Chapter 85

  "Forest path, you said?" Tobias studied the general store owner with professional interest.

  "Main road continues north. But some travelers prefer the scenic route." Her expression remained carefully blank.

  He placed five gold coins on the counter—more than generous for the information. "And did anyone take this scenic route recently?"

  "Don't know. Don't ask. Don't care." But her eyes flicked north for just a moment.

  Tobias gathered his supplies and left. Outside, he studied the northern forest edge, noting the faint disturbance in the undergrowth where someone had entered recently.

  Forest path instead of main road. Good instincts.

  Which meant the kid was thinking tactically. Made the hunt more interesting. Also more dangerous, but Tobias had learned to enjoy that particular flavor of risk.

  He checked his axes, adjusted his pack, and headed for the forest.

  The trail was faint but readable. Broken branches at chest height—about right for someone Avian's size moving fast. Disturbed undergrowth. The kid had a full day's head start, but Tobias was an 8th Tier hunter in his prime.

  He could close the gap.

  Somewhere ahead, Avian Veritas was running.

  Somewhere behind, his master was probably already mobilizing.

  And in between, three Hunter Kings were converging on the same target, none working together, all motivated by the same thing.

  Money. Glorious, beautiful, life-changing money.

  Tobias Quinn grinned and started running.

  Elara flipped open her journal, scanning the notes she'd written two days ago when her mana reserves were still fresh and the hunt had just begun. The futures she'd seen then, preserved in ink so she didn't have to waste power looking again.

  Timeline 1: I push hard, arrive Greyhaven second (Tobias 12 hours ahead, forest path). Shopkeeper helpful. Rain.

  Timeline 2: I delay one day for supplies. Arrive Greyhaven third (Tobias and Dorian already ahead). Solo hunt.

  Timeline 3: All three Hunter Kings withdraw from hunt - [REASON UNCLEAR/BLOCKED]. Something changes. Church involvement?

  Day 4 - Timeline [BLANK - DEATH] - AVOID THIS PATH

  She'd learned this trick years ago. Future sight drained her mana like nothing else, but ink was cheap and memory was reliable. Write down what she saw, follow the notes, only use the power again when circumstances changed enough to matter.

  The journal was half-full of old hunts, old futures, old decisions. Some pages had corrections scrawled in the margins where reality had diverged from prediction. Most didn't. She was usually right.

  Two days old now, these futures. Circumstances had shifted - she'd chosen Timeline 1, pushed hard, skipped the supply delay. Which meant Timeline 2 was already impossible. And Timeline 3...

  Timeline 3 bothered her. She could never see WHY they all backed off. Just that in some futures, something happened that made fifty thousand gold not worth it anymore.

  That... that didn't happen often.

  Elara closed the journal and quickened her pace. The futures were outdated now, branches already pruned by choices made. She'd need to look again soon, spend the mana to see current paths.

  But not yet. Not until she reached Greyhaven and could assess with her own eyes.

  Interesting.

  The futures were less certain than usual. More variables, more chaos. Either the target had some ability that interfered with divination, or circumstances were aligning in unpredictable ways.

  She needed current information, not futures written hours ago.

  Elara nocked a blue-fletched scouting arrow and drew her bow back. Not the casual draw for normal shots—she pulled until her arms trembled, until the enchanted bowstring hummed with tension, storing enough force to launch the arrow miles ahead.

  She loosed.

  The arrow screamed into the sky, arcing high above the tree line. The magic activated, and suddenly she was seeing through the arrow's perspective as it soared—forest canopy blurring beneath, the northern road a ribbon of dirt, and there: Greyhaven village in the distance.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The arrow reached its apex and began to fall. In those precious seconds, Elara's enhanced vision swept the area. The village. The forest path branching north. And there—disturbed undergrowth at the forest's edge, fresh enough to still show displacement. Someone had entered recently.

  The connection severed as the arrow embedded itself in distant earth. But she'd seen enough.

  "Gotcha," Elara murmured.

  She quickened her pace. Four days to catch up, she'd estimated. But the futures were suggesting three.

  Maybe less if he made mistakes.

  And everyone made mistakes when they were tired, hungry, and running from the world.

  Dorian ate his packed meal from The Golden Serpent while walking. The braised pheasant had gone cold, which was a crime against cuisine, but it still tasted better than anything he'd find at roadside inns.

  He reviewed his mental map while chewing. Greyhaven was two days ahead at his current pace. The Veritas boy had left the Academy two weeks ago, spent time getting supplies in Greyhaven yesterday according to the timeline, and was now in the forest.

  The question was whether to push harder now or maintain his steady pace.

  Push, his tactical mind suggested. Close the gap before other hunters complicate things.

  Steady, his body argued. Arrive rested and ready to fight.

