Direwolf Hunting Competition

The hunt had tested their skill. But the true game—the one that would decide the future—had only just begun.

Hearing Zephyrine's words, Emrys, ever the proud warrior, turned to his brother with a smirk.

"What do you say, Zoltan? A test of skill?" he challenged, holding up his bow. "Let us see who claims the mightiest kill."

Zoltan, not one to back down, nodded. "Very well, Brother. But do not cry if I beat you."

Seeing this, Zephyrine could only warn them, "Go on, but be careful. The forest is a dangerous place and as you go deeper, you may encounter fierce beasts."

Both the brothers nodded.

After hearing that their older brothers were going into the forest, the younger princes—Zyrian, Zeravian, and Zorvian—became restless.

"I want to hunt too!" Zeravian, the feisty eight-year-old, declared, puffing out his chest.

"You're too small," Zyrian, the eldest among them at eleven, scoffed. "You'll only slow us down."

"But I can shoot an arrow!" Zeravian argued, grabbing at the bow strapped to his saddle.

Before the brothers could continue their bickering, Emrys raised a hand, silencing them. "This is no game," he said firmly. "You may ride with the guards, but you will not venture too deep into the forest."

Zorvian, the youngest at six, clapped excitedly, though he barely understood the weight of his brother's words.

Zephyrine, who had been watching the scene unfold, leaned down and ruffled Zorvian's hair. "Stay close to me, little prince," she said with a smile.

With the Prince's command, the hunting party advanced deeper into the forest.

The dense trees soon swallowed them, and the sounds of wildlife filled the air. The experienced hunters, including Zoltan and Emrys, rode ahead in search of larger prey. The younger princes and Zephyrine remained at the edges of the hunting grounds, guarded by knights.

At one point, Zyrian challenged Zeravian. "If you think you can shoot, prove it. Hit that tree trunk."

Zeravian eagerly notched an arrow, took aim, and fired. The arrow wobbled slightly but struck the bark. Zyrian smirked. "Not bad—for a little cub."

"One day, I'll be better than you!" Zeravian boasted.

Zephyrine chuckled. "Confidence is good, but skill is better. Keep practicing, and perhaps you will surpass us all."

Meanwhile, Zoltan and Emrys rode deeper into the woods, tracking a set of massive paw prints imprinted in the soft earth.

"Direwolf," one of the hunters whispered.

A ripple of tension spread through the group. Direwolves were rare and notoriously dangerous.

Soon, the unmistakable howls of a direwolf echoed through the forest. The men halted. The direwolf—a monstrous beast with sharp fangs and glowing eyes—was unlike any ordinary hunt. It was a predator feared even among the warriors.

"Shall we hunt it?" Emrys asked, gripping his spear eagerly.

Zoltan hesitated. "We should proceed carefully. A wounded direwolf is more dangerous than a healthy one."

But Emrys, ever eager to prove himself, smirked. "Careful warriors do not make legends." With that, he spurred his horse forward, leading the charge into the shadows of the forest.

Zoltan clicked his tongue in frustration but followed, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

As they advanced, a low growl echoed through the trees. Then, from the undergrowth, a massive direwolf lunged.

The beast was unlike anything they had faced before—its dark fur rippled with muscle, and its glowing yellow eyes locked onto the nearest target.

"Whoever slays the direwolf will be recognized as the best hunter of the season," declared Emrys, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

The hunt was on.

The direwolf was fast, weaving through the trees with unnatural agility. The hunters chased it, their arrows flying through the air.

Emrys took the lead, firing a shot that grazed the beast's shoulder. It let out an enraged snarl and turned on them, launching itself toward the horses. Zoltan reacted quickly, drawing his sword and blocking the attack just in time. His horse reared up, nearly throwing him off, but he held on.

Emrys leapt from his horse, spear in hand, aiming for the beast's heart. At the last moment, the direwolf twisted, dodging the strike and countering with a vicious swipe. With lightning speed, it charged at him, its fangs bared. Claws tore through Emrys's armor, leaving deep scratches across his arm.

Zoltan reacted instantly. Kicking his horse forward, he swung his sword, slicing through the beast's injured shoulder. The direwolf howled in pain, but instead of retreating, it turned its fury toward Zoltan.

The two warriors fought in unison, Emrys striking from one side while Zoltan blocked its attacks. Finally, Zoltan seized an opening. He drove his blade deep into the direwolf's neck. The creature let out a final, haunting howl before collapsing to the ground.

Breathing heavily, Emrys wiped the blood from his hands. "Not bad," he admitted.

Zoltan smirked. "Next time, listen before you charge ahead."

The hunt was won.

Emrys stood over the beast, chest heaving, triumphant—but then he staggered.

Zoltan's sharp eyes immediately caught the crimson seeping through Emrys's sleeve. His armor was torn, and beneath it, deep claw marks marred his flesh. Blood dripped steadily onto the fallen leaves.

"You're injured," Zoltan said, voice laced with concern.

