said Destiny-born.”
Then to Takumi.
“You carry a line name.”
He stepped back.
“Find it.”
The wind thinned.
Hunters leaned slightly over the ridge.
Yukito closed his eyes.
He reached for the pulse he’d felt in the basement.
The tug in his forearm.
The awareness.
Nothing.
He inhaled again.
Focused harder.
There—
A flicker.
He reached—
It vanished.
The silence stretched.
Dagan’s face didn’t change.
“Again.”
Yukito tried.
Harder this time.
A faint shimmer touched his skin—
And died instantly.
Nothing settled.
Nothing held.
The air remained empty.
A murmur started along the ridge.
Takumi stepped forward.
Calm.
Measured.
He planted his feet.
Breathed evenly.
Searched outward.
For resonance.
For pressure.
For shift.
The wind moved through the basin.
That was all.
Nothing answered him.
Nothing moved.
Nothing bent.
A single laugh broke the silence.
Then another.
Then a ripple.
“Temple can’t even spark.”
“Thought Havencrest raised monsters.”
Yukito tried once more.
This time he forced it.
His forearm pulsed faintly—
Then went cold.
Gone.
The laughter grew louder.
Dagan stepped forward again.
But the expression on his face had changed.
The faint curiosity?
Gone.
He looked at them like something had just confirmed itself.
“So that’s it,” he said evenly.
“You can fight.”
His eyes flicked briefly to the stone where Rook had fallen.
“But you can’t hold your own Virtue.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
A Hunter leaned forward from the ridge.
“No wonder their guy died.”
Another voice followed—
“Havencrest raises weak-ass Hunters like this.”
The laughter that followed wasn’t explosive.
It was easy.
Dismissive.
Yukito’s head snapped up.
Not at Dagan.
At the ridge.
Takumi saw the shift instantly.
That wasn’t pride.
That was something else.
Dagan folded his arms.
“You came here asking to learn how to hunt,” he said. “You can’t even touch what you’re chasing.”
A beat.
“You’re a joke.”
He jerked his chin toward the exit.
“Get the hell out.”
Yukito didn’t move.
He was still staring at the ridge.
At the Hunters who were already turning away.
“They don’t get to say that,” he said quietly.
Takumi stepped closer.
“Yukito.”
One of the Hunters laughed again.
“Should’ve kept their friend behind those walls.”
That did it.
Yukito stepped forward.
Fast.
Takumi grabbed his wrist before he could take a second step.
“Not here.”
Yukito tried to pull free.
“They don’t get to say that.”
One of the Hunters laughed again.
Dagan didn’t fold his arms.
Didn’t posture.
He just looked at Yukito like he was measuring distance.
“You heard me,” Dagan said, flat as stone.
“You’re a joke.”
He jerked his chin toward the exit path.
“Get the hell out.”
No lecture.
No moral framing.
The Hunters along the ridge had stopped moving.
Watching.
Interested again.
Waiting for something worth talking about.
Yukito’s fists trembled.
His breathing was uneven.
He wasn’t thinking about himself.
He was thinking about Ojiro.
Takumi tightened his grip.
“Yukito.”
Low.
Urgent.
For a second—
It looked like he might do it anyway.
Then Yukito ripped his wrist free.
Not to fight.
To leave.
He turned sharply and strode toward the cliff path.
Hard steps.
Stone cracking faintly under his heel.
Dagan didn’t say anything else.
He didn’t need to.
Behind them, the laughter resumed.
Not loud.
Just casual.
They didn’t speak on the way down the ridge.
Loose gravel slid under their boots. Branches snapped under hard steps. Neither of them bothered hiding their movement.
The stronghold disappeared behind rock and trees.
Only then did the forest swallow the last echo of laughter.
Yukito kept walking.
Takumi followed.
They didn’t take the main trail.
They cut through brush instead.
Anger made direction simple.
Forward.
The sun dipped lower behind the trees, light thinning into gold and then gray. The air cooled fast once the wind stopped carrying mountain heat.
After nearly an hour, Takumi finally said, “We stop here.”
Yukito didn’t argue.
The clearing was small. Uneven ground. One fallen log. A cluster of stone near the base of a twisted pine.
Not comfortable.
Private.
Good enough.
Yukito dropped onto the log heavily.
Takumi crouched near the stones and began stacking them automatically, forming a small ring.
No tools.
Just hands.
Yukito stood again without a word and gathered fallen branches.
Dry ones.
Dead ones.
He snapped them over his knee and tossed them down.
The rhythm steadied something inside him.
Not the anger.
Just the noise.
Takumi struck flint against stone.
Twice.
Three times.
The spark caught.
A small flame grew between them.
They sat across from each other with the fire low and controlled.
The sky darkened fully.
Crickets started.
Leaves shifted softly overhead.
For a while, they said nothing.
Yukito stared into the fire.
“They don’t get to talk about him like that.”
His voice was quieter now.
Takumi didn’t look up.
“They don’t.”
Silence again.
The fire cracked.
“He wasn’t weak,” Yukito said.
It wasn’t a question.
“No,” Takumi answered.
Another pause.
The anger didn’t burn as high anymore.
It settled lower.
Hotter.
Eventually, Takumi pushed dirt over the fire until it dimmed to faint embers.
The forest grew darker.
Heavier.
Yukito lay back first, hands behind his head, staring at the canopy.
Takumi stayed seated a moment longer, listening.
Wind moved high through the branches. Insects stitched the dark together in steady rhythm. Somewhere deeper in the forest, something small shifted and stopped.
Normal.
Takumi finally lay down.
Yukito didn’t close his eyes.
He flexed his forearm slowly.
Nothing.
No pulse.
No burn.
No distortion.
It had only happened twice.
Once in Havencrest.
And once on the road.
The second one lingered.
Not because it had been stronger.
Because it hadn’t finished.
He could still feel its shape if he tried.
The way the world had gone silent.
The air thick—like something had pressed pause on everything.
The scream.
That scream.
Not everything in that vision had happened yet.
He’d seen a Hunter raise a weapon.
He’d seen himself move.
He’d felt certainty.
But he didn’t know when.
Or where.
Or who the scream belonged to.
The road had gone back to normal after.
Too normal.
Yukito stared up through the branches.
If Destiny showed him things before they happened—
Then that scream was still coming.
The insects droned.
Wind brushed the leaves.
Takumi’s breathing evened out beside the fading embers.
Yukito focused on the sound of it.
The rhythm.
The calm.
Then—
It stopped.
Not slowly.
Not naturally.
Stopped.
The insects cut off mid-pattern.
The wind died.
The air thickened.
Yukito’s eyes snapped open.
That feeling.
The same pull.
The same swallowing of sound.
His heartbeat kicked hard against his ribs.
He didn’t move.
He just listened.
And then—
A scream tore through the trees.
High.
Sharp.
Close.
Takumi jolted upright instantly.
“What—”
The scream came again.
Raw.
Panicked.
Somewhere east.
Not memory.
Not vision.
Now.
Yukito was already on his feet.
The distortion didn’t deepen this time.
It didn’t stretch.
It had already passed.
The scream broke into a choking gasp.
Branches snapped ahead.
Something heavy moved in the dark.
Takumi was up beside him now, fully awake.
They locked eyes once.
No words.
Yukito moved first.
Takumi followed.
Yukito has heard this before
And when he heard it—
He didn’t hesitate.
