Days later, the hunters and their friends celebrated in a bright mountain clearing, far enough from Sharirun not to disturb its peace. The feast had been organized by the senior and veteran Stearna as a reward for their deeds—and for other promotions. Though the students wanted to scout the area and see the positive results of their efforts, their injuries kept them from any serious labor. Still, since the raid, no beasts had been spotted.

  Yig had remained in the village, waiting while his weapons were cleansed of the toxic liquid once more. But now that was done, and as promised, he would soon be escorted to Moonset.

  It was quietly understood that the celebration also served as a send-off for their new friend—a farewell party on the final day of his stay. All the raiders attended, though Pervoick sat mostly alone in the shade of the trees, watching from afar with what looked like a faint grin on his face.

  Slye introduced Yig to many of Sharirun’s other residents, each of whom praised his progress. His growing competency with mana earned him admiration, and they said even some of the masters had taken note of him.

  Kacur kept up his sarcastic, condescending tirades, claiming Yig’s progress was unimpressive and Pervoick’s techniques inferior to his own. But the crowd could sense the jest in his voice. Whenever he said something rude, Sil or Mair would slap him on the back with exaggerated laughter—right over his healing wounds.

  The social joy soon spilled into dance. Some kicked their legs while bouncing on the tables, others rocked in their chairs with arms slung over each other’s shoulders. Spartan walked across the table, nibbling on the various delicacies. Yig leapt up to catch her and got swept into the dancing in the process. But it didn’t take long for him to join in fully—arms linked, legs kicking to the rhythm. Leaning back, mouth wide open, Yig laughed.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  As the celebration wound down, Yig slipped away. It was a shame—he’d been enjoying himself. But given the village’s strict rules, this might be his only chance to speak privately with the Chief. If he was going to talk to anyone, it would be the man revered for his wisdom in a village of superhumans. The path was dim, lit by only a few torches, but the quiet was oddly comforting. When he reached the Chief’s office, he spotted a faint light glowing through the window.

  I hope he’s alone. Don’t want to intrude.

  Yig froze. His ears perked up at the rustle behind him. What could it be? The ghost of the bear? With everything he’d seen in the world so far, it wasn’t impossible. He almost raised his hand to light the bushes, but something told him not to.

  A figure in black shot from hiding, blade drawn. Yig raised his weapon just in time, catching the blow and holding the attacker back.

  “Pervoick?!”

  Pervoick stepped back, still on guard. “Explain yourself!”

  “Huh? I’m just trying to talk to the Chief,” Yig muttered, still keeping his voice low for reasons even he didn’t fully understand.

  “Why not ask?”

  “I was just about to.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I never get what you mean! Look, I’m sorry. Can I please just ask the Chief a question?”

  Pervoick sheathed his weapon. “What do you want to ask?”

  Yig hesitated for a moment before replying begrudgingly, “Maybe I don’t wanna tell you.”

  Pervoick shot him a glare.

  “Just some questions. About the Storm, aura—that sort of thing.”

  Pervoick tilted his head, uncharacteristically. “I trust you—”

  “Doesn’t seem like it right now!”

  “Hey, forgive my hesitation at least a little. I didn’t even know it was you till I jumped out of that bush.”

  Pervoick sighed sharply, then stepped up to the door, hand poised to push it open. “Let’s see if he’s awake.”

  “Slipping away from the party to visit our Chief doesn’t exactly look innocent, you know,” Pervoick said with a smile.

  Yig followed with a playful skip, and the two entered.

  The Chief was slumped over his desk, drooling from his wide-open mouth. The only light in the room came from a flickering candle, and his sliding hand—shifting unconsciously—was inching dangerously close to knocking it over. Beside it sat his latest project: a palm-sized stone sculpture still in its early stages. Next to that was a tiny, old potted tree with only a few dozen leaves, something he'd been tending to for some time. The boys padded silently across the carpeted floor. Pervoick reached over and moved the candle to the nearest windowsill.

