The Art of The Hunt

Soren lay still, staring up at the hollow's rough ceiling. His body ached, but that wasn't why he didn't move.

He almost felt like he should feel something—something that would push him to rise, some conviction to keep going. But there was nothing. Just a quiet longing for the past. For the simple times when he didn't have to wonder where he'd sleep or whether he'd see tomorrow.

Since stepping into the Havens, he hadn't shed a single tear—not for his parents, not for Auren. He hadn't even thought about them much. Only faint echoes of moments when life had been peaceful. That should've been strange, shouldn't it?

Fear and isolation—those, he understood. Fear was necessary for survival, a primal instinct that kept things alive. Solitude made sense too; it was predictable, manageable.

But grief? That was something else entirely. Something he had never learned how to feel.

And if he couldn't grieve, then could he ever truly belong anywhere?

The concept itself didn't fit his worldview. Everything had an end—so why mourn the inevitable?

The thought lingered, but he let it slip away. It didn't matter. Not now. The Havens had forced him forward, and he had no choice but to keep moving. Watching from a distance was no longer an option.

Soren pushed himself off the ground and stepped out of the hollow tree.

The morning suns were rising, casting long shadows through the towering trees. Silent echoes rippled through the forest, a reminder that he was no longer near the labor camp. The further he strayed, the denser the wilderness became—and with it, the number of monsters lurking nearby.

He took a moment to inspect himself, running his hands over his body. His left arm was bruised, with faint ridges of torn skin where the monster's needle-like fur had punctured it. But the wounds were already sealing, healing faster than expected. His ribs, however, felt off—aching with every breath, bruised but not broken. Painful, but manageable.

Turning his attention to his surroundings, he took in the forest with fresh, marble-black eyes. Last night, under the dim evening light, he hadn't noticed its sheer scale. Now, with the morning glow seeping through the gaps in the branches, it was impossible to ignore.

The trees were massive—their trunks wide enough to fit multiple SUVs inside them, their bark a deep auburn, their leaves glowing in hues of gold and yellow. The canopy stretched far beyond his vision, branches interwoven like a never-ending ceiling. If Soren didn't know better, he might have believed the trees reached the sky itself.

Soren felt the growing pangs of hunger, but he wasn't in any shape to fight, let alone hunt a monster.

He muttered to himself, voice low.

"I need food… but I can't face a monster head-on. Maybe a trap, or…"

Summoning Aeternis to his hand, he barely had a moment to think before the weapon spoke through his mouth.

"No rest for the wicked, I see."

Soren immediately shut Aeternis' control down, narrowing his eyes at the divine dagger in his grip. His voice was firm, barely above a whisper.

"Stay quiet. There might be monsters in the area."

With that, he focused on the next step—finding a target.

Soren scouted the area, searching for any signs of life. If he could avoid fighting a monster, he would. A small animal, if they even existed in the Havens, would be a far safer meal.

He looked for claw marks, footprints, snapped branches—anything that suggested movement.

Then, he found something.

Footprints. Two sets, splitting off in different directions.

But there were other signs too—drops of blood, deep gouges in the dirt, clumps of coarse brown fur.

A fight.

Soren's eyes traced the scene carefully. The marks were fresh, meaning the creatures had clashed recently before parting ways.

That confirmed something important.

They weren't a pack.

That meant they were territorial.

His mind clicked into place, forming a strategy. If he could lure one into the other's territory, he could turn their aggression against each other. Let them fight, let them weaken each other—then he would step in and finish the survivor.

A small part of him had hoped—irrationally—that he might find human footprints. That someone else was out here. But there was nothing.

He exhaled sharply. At least I have a chance to find food.

Pausing for a moment, Soren tested the air, feeling for the wind's direction.

A slow breeze carried east.

That meant if he followed the wrong path, the wind could carry his scent straight to whatever left these tracks—if it even had a nose to detect it.

He made his choice.

He went west.

Soren followed the trail of footprints in silence. At times, the prints in the soil faded, only to reappear further ahead. He tracked them carefully, making sure to remain aware of his surroundings—he couldn't afford to blindly follow the trail and stumble straight into the monster's line of sight.

