The Hunt (1)

Alypos crouched low, hidden beneath layers of mud and the stench of rotting vegetation that clung to his skin like a second layer. His breath was shallow, rhythmic, and almost indistinguishable from the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. He smeared a mixture of earth, leaves, and even animal excrement across his body. This wasn't for his sake, it was for survival. Out here, in this untamed wilderness, predators could pick up even the faintest whiff of human scent. Every small detail mattered; every step, every heartbeat. His eyes narrowed on the wild boar grazing several meters away, a behemoth of muscle that could easily trample him if his strategy failed.

The creature's tusks were as thick as his arm, and its weight was surely over 300 kilograms. But size wasn't the issue—vigilance was. The boars eyes darted around every few seconds, ears twitching at the faintest sound. Its

instincts were honed, as all wild creatures are. But Alypos knew that even the most vigilant creatures would lower their guard, if only for a second. He had learned this during his previous life, before he was captured, he was a hunter. He only needed that one second.

I crouched behind a thick bush, blending into the shadows perfectly. My hands gripped my metal spear—an extension of myself after all these days. My spear skills had improved, but they didn't level up beyond rank four yet. Practice makes progress, but combat sharpens the mind. I wouldn't use the water spear, not unless I had to. Its too taxing, draining nearly all my mana. I only had three strikes in me, and I'd rather not waste one. The boar wandered closer to a patch of earth where the wolves had passed yesterday. that was where my plan would start. I recognized the paw prints from afar, and apparently, so did the boar. It snorted, head tilted curiously as it sniffed the air. This was it. A distraction.

Alypos gritted his teeth, steadying his heart as his legs tensed. With slow, calculated steps, he moved through the brush, each footfall light and measured, careful not to snap any twigs. No noise, no sudden movements. In this wilderness, the silent predator survives. The boar was still fixated on the ground, its snout deep in the soil. A second was all I needed.

I leapt forward, the spear cutting through the air like a viper's strike. The boar jerked its head up, but not fast enough. The tip of my spear sunk deep into its side with a sickening squelch, but not deep enough. The boar bellowed, its beady eyes wide with fury and pain. It twisted, trying to

knock me off with sheer force, but I was already pulling the spear out, preparing for the next strike. The boar furiously charged, and I sidestepped, barely avoiding its tusks. It's strong, but predictable. Wild animals often rely on brute force, not strategy. The beast lunged again, but I was

faster, dodging to its blind side. I jabbed my spear into its back leg, and the beast stumbled. Blood sprayed onto the ground, but still, it fought.

Every muscle in my body screamed with exertion as I attacked again, aiming for its neck.

,

Precision, patience—those were the keys to survival. I slashed the boar's tendon, watching as its movement faltered, each strike slowing it down, each wound deepening its fatigue. Its eyes glazed with pain, but it didn't relent. The wilderness does not give up easily. Neither did I.

Finally, the beast collapsed, its breath ragged and shallow. I stood over it, panting, as I raised my spear for the final blow. Survival demands blood, I thought, as the spear plunged into its heart, and the wild boar moved no more. I stared at the boar's lifeless body, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through me, but my thoughts were cold, calculated.

There's no room for mercy in this world. Only strength. The fight was over, but the work had only begun. I fashioned a makeshift sledge that was a bit far away hidden in the tree line, binding branches with vines and bark. It wasn't elegant, but it would serve its purpose. I loaded the boar onto the sledge and dragged it back toward the cottage. The sledge covered my footsteps as I moved, leaving no trail behind. No trace of weakness, no trail for predators to follow.

Meanwhile, far from the forest, in the heart of the Cephalie clan's village, Osei stood tall and silent in a temple. His presence alone seemed to bend the air around him, his dark aura suppressing everything within its reach. Osei was a towering figure, his skin the color of the night sky, smooth and dark. His hair flowed like waves, shimmering as if it contained the depth

of the sea. He exuded a raw, primal strength that commanded respect and fear in equal measure. Beside him stood Ramirez, the shaman of the Cephalie clan, a middle-aged man with grey hair, brown skin. combed neatly to his shoulders. He radiated power too, but in comparison to Osei, his presence felt more restrained, almost subdued. The two men stood before the great statue of a man nailed to a pitch-black cross, golden nails piercing his limbs. The man's body was made of gold, but his eyes, dark as obsidian, stared down at them both with silent judgment.

"Is it time?" Osei's deep voice echoed through the temple, his eyes never leaving the statue.

"Almost," Ramirez answered quietly, his voice laden with the weight of the matter. "A month remains before the Battle of Himbas."

The words hung heavy in the air. The battle would determine the future of the Cephalie clan—the next leaders, the next shaman, the next chief. Osei sighed, his mind already on his children. His son, a free spirit who rejected the weight of responsibility, and his daughter, as talented as any warrior but bound by the harsh reality of their society. If only she were a man.

"I hope there will be some worthy seedlings," Osei muttered, his heart heavy with the burden of leadership.

Ramirez turned to him, his expression unreadable. "Your son has great potential. If only he would accept his role."

"He has the talent," Osei admitted, "but he's too free. He doesn't want to be tied down by duty. And my daughter… politics would devour her." His voice was tinged with frustration. The world, cruel as it is, rarely makes room for women in leadership,".

Their conversation was cut short by a deafening sound that tore through the sky—a mighty roar. echoing across the village, freezing everyone in their tracks. The earth trembled, and for a moment, even Osei's indomitable presence faltered. A dragon's roar.

With the boar carcass safely stashed away, Alypos turned his gaze toward the distant horizon. The roar had echoed even here, a reminder that in this world of predators and prey, he was not alone. He clenched his fists, determination flaring in his chest.