  “Hey, Chief,” Pervoick whispered. “Got a moment to spare?”

  The Chief let out a long groan and opened one eye. When he saw it was Pervoick, he groaned again and straightened up.

  “You’re not usually the one to disturb me. I don’t even have the energy for a clever quip.”

  Pervoick sat down, and Yig followed suit.

  “It’s not me who needs to talk to you,” Pervoick said.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The candlelight flickered, casting gentle shadows along the wooden beams. A new flower rested on the windowsill, its delicate yellow petals catching the glow. Clippings were scattered around it. The stem looked almost artificially smooth, but its beauty was undeniable. Nearby, the sand the Chief liked to mold and brush into patterns had been shaped into a large tree with branches holding orbs.

  “What is it you’ve come to ask me, blond boy?” the Chief asked, turning to Yig.

  “The Storm… it took control of those bears. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” the Chief said plainly, as if it were obvious.

  “Wait, really? You have no idea why that happened?”

  “The darkness of the Storm seeps into every nook and cranny of the world tree. How should I know why it shows up where it does? Could be random, for all I know.”

  “Oh. Okay… Um, what about the world tree? Can you tell me anything about it?”

  Pervoick’s demeanor shifted. He straightened, a more serious air about him.

  “What do you already know about the world tree?” the Chief asked.

  Yig looked up, as if fishing through his memory. “Well, there were five goddesses, and they lived in Paradise. They created the world tree—Mechilpinna—to protect everyone from the Storm. And to return to Paradise, we have to open some special gates.”

  “Hmm… yeah, that pretty much covers it. Not much more I can add. Any other questions?” By then, the Chief had returned to tracing shapes in the sand.

  Yig grasped his right arm, thoughts racing through his head. If there’s anyone I should show it to, it’s this man. If I want answers, I need to show—

  “Your stealth arts,” Yig said. “The arts of Sharirun. I can’t learn them, can I?”

  “They’re not the arts of Sharirun. We practice the arts of stealth—a tradition that predates even the existence of Sharirun. But to answer your question: no, you’ll never be able to learn our arts.”

  Pervoick looked over at Yig. “But you’re already forming your own style. Hone that enough, and you might match the stealth arts. Probably not, though.”

  “Pervoick speaks sense. Your aura can develop to our level if you're willing to nurture it. Beyond that, you must master what you’ve created.”

  “But Chief,” Pervoick protested, “he hasn’t even mastered the basics yet. I was thinking, maybe… what if he stayed here—”

  “No! Bad idea. Very bad,” the Chief cut in sharply.

  Both young men looked confused—Pervoick, a little hurt.

  “Master, why not?” Pervoick asked. “He’s been here more than a week without incident.”

  “It’s not about that,” the Chief said calmly. “He would be practicing a specific set of techniques, and that shapes the foundation of what we teach. Our ‘basic’ handling of aura isn’t what he needs.”

  “Then—”

  “In Moonset,” the Chief interrupted. “There, you’ll find what you seek. Master Silver watches over a temple in the mountains. He will teach you far better than any of us—if he feels you’re worth the effort, and if you’re willing to listen.”

  Yig’s head drooped. “You really won’t tell me?”

  The Chief shook his head with a playful chuckle. “Hopefully, you’ll look back on this moment one day and understand it in full.”

  Yig felt deflated, his bubbly demeanor faded into a sorrowful confusion. Then he snapped back to his senses. More questions meant more adventure—and anything with more adventure had to be a good thing. That meant more time heroing.

  “Master Silver, in the temple of Moonset?”

  “Correct. And may I ask—has Sil spoken to you yet?”

  “Yeah, Sil’s talked to me lots of times.”

  Pervoick rolled his eyes.

  “So she hasn’t mentioned it to you yet,” the Chief muttered to himself before looking back at Yig. “Make sure to speak with her before you go.”

  Yig nodded. “Understood, Master.”