  He settled on a compromise—maintain pace but skip unnecessary stops. Two days to Greyhaven. Then the real hunt began.

  The golden aura flickered around his fists as he walked, forming and dissolving in rhythmic patterns. Gauntlets, then bracers, then armored boots, then back to nothing. Practice made perfect, and perfect made money.

  Fifty thousand gold.

  The number sang in his head like a dinner bell.

  Dorian Rask smiled and walked faster.

  The forest at night was trying to kill him.

  Not actively—no monsters, no bandits, no dramatic encounters with destiny. Just the passive aggression of roots that wanted to trip him, branches that wanted to blind him, and darkness that wanted to make sure he walked into trees.

  Avian sat with his back against an oak, eating dried meat that tasted like spite and regret. Fargrim lay across his lap, still wrapped but humming contentedly. The demon blade liked forests. Something about the darkness reminded it of home.

  He'd been moving since yesterday afternoon. A full day and night of hard travel through terrain that fought him every step. His 7th Tier body could handle it—the speed, the endurance—but exhaustion was still exhaustion.

  Three more days, he calculated. Maybe four at this pace. Then the mountains. Then answers.

  Or death. Death was also a possibility.

  His eyes caught movement—not close, but not far enough. Something large, moving with purpose through the trees.

  Not an animal. Animals didn't move that deliberately.

  Avian's hand went to Fargrim, the cloth wrapping falling away. God's Sight activated, and suddenly the forest lit up with information. Energy flows everywhere. Aura signatures moving through the darkness.

  There: someone approaching from the south. Moving fast, tracking something.

  Tracking him.

  Already?

  He considered his options. Fight, flight, or hide. Fighting meant revealing his position to anyone else in the area. Flight meant they'd know he was running and would pursue harder. Hiding meant they might pass by.

  Or they might find him anyway and he'd be caught unprepared.

  The movement grew closer. Maybe two hundred yards. Moving with the confidence of someone who knew their target was ahead.

  Avian rose slowly, soundlessly. Fargrim's weight settled into his hand like coming home. God's Sight showed him energy patterns throughout the forest:

  Fight here, win but attract attention. Run now, escape temporarily but exhaust yourself. Hide, fifty-fifty chance they pass by.

  None of them good options.

  Welcome to life as the Empire's most wanted.

  The approaching figure was close now. Close enough that Avian could sense their aura—strong, controlled, professional.

  Eighth Tier. Maybe Grandmaster level aura control.

  One full tier above him.

  Fuck.

  He made his decision and moved, using the darkness and his knowledge of the terrain to put distance between himself and his pursuer. Not running, not yet. Just repositioning. Creating options.

  Behind him, in the darkness, someone spoke:

  "I know you're here, boy. The forest talks to those who listen. And I've been listening for a long time."

  The voice was male, older, with an accent that suggested northern kingdoms. The confidence in it suggested someone used to hunting dangerous prey.

  Avian didn't respond. Words gave away position.

  "Fifty thousand gold is a lot of money," the voice continued, moving slowly through the trees. "The kind of money that makes people do stupid things. Like run into dark forests alone."

  Still moving, still silent.

  "You're fast. Quiet. Good instincts." A pause. "But you can't run forever, Avian Veritas. The forest only goes so far, and there are three of us now. Eventually, you'll have to stop."

  Lies, Avian's cynical mind supplied. Or truth. Either way, not risking it.

  He kept moving, putting more distance between them. God's Sight activated, showing him the flows of energy in the forest. Mana currents through the trees. Aura signatures of animals hiding nearby. The pattern of how things moved through the darkness.

  And there—a dry branch directly in his path. The kind that would snap and give away his position if he stepped wrong.

  Avian adjusted his path, avoiding the branch, staying silent.

  Behind him, the voice sighed.

  "So it's going to be like that. Fine. But know this, boy—you've got three Hunter Kings on your trail now. We're the best in the business. And eventually, one of us will catch you."

  The presence faded, moving away instead of pursuing.

  Avian waited, counting heartbeats. One minute. Two. Five.

  Then he moved again, faster now, putting distance between himself and the encounter.

  First contact made. First hunter encountered.

  And they'd let him go.

  Why?

  The question gnawed at him as he traveled through the darkness. Professional hunters didn't just let targets walk away. Unless they were being strategic. Unless they were driving him somewhere.

  Unless they wanted him to make a mistake.

  Avian grimaced and kept moving. The night was long, the forest was deadly, and somewhere behind him, the Hunter Kings were coming.

  The hunt had begun in earnest.

  And he had four days to reach Mount Calfont before they caught up.

  Four days to find answers buried under five centuries of lies.

  Four days to survive the best hunters in the Empire.

  Nothing ever goes perfectly.

  But he'd made it this far.

  He just had to keep moving.