The Hunter in the Fog

The hammer had selected him, but he hardly comprehended its strength. Luthan had told him of the Riftguard as soldiers who were vowed to defend the world against the rifts. If they all perished, did that imply no one had prevented the last rift from unfolding? Was he the sole hope?

He drove the thoughts away. Survival was the goal for now.

The Village of Hollowbrook

By noon, Aeron arrived at the edge of Hollowbrook, a tiny village that lay in a valley between two ridges. The appearance of structures was welcome, but there was something about the place that was. wrong.

A heavy mist curled along the streets, enshrouding the village in a ghostly quiet. There were no children playing between dwellings. There were no cries from traders over their stalls. There was movement only from an occasional villager scurrying between doorways, their expressions twisted with terror.

Aeron reduced his step. This wasn't right.

As he walked into the square, a cry sounded.

"You shouldn't be here, traveler."

Aeron turned to find an old man resting on a walking stick outside a boarded-up store. His eyes flicked about uneasily.

"What occurred here?" Aeron asked.

The old man paused, then whispered, "The Hunter."

Aeron scowled. "Who?"

"The creature in the fog," the man croaked. "A shadow that moves among the mist. It appears at night, claiming anyone who lingers too long."

Aeron's blood chilled. "A shade?"

The man shook his head. "Worse."

Before Aeron could press for more, a resounding clang echoed from deeper down the street. A woman shrieked.

Then silence.

Aeron's hold on his hammer tightened.

The Hunter had arrived.

The Hunter Strikes

The fog rolled in with unnatural speed, engulfing the village in a thick blanket. Footsteps reverberated through the fog, slow and measured.

Then Aeron saw it.

A figure, tall and armored, came out of the fog, its metal armor corroded with age and dull. A helmet, blank except for a burning eye, faced him.

But most frightening of all was the massive black spear that it bore—a weapon seething with dark power.

"You are not desired here," the Hunter said, its voice an empty echo.

Aeron raised his hammer, and the natural surge of power was back. "I don't care."

The Hunter tilted its head slightly. "Then you will join the lost."

Clash of the Chosen

The Hunter charged impossibly quickly for something wearing heavy armor. In the blink of an eye, it was on Aeron, its spear darting forward with deadly aim.

Aeron just barely avoided it, turning to the side as the weapon hit the cobblestone where he had been. The ground cracked from the impact.

Without hesitation, Aeron swung the hammer. It burst with silver light, striking the Hunter's armor. The beast reeled back, but it didn't stop.

Instead, it emitted a chilling laugh.

"Ah. You carry the relic of the Riftguard." The Hunter readjusted its hold on the spear. "That means I can finally slay one."

Aeron clenched his teeth. "You can try."

The Hunter charged again, but Aeron was prepared this time. He dodged aside, bringing the hammer down. The force was like a shockwave of power along the street, shattering windows in buildings nearby.

The Hunter stumbled back. That was his opportunity.

Aeron funneled all his strength into the hammer, compelling it to release the flame he had set upon the shade. The runes blazed to life, but something was off—the flames guttered, weak and unsteady.

His control wasn't strong enough yet.

The Hunter took advantage of the moment. With frightening swiftness, it struck—the spear slashing a deep gash down Aeron's arm.

Pain burst through him. He hardly had time to jump back, holding his wound. Blood dripped onto the cobblestone.

"You are untrained," the Hunter spat. "Pathetic."

Aeron's mind whirled. If his magic wasn't dependable, he had to fight in a different way. The hammer was mighty, but he couldn't just swing wildly.

He had to be cleverer than the Hunter.

Turning the Tide

Aeron pretended another attack, swinging the hammer overhead. The Hunter raised its spear to parry.

But that was the trick.

In the last instant, Aeron twisted his hand, redirecting the force downwards—pounding the hammer on the ground instead.

A second shockwave burst under the Hunter's feet. The cobblestone flexed, and the armored figure stumbled.

Aeron did not hesitate. He swung the hammer in a great circle, striking the Hunter squarely in the chest.

It was knocked back, crashing into a wooden cart.

The Hunter hesitated for the first time.

It put a hand on its dented armor, regarding Aeron. Then, muttering nothing, it backed away—disappearing into the mist.

The fog started to recede with it, writhing back into the forest as if it were alive.

The Hunter was testing him.

And it wasn't finished.

A Warning Left Behind

When the mist had disappeared, Aeron noticed something sparkling on the earth where the Hunter had been standing. An obsidian medallion lay on the ground, inscribed with a swirly eye he recognized.

The same symbol left by the shade.

Aeron grasped it, his fingers wrapping around the chilled metal.

Whatever was chasing him wasn't a single foe—it was a whole army.

And they were waiting for him.

The Journey Continues

The villagers crept out of their homes, wide eyes full of fear and wonder. Aeron spoke to the old man.

"The Hunter won't quit," he said. "Not until it kills me."

The old man nodded gravely. "Then you best be on your way, lad."

Aeron gripped the hammer tightly and faced the road.

Ardentia was still miles away.

And the shadows were closing in.