Finally, after some time, he found it.

The creature was resting against a tree, its massive frame partially hidden in the undergrowth.

Soren had never seen anything like it before.

It had four muscular legs, ending in hooves, while its upper body—rising from the torso—resembled that of a human. But it wasn't human. It had four arms, each thick with sinew, and devilish horns curling from its head.

Before Soren could process further, an unnatural tugging sensation pulled at his lips.

Then, against his will, his mouth moved.

"Mmmm, tasty..."

The voice was low, almost lecherous—dripping with twisted amusement.

Soren's heart stopped.

But to his relief, the creature didn't stir.

Aeternis.

Soren exhaled through his nose, his grip on the dagger tightening. In a whisper, he asked, "Edible...?"

Aeternis answered immediately, its tone practically salivating.

"Very."

Soren's lips twitched slightly. He wasn't sure if it was disgust or amusement.

He asked again, quieter this time.

"Killable...?"

Aeternis hummed. "Perhaps."

Soren decided it was best to put some distance between himself and the monster before coming up with a plan.

Based on the strength of the glow emanating from its chest, it was likely on the same level as the Ironfang. That meant it was fast and powerful—but different. The Ironfang's strength had come from its iron-needle fur, making it a walking weapon. But this creature?

It had to have something else.

Sitting at a generous distance, Soren kept his eyes locked on the resting monster.

He had a plan.

Now, all he had to do was wait for the wind to change direction.

And so, he sat and waited.

The monster lay peacefully, unaware that it was being hunted.

Minutes turned into an hour. Soren's body remained still, his breaths controlled. Patience was part of the hunt.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the wind shifted.

A slow breeze rolled across the landscape—blowing straight toward the monster.

Soren tightened his grip on Aeternis. With swift precision, he turned the blade toward his own palm.

A shallow cut.

Blood slowly welled from the fresh wound, warm against his skin.

Without hesitation, Soren stood and turned away from the monster.

His ribs still ached, but the pain was manageable. His body had adjusted. He could run. And now, he did.

His speed had improved—faster than a normal person, but still within human limits.

Soren sprinted along the trail, retracing the path back to where the monsters had fought. He didn't stop. Didn't hesitate. He just ran.

Behind him, the sound of pounding hooves grew closer.

CLACK. CLACK. CLACK.

The galloping rhythm was gaining on him.

Finally, the second monster came into view.

His mind sharpened, instincts kicking in. If he kept bleeding, the scent would linger. The monster would track him by smell.

Soren raised his other hand.

He focused—not on power, but on control.

A stream of water shot out, hitting his bloodied palm with too much force.

His hand jerked violently to the side, nearly twisting from the impact. The sudden movement almost threw him off balance, but he steadied himself, exhaling sharply.

The blood had been rinsed away.

Without another thought, he moved.

Keeping low, Soren veered off the path, slipping into the thick vegetation.

He crouched, breath controlled, body still.

The first monster arrived.

From his cover, Soren could only see its massive hooves, grinding into the dirt where he had stepped off the path.

A piercing shriek tore through the air.

A second cry answered instantly.

Then—simultaneous galloping. One beast rushing forward, the other charging to meet it.

The monsters were about to face off.

Soren remained perfectly still, his breath slow, controlled.

His plan had worked.

Now all he had to do was wait.

The monsters charged at each other at full speed, a clash of raw power and fury. It was something out of myth—two colossal beasts, neither willing to back down.

Then, as Soren focused on them, he saw it.

Their hands began to glow.

Essence.

Soren's eyes narrowed.

He had expected brute force—savage, instinct-driven violence. But this? This was something else.

The monsters weren't just rampaging beasts. They could wield essence.

He had known some monsters were capable of it, but knowing wasn't the same as seeing it firsthand.

This was why he hadn't attacked the resting one. Why he hadn't risked facing them head-on. Because underestimating an enemy's capabilities was the fastest way to die.

Now, hidden in the undergrowth, he would learn.