Emrys scoffed, shaking his arm. "It's nothing." But as he moved, a fresh wave of pain crossed his face.

Zoltan dismounted swiftly and grabbed his brother's arm. "You call this nothing?" He inspected the wound. The gashes on his arm were deep, dangerously close to the bone.

"Don't fuss over me like some worried nursemaid," Emrys grumbled, but his voice lacked its usual arrogance.

Zoltan didn't argue. Instead, he removed his armour and tore a piece of his undershirt, quickly wrapped the wound, tightening it to slow the bleeding. "Hold still."

Emrys winced but didn't protest further.

The other hunters gathered around, their expressions shifting from admiration to concern. One of the senior hunters spoke up. "We need to clean that wound before infection sets in."

Zoltan nodded. "We'll return to the camp now."

The hunting party rode swiftly back to the camp and Zoltan guided Emrys to a tent where the healers were waiting.

Emrys dismounted, his movements rigid with pain, but he still waved off Zoltan's help. "I can walk."

Zoltan sighed. "You're as stubborn as ever."

Inside the tent, a healer approached and carefully removed the makeshift bandage from Emrys's arm. The deep claw marks were now visible in their full severity—raw, jagged, and still bleeding.

"This will sting," the healer warned before dabbing a cloth soaked in herbal tincture onto the wound.

Emrys gritted his teeth but didn't make a sound.

Zoltan watched closely, arms crossed.

After cleaning the wound, the healer applied a salve and wrapped the arm with clean bandages. "You'll need rest, Your Highness. No heavy movement for a few days."

Emrys waved his uninjured hand dismissively. "I'll be fine."

The healer bowed and stepped back.

***

With the direwolf slain, the hunt slowly came to an end. The hunters gathered before the emperor, their expressions filled with pride and exhaustion. Their kills—stags, boars, and even a massive black bear—were presented before the emperor, a testament to their skill and valor. The atmosphere was lively, filled with the echoes of victory.

Zoltan and Emrys stood at the forefront, their weapons still stained with the blood of their prey. They had both proven themselves, but there was an unspoken challenge lingering between them.

The emperor observed his sons and, after a moment of silence, raised a hand.

"You have all done well today," he said, his deep voice carrying across the gathering. "Each of you has shown skill, courage, and the spirit of a true hunter. A warrior is not measured by his strength alone, but by his ability to protect his kin. Both my sons, Emrys and Zoltan, have displayed these virtues."

A hush fell over the crowd as they awaited his next words. The emperor lifted his hand, and a royal attendant stepped forward, holding a small, ornate box. With deliberate movements, the emperor opened it, revealing two intricately designed rings—one gold, one silver.

"The first kill of the hunt is a moment of great honor," the emperor continued. "It signifies strength, swiftness, and the will to take what is yours. Today, two of my sons have proven their worth."

He turned first to Zoltan. "You struck first, claiming your prey with precision." The emperor took the gold ring from the box and held it out. Zoltan stepped forward and received it, bowing respectfully.

Then, the emperor turned to Emrys. "And you followed with a hunt no less impressive." He handed Emrys the silver ring. Emrys accepted it, though his grip was tense, his gaze flickering toward Zoltan for the briefest moment.

The gathered nobles and hunters clapped, their cheers echoing through the open field. The hunt had ended on a high note—or so it seemed.

That evening, a grand feast was held in the royal tent. Roasted meat, wine, and laughter filled the air. The nobles praised the success of the hunt, and the younger princes reveled in the excitement.

But just as the merriment was at its peak, a royal guard approached the emperor and whispered something in his ear. The emperor's face darkened instantly.

Silence fell upon the gathering as the emperor stood abruptly.

"We return to the palace. At once."

The sudden declaration left everyone stunned.

Emrys furrowed his brows. "Your Majesty, the hunt was meant to last for three days. If something has happened, should we not be informed?"

The emperor's gaze turned sharp. "There are matters far more important than sport. I will not repeat myself."

His words left no room for argument and the mood had shifted. The feast, which had been filled with laughter moments ago, now felt tense. Whispers of speculation spread among the nobles.

Zoltan glanced at Zephyrine, who sipped her wine slowly, her eyes calculating. Whatever had been whispered to their father, it was serious.

Zyrian, Zeravian, and little Zorvian, sensing the tension, remained unusually quiet.

Emrys clenched his jaw. Though his expression was neutral, a flicker of irritation passed through his eyes. He did not like being left in the dark.

The emperor stood, signaling the end of the feast. "Prepare to depart immediately. We leave before the moon reaches its peak."

Servants hurried to clear the tables, while guards swiftly moved to secure the carriages. The once-merry hunting grounds now felt cold and foreboding.

As they mounted their horses, Zephyrine turned to Zoltan and murmured, "It seems the real hunt is about to begin."

Zoltan gave her a side glance before gripping his reins. Whatever was waiting for them back at the palace, it was not going to be good.