The Hunt Begins (Part One)

Akira lay on the bed, eyes shut tight, chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths. She had just escaped—what exactly? Something inhuman. Her mind couldn't process it, but her body remembered: the rush of fear, the heat in her hands, the force that had blasted from her palms—impossible, unreal.

She sat up and stared at her trembling fingers in the moonlight. Focusing, she willed the energy to return.

Nothing. Just silence.

She flopped back onto the pillow, burying her face.

I'm going crazy.

Something was wrong—deeply, terribly wrong.

Her eyes caught the letter on the bedside table. She'd opened it earlier, but had barely read beyond the first line before she'd fallen apart.

"Hey,

Kiddo—

I'm heading out on some very urgent business and didn't get a chance to call or tell you in person. I know you'll be furious, but I promise to bring you your favorite souvenir, my little princess.

PS: I've given Aunt Elena the house key. She'll help with food (and water my plants).

Love,

Dad."

Why Elena? God, why Elena? I could crash at Austin's, or Uncle Leo's…

Her dad knew how she felt about her aunt, and yet here Elena was, bossing her around. Always that same practiced smile, the too-bright eyes. She'd kept her distance for years; now avoidance wasn't enough. Everything felt as fragile as broken glass. She was alone, angry—a live wire.

Just today… I hit a girl at school.

She hit her.

That wasn't her.

She twisted beneath the covers, clutching the letter. Her body ached for sleep, but her mind roared. The dark circles under her eyes had gone permanent. She was slipping, and she knew it.

A soft knock rattled the doorframe.

"Akira," came Aunt Elena's sugary voice. "Dinner's ready. I made your favorite."

Akira froze. Her stomach clenched.

She swung the door open and spat out, "I already ate. And don't try to play mother. I'm fine."

Then she slammed it shut, leaving the hallway eerily empty.

—

Austin froze behind the bar, absentmindedly polishing a glass. He liked working at The Orchids, his father's elegant restaurant—a jewel tucked between glass towers and city lights. With its tall French windows, soft lighting, and marble floors, the place felt more like a dream than a job. The bar stood at the center, lined with rare, gleaming liquor bottles. In the corner, a small stage waited for the night's performers—mostly teens chasing the spotlight. On most nights, the restaurant buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of a bass guitar.

Tonight, though, something was off.

"Lost somewhere, my boy?" a familiar voice asked from behind him.

Austin turned to see Leo, his father—tall, sharply dressed, and unmistakably the source of Austin's good looks. His hazel eyes glinted with half-teasing, half-wise amusement. Leo didn't just own the restaurant; he belonged in it.

"Hello? We listening?" Leo prodded, stepping behind the counter with a dishtowel slung over his shoulder.

Austin blinked. He'd been polishing the same glass for minutes. "Oh—yes, sorry. Just… zoning out."

Leo chuckled, inspecting the glass. "Either that one's cursed or you're deep in broody land again."

"A bit of both," Austin admitted with a half‑smile.

Leo leaned in. "Is this about Akira? I heard she slapped a girl today."

Austin raised an eyebrow. "You already heard about that?"

"Small town, big mouths," Leo smirked. "Also, Isabella stopped by for takeout—very dramatic about it."

That elicited a genuine flicker of a smile. "Akira's going through something. She won't talk to anyone. Do you think… it's time?"

Leo's expression softened. "Patience, son. People speak when they feel safe—sometimes just being there is louder than words. And yes, maybe it's time. Her powers might be awakening."

Austin trailed a finger along the counter's grain. "I just don't know if I'm helping. She's pushing everyone away—even me."

"Then push back, gently," Leo said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "That's what a true friend does."

Austin grinned. "Best dad award goes to you. Now—cover my shift?"

He shot a wink and darted off before Leo could reply, leaving his father chuckling behind the bar.

Stepping into the cool evening air, Austin felt the city's soft buzz fade. The Orchids' glow faded behind him, but his mind stayed tangled in Akira's silence and the strange weight pressing on his chest. Something was shifting—unraveling beneath the surface of everything he knew.

—

Somewhere beyond the mortal veil, a different world stirred — a realm where ancient spirits moved in shadows, and destinies were forged far from human sight.

The air shimmered like a heat haze, folding open like a living curtain.

The Fox Realm breathed to life.

A vast world, hidden between layers of mist and time. The terrain was a breathtaking tapestry of wild forests and floating terraces of stone and crystal, glowing faintly with foxfire. Towering spires of ivory stone pierced the sky, spiraling toward an eternal twilight. Outside the city, a towering waterfall tumbled from unseen heights, crashing into the lake below in a thunderous roar.

At the heart of a mossy training ground surrounded by bone-white trees, Kyros narrowly dodged a blow, laughing as he spun away. Foxfire lanterns hovered around them like fireflies, flickering blue and gold against the shine of steel.

"You're getting slow, old man," he teased, his crimson ponytail whipping behind him as he leapt backward.

"I'm three months older than you," Alaric replied coolly, brushing a silver strand from his sharp, moonlit eyes. His half-open robe fluttered with his movements, a silver ring pulsing faintly on his index finger. Calm, lethal grace followed him like a second skin.