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  The two young men closed the door politely behind them as they left the Chief’s office. From beneath his desk, he pulled out a wooden lunchbox. The soft scrape of wood echoed around the quiet room. He pushed his sand tray aside and set down the box, opening the lid to reveal small red balls of dough—a late-night snack, one might call it. With just a thumb and finger, he plucked out a treat and took a bite. It was a nostalgic taste—one that pulled him back to a night much like this, many years ago.

  That night, the Chief still had some color left in his hair, worried only about the few strands turning grey. The potted tree beside him had been lively, crowned with a lush bush of green leaves. Behind him hung four blades, stacked vertically—each on its own wooden bracket, all but one.

  A cool breeze slipped through the rain-soaked air, brushing gently across the man’s toes. The door glided open cleanly, revealing two men in matte black cloaks, hoods drawn low over their eyes. One stood tall, the other quite a bit shorter, and there was a guilty air between them.

  “Anyone spot you?” the Chief asked with a joyous chuckle.

  The tall man pulled down his hood. “Doubt it. I think I’d notice excited Sharirun children if any had run at me.”

  Darleth—famous hero and former resident of Chestnut.

  The Chief leaned back, laughing. “That’s very true. But you can’t complain. You wanted the reputation.”

  “Stealth just isn’t my style. You should be thanking me for showing up in person.”

  “Oh really? Must you be so rude about it?”

  “None of his fantastical list of Masters has managed to teach him to shut his mouth,” said Thuzen, pulling down his hood. “I dread the idea of him traveling without someone to keep him in line.”

  “All is forgiven—but only because it’s you,” the Chief said, pointing a sand tool at Darleth. “Anyway, what can I do for you?”

  The two men each took a seat at the Chief’s desk.

  “This shouldn’t take too long. Do you think maybe you could keep an eye out for someone passing through Sharirun?” Darleth asked.

  “Perhaps,” the Chief replied. “When do you expect them?”

  “Sometime in the next twenty years.”

  There was a pause, but truthfully, the request didn’t shock the Chief in the slightest. He just needed a moment to process the weight of the obligation.

  “Right. Only twenty years. Sounds doable. Can you describe them for me?”

  “No. Well… she’ll be a girl… and have hair.”

  The Chief laughed. “Thanks for narrowing it down.”

  Darleth perked up. “Oh! And she’ll be carrying this.”

  He held out a scabbard. At the top, the golden hilt of a sword bore the head of a falcon. The blade slid slightly free, revealing a glimmer of cyan metal.

  “I’m going to give it to her. So if someone carrying this passes through, you’ll know she’s the one.”

  The Chief’s eyes lit up with excitement. “A Falcotain? You know, you could give it to me if you think it might be too much for the girl.”

  “Ehh… you don’t want this one sitting on your wall,” Darleth said with a snarl. “Gives you grief even just holding it.” He returned the treasure of a weapon to his hip casually.

  “I’d say there are no arrogant blades—just arrogant swordsmen.”

  “Yeah, I figured you’d say something like that. But trust me, this thing needs to cool off.”

  “And you’ll do that by giving it to a child?” the Chief asked, gleefully raising an eyebrow.

  “Not just any child! My daughter!” Darleth said proudly.

  This should probably have shocked the Chief. But after knowing Darleth this long, one came to expect such surprises.

  “I know it’s hard to believe at times,” Thuzen said, “but there is, in fact, a method to his madness.”

  The Chief smiled and gave a nod. “Well and fair. So let me make sure I’ve got this right: girl, black hair, probably as arrogant as her father, will pass through town in the next twenty years, carrying a cyan Falcotain sword?”

  “Yep, sounds good,” Darleth replied. “See you soon!” Then he hopped up and left.

  Thuzen lingered a moment longer, shaking the Chief’s hand with proper thanks before following his taller friend out the door.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Pulled back from memory, the realization hit him—two decades later.

  He said ‘see you soon.’

  Haha, as if.

  The aging man stretched his arms and leaned back in his seat with a smile, letting his eyelids slide shut.