Chapter 14: Reunion
Mist rolled over the riverbank as Jumong crouched beneath a crooked willow, examining fresh claw prints in the damp earth. His fingers brushed the marks, and his brows furrowed.
"Talons. Deep. Maybe wyvern, but not wide enough... and no burn marks," he muttered to himself.
A sudden gust stirred the leaves, followed by a sharp *skraaa!* overhead. His blood froze.
"...Ashwing?"
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Back in the days when Jumong first began his taming work near the Eastern Wilds, Ashwing had already been a close companion—rescued as a hatchling with a singed wing. They traveled together for almost a year. She helped him survive goblin ambushes and led him to rare herbs deep in monster-infested groves.
But Jumong faced a harsh truth.
"She's becoming too strong to handle... I can't give her the training she needs. If I hold her back, she'll die before she matures."
After an attack from a Greater Bonebeak (Class C), Ashwing was badly injured. Jumong, desperate, turned to the Eastern Taming Guild.
"Take her. Make her stronger. But if she returns... let it be by her choice."
They bonded with a wild oath, and she was sent to Emberpeak Cliffs to learn under the Beast Masters. Jumong continued alone, not because she left, but because he chose her growth over his attachment.
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Present – Forest Clearing
Ashwing landed heavily nearby. Her wings—now massive and veined with fiery hues—folded with precision. Jumong stared at her in disbelief.
"You... You really came back."
She chirped once, lowered her head, and stepped closer.
Tied to her left talon was a steel scroll case. Inside, a note read:
To Hunter Jumong,
Your beastkin has completed the High Flame Taming trials. She broke free and flew south untracked for days. We found remnants of your old sigil in her nest. Her instincts carried her back to you. Be proud. She chose you.
His hands trembled.
"You remembered the scent... even after everything."
Ashwing gently bumped her beak into his chest.
"I never blamed you," he whispered. "But I missed you every damn day."
---
Beneath a ridge lit by the ember-glow moon, Jumong roasted dryroot bulbs while Ashwing perched nearby, vigilant.
"I've changed," he said quietly. "Lost a few hunts. Gained a few scars. But I kept going. Alone."
Ashwing responded with a low, chuffing croon.
"Not anymore," he said.
[Bond Reforged: Ashwing – Class D Beastkin Companion]
[Abilities Gained: Ember Sweep, Skyward Pulse, Flame-Talon Descent]
---
Ashwing stirred first. Her feathers rustled sharply.
Jumong unslung his shortbow.
"Something's moving. South line. Listen."
Throaty, wet snarls followed.
"Lasher pack. Class C." He pulled out the Beastiary and traced the entry. "Tongue lashers. Agile, venomous, hit in coordinated bursts. Perfect for a first hunt together again."
Ashwing flared her wings, loosing a sharp screech.
"Let's remind this forest what we're made of."
---
High above, in the crags overlooking the river fork, two cloaked figures watched through a whisper-scope.
"So, the wing returns to its master."
"No," the taller one replied. "To her equal."
They disappeared into the rising fog.
Begin the next movement. He must not find the Gatefire before we do."
---
[Southern Reach – Edge of the Black Grove, Morning Mist]
Dense fog curled low, weaving between dark trunks like snakes made of cloud. The air was colder here, and even Ashwing kept her wings half-folded, tense.
Jumong knelt beside an old marker stone—half-buried in moss and covered in faded glyphs.
"The map says the Black Grove is cursed. Locals call it 'Whisperwood.' But cursed or not, the bounty on Grove Howlers is real."
He placed a hand on Ashwing's neck.
"We tread quiet. One wrong step, and it's not just the beasts hunting us... it's the forest itself."
---
Every step felt heavy in the Grove. Trees leaned unnaturally, their branches twisted like limbs reaching for prey. Ashwing's feathers bristled.
Hunter's Beastiary, Class Index:
Grove Howler – Class B – Camouflaged apex predator. Emits high-pitched howls that cause vertigo. Often uses sound to disorient and isolate prey. Extremely territorial.
Warning: Hunters below Class Cinder advised to avoid solo engagements.
Jumong exhaled slowly.
"I'm not alone. Not really."
Ashwing ruffled her feathers and gave a sharp trill.
They pressed forward.
---
A clearing yawned ahead, centered by a gnarled tree, blackened by age and flame. Carvings lined its bark, dozens of them—eyes, mouths, runes that twisted if stared at too long.
A distant howl pierced the silence.
Jumong froze.
"There it is... the Howler."
Another howl responded—from the opposite direction.
Then another. Closer.
"Three of them? Damn."
Ashwing rose into the air silently. She vanished into the upper boughs.
Jumong drew his bow.
Branches snapped. A flash of white fangs in the fog. Then, silence.
"This is their ground. I've got to find higher terrain."
He scrambled up a slope of broken roots.
A sound, like distant laughter, echoed between the trunks.
"MmmmaaAAArkkked..."
Jumong gritted his teeth.
"They're speaking. Not words... instinct. Like Ember-kin, but wilder."
---
The first Howler lunged from above—its fur black as soot, eyes white and lidless. Jumong twisted aside just in time, rolling under its leap.
"Ashwing! Now!"
[Blazing Dive] flared from above—Ashwing's talons raked across the Howler's back, sending it tumbling.
Two more emerged from the gloom.
Jumong loosed an arrow, striking one in the shoulder—but it barely flinched.
The disorienting howl came again.
His vision blurred. Trees seemed to spin.
"Too loud. Gotta focus—breathe, aim."
He activated [Steady Nock]—a skill for timing shots while under pressure. His next arrow hit the second Howler's leg, slowing it.
Ashwing slammed into the third one mid-charge.
But they weren't falling easily.
Jumong ducked, slashed upward with [Ridgefang Blade], scoring a wound across a Howler's jaw.
"They're not like goblins. These things adapt. Think."
He drew a flare arrow—one of his last.
"Ashwing, cover your eyes!"
[Sunflare Bolt] streaked across the canopy—igniting the upper branches in sudden daylight.
The Howlers screamed. Their howls broke rhythm.
That was the opening.
Jumong charged, finishing one with a stab through the eye.
Ashwing brought the second down with a beak strike, then held the third until Jumong delivered the final blow.
---
[Grove Edge Camp]
Later, at the forest's edge, they limped into a clearing.
Jumong collapsed beside the firepit.
"That... was a Class B pack. We barely made it."
He stared into the flame, hands trembling slightly.
"I'm still just a Cinder. I shouldn't be fighting these."
Ashwing curled beside him.
He didn't smile.
But he felt something different this time.
He was afraid. But not hopeless.
"Next time, I prepare better. If I fight Class B again... it's because I *know* I can."
Ashwing chirped low.
"Yeah. We're not done yet.
---
Far to the east, in a chamber of mirrors and smoke, an old woman stirred.
"The Grove has bled. The flame-child walks a path not written."
A shadow knelt beside her.
"Shall I intercept?"
"No. He must burn a little longer. Let the flames teach him fear before fate tests his will."
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