I woke before the first light.

  For a moment, I startled upon the unfamiliar ceiling and spacious room. Our new home.

  I flinched as the chill of the flagstones pierced my bare feet. Quickly, I pulled on my boots, grabbed my satchel from beside the bed, and drew out my sling. The others still slept as I slipped quietly out of the room.

  I tiptoed down the stairs, through the large common hall and opened the wooden door beyond the kitchen.

  I stepped on the grass and inhaled. Cold air entered my lungs and slapped me awake. I gazed at the stars and moon. A tinge of familiarity stirred within me—I had stood beneath this same sky with Xanthia just days ago at dawn. So much had changed since then.

  As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I scanned the surroundings. I couldn’t pierce the pitch-black night, but perhaps with daily practice I could train my vision to adapt more swiftly.

  Surrounded by walls, the yard was spacious. A tall pine tree stood guard at the far end of the wall. Wild herbs and flowers grew everywhere—Millie had been harvesting them to hang in the rooms. She'd begin her gardening again once everything settled down—just like old times.

  I loaded my sling and fired stones at the old tree trunk. In the faint light, my body remembered the desperate struggle against the moss-hopper during the storm.

  I could only trace the tree’s silhouette; some shots struck true, others missed.

  There was no guidance now; I could only rely on myself. If I could learn to aim accurately in such conditions, daylight would feel like a gift.

  Wrist flicked. Pouch emptied. Stones gathered. Repeat.

  The gale gnawed at my bones through my thin tunic. I thought myself foolish for this training, yet compared to the freezing numbness of that storm, this was nothing.

  I kept practicing until light bled across the horizon. My arms burned, fingers numb—but I didn’t stop.

  Darkness fled as the sun pierced the mountains. The rising light stirred my thoughts. “Oculus of the Firmament…” I whispered.

  Could the sigil of the Shrine of Truth be tied to the sun itself? Was there a sun god in legend or myth?

  That medallion—Xanthia had kept it yesterday. Perhaps she knew more than she let on. Unlike her, I lacked the patience for reading.

  Between dock work, hunting, and chores, I barely had time to breathe—let alone sit with dusty books.

  Maybe I should send her to the library more often, now that we were based in Delmar. From her studies, we might gain real knowledge—not just tales and myths.

  Runes, glyphs, magic.

  Animals, beasts, monsters.

  Blessings, skills, techniques.

  We needed to find clues about Fiorella and the Shrine of Truth too. If only the library held answers to them all.

  Not for strength, nor fame, nor status. But to shield my friends from danger. To wield tools, skills, knowledge—everything.

  A trump card, as the tavern drunkards would say. Yet one card would never be enough. I would need many, hidden up my sleeve, ready for the day a disaster struck again.

  I looked at my own hands—small, frail, a child’s hands. Against people, beasts, or the fury of nature, I was weak.

  Thomas had once said his grip had faltered during the hoppers’ assault days ago.

  There are many things children cannot do well. And yet—we survived.

  Through teamwork, through courage, through clever use of everything around us: the weather, the terrain, the smallest advantage.

  These were our weapons. I must never forget that.

  “Allen, breakfast’s ready!” Julian’s shout was quickly admonished by Millie, yet it cleared the fog in my mind.

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  “Coming!” I replied, my voice carrying more cheer than I expected. Perhaps it was because I had finally named the problems before me.

  Even without answers, I now had goals to pursue.

  ??????????

  “Friends, orphans, and the rag-doll at the corner! Lend me your ears—and perhaps your breakfast, if you aren’t finishing it!”

  We were savoring our meal in a rare moment of peace when Thomas burst in like a summer whirlwind.

  He struck the pose of a master archer, drawing an invisible bow with a smug grin while the room fell silent to watch his performance.

  Ol’ Lucia just sighed. Apparently, a single day with the Hunter Guild hasn’t been enough to instill any real discipline.

  Across the table, Fiorella was beaming. “Thomas!” she cried, waving her hands in a blur of joy.

  It was good timing, even if his return was likely a brief one—just long enough to pack his meagre belongings for the guild quarters.

  At the very least, we could finally sit down and settle our plans for our shared future.

  “Fio, my most loyal subject!” Thomas barked with a grin, nodding in satisfaction.

  “Just sit down already, Thomas. There’s plenty of soup left.” Millie said. She stood, filled a bowl from the cookpot, and offered it to him.

  “You guys are having a feast!” he yammered, looking at the bowl of meaty soup. He sat next to me and savored the meal.

  “So, how’s the Hunter Guild?” Julian asked, leaning forward before I could get a word in.

  “Awesome. The Master Hunters, the guild facility, and check out my new clothes!”