"You two are so dramatic," Ashley sighed from where she leaned lazily against a tree, her bow slung across her back. Golden curls framed her sharp, amused gaze. "At this pace, I'll be old before one of you lands a real hit."

"You're just jealous you can't keep up," Kyros shot back, launching another playful strike mid-air.

"I don't need to," she smirked. "I could shoot the knot off your ponytail from here."

"Please don't," Alaric murmured, deadpan.

A soft chime rang through the air — melodic and low, like wind in a crystal bell. A gust of wind followed, swirling leaves into glowing patterns of light.

Alaric turned toward the sound, just a second too slow. Kyros's blade grazed his shoulder.

Blood bloomed along the edge of Alaric's robe.

Ashley straightened. "That's the High Priestess's call."

Alaric barely flinched. "She only calls all three of us when it's important."

"Or dramatic," Kyros muttered, flicking his gaze toward the distant temple spires.

A figure stepped out from the misted path, robes of deep scarlet trailing behind her — Alisha, granddaughter of the temple's oracle and Alaric's fiancée. Her silver hair shimmered under the foxfire light, her pretty eyes calm and unreadable.

Her gaze lingered on Alaric's bleeding shoulder just a moment longer than necessary.

"She awaits you in the Fox temple," she said simply.

Then, coolly to Kyros: "And if you can't control your power, don't use it to hurt others."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and vanished into the mist.

"Who made her queen of the realm?" Ashley snapped. "She talks like we're beneath her."

"Let it go," Alaric said quietly, sheathing his sword. "Just ignore her."

Kyros snorted. "Aww, someone's worried. Maybe she'll come treat your little booboo later."

"Fuck off," Alaric muttered, rolling his eyes. "Let's go."

The three of them turned toward the temple gates, tension riding between laughter and dread.

In the distance, the twilight sky shimmered — as if the realm itself was holding its breath.

The trio walked through the whispering mist toward the temple — an ancient structure carved into the mountainside, its ivory stone glowing faintly under twilight. The entrance was draped in crimson silk, fluttering without wind. Inside, incense curled in the air, thick with the scent of jasmine and something older — aged parchment and burning leaves.

They entered the Inner Hall, and at its center stood the High Priestess — Rohana Bane.

She was cloaked in layered robes of deep red and gold, embroidered with foxfire thread. Her hair, long, braided silver — shimmered like moonlit water, and her eyes were completely white — not with blindness, but with sight too deep for the present.

She did not turn when they entered. She already knew they were there. Her eyes slowly returned to a deep, ink-black shade.

The energy in the chamber thickened as Kyros, Alaric, and Ashley arrived and knelt before her.

She still didn't look at them when she spoke.

"Stand. I imagine you're confused about being summoned this late?"

"Not at all," Kyros answered carelessly.

Rohana's gaze flicked toward him. "Then, Mr. West, I have a task for you. For all three of you."

Her tone sharpened. Rohana and Kyros never got along — not since he was a child. He was always breaking rules, skipping training, and stirring chaos. But for all his defiance, he remained one of their strongest warriors. She tolerated his presence, but never indulged his attitude.

"What happened?" Ashley asked, cutting through the tension with calm curiosity.

"Something — or someone — is disturbing both the Foes realm and ours. Two humans and two of our kind are already dead." Rohana's voice was cold, firm. "This must end."

"It's Ursula, isn't it?" Alaric said quietly, his tone unreadable. His voice, always calm and measured, carried an edge of certainty. He rarely spoke, and never without reason. No one had seen him smile in years.

Rohana studied him for a long moment.

"Correct. Mr. Lockheart you never disappoint me."

"Noted," Kyros muttered, ignoring what Rohana was saying with fire rising behind his words. "She's been a pain for long enough. I'll end it."

"It's decided, then," Rohana said. "You'll leave tomorrow. Prepare yourselves." She turned slightly, adding, "Mr. Lockheart, you stay."

Kyros and Ashley exchanged a quick glance. Alaric gave them a small nod — steady and reassuring. They bowed and exited, leaving only the High Priestess and Alaric in the room.

Rohana turned fully now and sank into the large stone chair at the heart of the hall, the air thickening with silence.

"Alaric, I've always admired your skill and clarity of thought," she began. "You observe what others miss. You see what most are too proud to notice."

She paused, her expression unreadable.

"But this mission… it will test more than your skill. It will test your duty to your kind. And that, Alaric, is harder to protect than any name."

The words hung heavy in the still air.

Alaric didn't flinch, but something inside him stirred — a memory, perhaps. A burden he thought he'd buried long ago.

"I will protect the Lockheart name with my life," he said, then paused before adding, "And I will never forget my duty — even if it costs me my life."

His voice was steady as stone.

Rohana gave a slow nod. "Then I trust you, Mr. Lockheart."

He bowed once more and turned to leave.

As he disappeared into the mist of the corridor, Rohana exhaled softly. Her white eyes returned, glowing faintly with distant sight.

"She's not just another rogue," she murmured to herself. "She's hunting something... or someone."

And with that, she closed her eyes — sensing the shadow on the horizon growing darker.