Chapter Five: The Hunt for Control
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The morning light seeped through the thick canopy above, casting long shadows over the damp earth below. My body felt like it was made of lead, every muscle protesting against the endless hours of training. I could barely remember when I had last rested—everything had blurred together into an endless cycle of drills, repetition, and the weight of Sable's sharp gaze, pushing me further than I ever thought I could go.
Today, the air seemed especially thick, and the tension in my muscles was unbearable. I had spent the last several days learning to fight, to dodge, to use my body as a weapon. And yet, with every passing moment, I felt farther away from understanding the power I was supposed to wield.
"Again," Sable's voice rang out, cutting through the dense air.
I turned to face her, my hands trembling around the hilt of the dagger in my grasp. The blade was slick with sweat, the handle damp beneath my fingers. I had thrown this dagger at least a hundred times, and each time it missed its mark. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to land a solid hit. My mind buzzed with frustration.
Sable was watching me, her expression unreadable as always. She didn't move a muscle, but her eyes burned with a quiet intensity that made me feel as though I were under a magnifying glass. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the frustration surged again. The dagger slipped from my hand before I even had a chance to throw it.
"Focus, control your emotions," Sable said, her voice low and calm.
"I can't—" I began, my voice shaky, but she interrupted.
"You can, but you won't. Not until you control yourself." She stepped closer, and I felt the air around me grow heavy with her presence. "Before you harness power you don't have, you must first master the one you do."
I blinked, confused by her words. "What does that even mean?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she gestured toward the forest stretching out beyond the ruins. The trees were thick and wild, the ground uneven, the shadows deep. "We're leaving. It's time for you to learn something else."
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The Hunt
The forest felt alive in a way I hadn't expected. As soon as we entered, the sounds of wildlife grew louder, the rustling of leaves, the chirp of birds, the scurrying of creatures in the underbrush. I had never really paid attention to the wilderness before, but now it felt as if it were watching me, judging me with every step I took.
Sable walked silently beside me, her expression unreadable as always. She didn't say a word, just led me deeper into the trees until the remnants of the ruins were far behind us. Eventually, she stopped in a small clearing and turned to face me.
"Your task is simple," she said. "You will survive here, with nothing but your instincts."
I frowned, my confusion deepening. "What do you mean by 'survive'?"
She didn't answer, instead reaching into the leather pouch at her side and pulling out a small knife. "Take this. You'll need it."
I took the knife hesitantly, staring at it as if it were some foreign object. It felt heavy in my palm, and I realized I had never really had to use a weapon like this before.
"What do you expect me to do with this?" I asked, my voice tinged with doubt.
"Hunt." Sable's voice was firm, sharp. "You'll find something to eat. And if you can't, then you won't eat."
I stared at her, disbelief and frustration swirling inside me. "You can't be serious. I'm supposed to just—hunt?"
She nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Yes. Find food. Hunt it down. With no magic, no tricks, no tools but your own hands and wits. You'll need to learn to rely on yourself first. Only then will you learn to wield the power you were born with."
I felt my heart race. This was insane. "But I don't know how to hunt!"
"You'll figure it out," she said, turning her back to me and walking away. "Now go."
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The First Lesson: Patience
I stood frozen for a moment, staring after her, my mind a jumble of confusion and frustration. The weight of the knife in my hand felt like a cruel reminder of how ill-prepared I was for this. The forest felt like a labyrinth, each step I took leading me further into its depths. The sounds of the wildlife around me were no comfort. They only made me feel more vulnerable, more exposed.
I had never hunted before. I didn't even know where to start. But I knew Sable wasn't going to hold my hand through this. If I didn't figure it out, I would be left to starve.
I began to walk, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. The ground was uneven, and every crack of a twig underfoot made my stomach twist in anticipation. But as I moved further into the woods, I realized something: I wasn't just walking. I was listening. My senses were on high alert, the sounds of the forest around me amplified in a way I had never noticed before. I could hear the rustle of leaves, the faint movement of small animals, the fluttering of wings.
I paused, crouching low to the ground. My eyes scanned the underbrush. A movement caught my eye—a small rabbit darting between the bushes. My breath caught in my throat. This was my chance.
I didn't know what I was doing, but I was going to try. I moved carefully, keeping my body low, my eyes locked on the rabbit. I crept closer, one slow step after another, trying to stay as silent as possible. The knife felt heavy in my hand, but I kept my grip tight. The closer I got, the more I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Then, just as I was about to make my move, the rabbit dashed away, disappearing into the dense forest. I swore under my breath, frustration boiling inside me.
I cursed Sable's name, but I knew I couldn't afford to lose focus. I had to learn. Patience. Control. The hunt wasn't about speed or strength—it was about waiting for the right moment. I had to stop reacting impulsively and start anticipating. The power of control was in the stillness, in the quiet moments where you allowed yourself to become part of the environment, not separate from it.
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The Realization
By sunset, I had yet to catch anything. My stomach growled angrily, but I didn't dare show it. I had been tracking animals, finding their trails, but they always seemed to elude me at the last second. The forest felt more like a maze, the shadows growing longer with each passing hour.
I sank down onto a large stone, feeling the weight of my exhaustion. My hands were blistered from gripping the knife for so long, and my legs ached from running, climbing, and crawling through the forest. It felt like my body was starting to give out. But I refused to stop. I refused to fail.
And then, as if the forest were mocking me, I saw it—a small deer, grazing quietly near a stream. It was oblivious to my presence, its head down as it nibbled on the grass.
My heart leaped in my chest, but this time, I didn't charge. I didn't make a rash move. I crouched low and waited, watching the deer, feeling the air shift as it moved. I could sense the tension, the moment before it would lift its head.
Then, I acted.
With a fluid motion, I launched myself forward, the knife in my hand ready to strike. The deer reacted too quickly, but this time, I was prepared. I used the environment around me to my advantage, letting my instincts guide me. I dove, catching it by the neck and pinning it down with surprising strength.
The world seemed to still as I held it, the adrenaline pumping through me. I had done it. I had caught my meal.
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A Bitter Lesson
When I returned to Sable later that evening, the look on her face was unreadable. She didn't offer any praise, didn't acknowledge the deer I had dragged behind me. Instead, she simply said, "Good. You learned patience. Tomorrow, we move on to the next lesson."
I wanted to scream at her, to demand why she couldn't just let me rest. But I held it in, swallowing the anger and frustration that burned in my throat.
I had passed the test. Barely. But the real challenge was still ahead.