  He put down his spoon and straightened his clearly hand-me-down quilted leather armor proudly, beaming like he’d just been knighted in silk and gold.

  “Ah, I almost forgot.” He untied a pouch from his pelt belt and dropped it onto the table with a loud clank.

  “Behold, the superior lead bullets!”

  He emptied the pouch, and small, polished lead bullets piled up in a gleaming pyramid.

  I slid the bullets across the large table toward Julian and the others, then picked one up to examine.

  “So heavy…” Xanthia gasped, turning a bullet over in her palm.

  Everyone nodded in agreement. The bullets were small, yes, but incredibly dense.

  No wonder Hailstorm could deal such heavy damage to the bulging muscles of that giant moss-hopper.

  Of course, his skills mattered more—it was as if he could conjure the winds under his command.

  A bona fide legend, indeed.

  “These are for you guys to practice with in your free time,” Thomas said, his hand brushing through his tousled hair.

  He always did that when he was feeling embarrassed.

  “Don’t tell me you stole them on your very first day,” Ol’ Lucia said, leaning in.

  She pressed her hands against the table as if ready to pounce the moment he gave the wrong answer.

  “Aw, no! Of course not!” Thomas protested, banging his fist on the table so hard the bowls and cups rattled. “I’m not that much of an idiot!”

  “Thomas is only this much…” Xanthia teased from my right, squinting as she pinched a gap between her fingers no wider than a gnat’s wing.

  She mocked him right to his face, and the room erupted into roaring laughter.

  It was a sound we had all yearned for—a spark of lightheartedness that had been missing from our hearts ever since the shadow of the moss-hopper tragedy fell upon us.

  ??????????

  We settled into the couches before the hearth in the hall as Thomas threw his belongings together—just a knapsack of clothes and some worthless trinkets.

  Fiorella hugged his arm tightly, her face crumpling; she knew he was leaving soon.

  He brushed a hand through her silver-white hair, his eyes fixed on mine opposite him.

  “Allen, I spoke with Guild Master Alfred,” he said, his gaze earnest.

  “He pledged to take one more child as an apprentice, provided they pass the trial.”

  I didn't answer immediately. I tapped my fingers against my lap and shifted my gaze toward the tall ceiling, considering his offer. He wanted me to join him—to train, to strive, to rise as Master Hunters together.

  “I’m still weighing my options, Thomas. At least until Julian’s Coming-of-Age Ceremony is through,” I replied, masking my uncertainty with a warm smile.

  “For now, you must focus. Learn everything from your Master. You’ll surpass them in no time, surely.”

  I offered the encouragement, yet beside me, Xanthia tugged my tunic hem hard, throwing daggers at Thomas with her eyes.

  She was livid that he was trying to spirit me away.

  It seemed my departure wasn’t on the cards just yet.

  “What about you, Julian? Have you fully recovered? The ceremony begins this evening,”

  Thomas added, comically averting his eyes from Xanthia’s piercing glare to address Julian next to him instead.

  “Never better,” Julian replied, playfully flexing his biceps.

  “Except for the fact that Millie kept nagging me about safety and praying non-stop in her sleep—Yeouch!”

  Before he could finish, Millie swooped from behind, landing a long-practiced "Falcon-Claw" grip on his head and shoulder simultaneously.

  I offered zero sympathy; my silent condolences were drowned out by the feeling that he got exactly what he deserved.

  Ol' Lucia tended to the firewood in the hearth, ignoring the rowdy duo. Then, she turned her attention fully to Thomas.

  "It's a whole new world out there for you, but I suspect you’ll hold your own," she said, a small, knowing smile touching her lips. Then her expression softened, growing more solemn. "The road ahead will be difficult—unbearable at times—and your status as an orphan may still bring you trouble from those who don't know your worth."

  She paused, carefully choosing her final words of advice. "Don’t carry your burdens alone, and don’t suffer in silence. You will always be a part of us. This will always be your home—for help, for counsel, for a place to rest, or simply for shelter."

  She ended her rare, lengthy speech with misted eyes. Thomas bit his lip, his throat tight with emotion, and nodded vigorously.

  "Thomas, stop messing with Fio’s hair already!" Millie snarled, her finger stabbing the air toward his hand.

  "Oops! Sorry, Fio!" Thomas jumped slightly.

  He had been so deeply engaged in the conversation that he’d been ruffling her hair unconsciously; what was once a smooth silver-white was now a tangled, unkempt mess.

  Fiorella simply shook her head. She squeezed out a wide, defiant grin and snatched his hand, pulling it firmly back onto her head.

  The room shared a wry smile as they watched her. She closed her eyes tight, leaning into his touch, determined to savour the weight of Thomas’ hand for as long as she could.