As I pursue the stag, my senses sharpen to an intense focus, feeling the rush of the hunt pulsing through my veins. The world blurs around me as I push myself harder, propelled by the drive to catch my prey and thereby, prove myself worthy.
The stag swiftly maneuvers through the undergrowth, its majestic form pushed by its powerful legs. Yet, I didn't give up my pursuit, refusing to let it evade me. With each stride, I close the gap between us.
Branches whip past me as I dart through the dense foliage, my movements fluid and precise. Adrenaline courses through me, heightening my senses to an acute level.
I can sniff the stag's fear in the air, mingling with the scent of earth and foliage. It's a heady concoction that spurs me onward, fueling me.
Suddenly, the stag veers to the left, attempting to throw me off its trail. But I anticipate its move, adjusting my course with lightning speed. I push myself harder, my muscles straining with exertion as I draw closer to my quarry.
With a burst of speed, I surge forward, closing the gap between us in a matter of seconds. The stag's panicked breaths fill the air, its heart pounding in a rhythm that matches my own.
I push myself forward in a final leap, stretching out my hands to seize my target. In a flurry of movement, I tackle the stag to the ground, our bodies tumbling together.
In the ensuing stillness, I straddle the fallen creature, my chest rising and falling with exertion. The stag struggles beneath me, its hooves stirring dirt and leaves in a frantic bid for freedom. I maintain my grip and meet the gaze of my quarry. In that moment, a primal bond forms between us, a wordless understanding that transcends language.
With a swift movement, I sink my teeth into the stag's neck, the warm rush of blood flooding my mouth.
As I feed, a sense of fulfillment washes over me, mixed with faint traces of remorse. Yet, in this instant, there exists only the hunt, the exhilaration of pursuit, and the flavor of triumph.
When I eventually release my hold, the stag lies motionless beneath me, its life essence depleted and its vitality extinguished. I rise to my feet, my chest heaving with exertion, and I meet Lucian's gaze with a sense of pride.
"Congratulations, Aria," he says, his voice brimming with genuine admiration. "You've proven your worthiness to our ranks."
I acknowledge with a nod, a swell of accomplishment filling me. In that instant, I realized I just secured my position.
"So, what do we do with this?" I ask.
Lucian's gaze softens as he considers the fallen stag. "Respect its spirit," he replies solemnly. "We take only what we need from the hunt. The rest must return to the earth, to nourish the cycle of life."
"Do we eat meat as well…I thought I only craved for blood?" I speak.
Lucian scoffs for the first time. "Though it's not sustainable to satisfy our craving or hunger or even taste any good to us… in any way, a part of us is still human. It keeps us going when the craving isn't there."
"I understand," that is all I can muster to say.
With a reverent gesture, he begins the ritual of honoring the animal's sacrifice. He kneels beside the stag, offering prayers of gratitude to the forest and its inhabitants. I join him, feeling the weight of the moment settle around us like a sacred shroud.
Afterward, Lucian lifts the stag onto his shoulder in a fireman style, and we walk back to our abode, in speed and blurry movements. I and Lucian bet on a race—who gets there first has a chance to make the first kill for tonight's hunt.
Lucian is formidable enough even with the weight of the stag on his shoulder. Although I know it is nothing regardless, he has the strength of a hundred humans, but in the end, I didn't give in to him, I won a second time.
Night comes fast as the day has risen. The hunt is tonight but as I had expected we are not a part of it. Lucian and I are to stay back while he trains me on the basics of what it is to be a Nightwalker. Lucian had picked the first training and we were to meet at the basement of the building, a place secluded from the outside that not even a single soul can hear when they are maiming or killing someone.
The clang of metal steel wakes me that night, and I know immediately it is time for my training.
"Stand up…let's go," I hear Lucian call.
I follow him into the basement--the air hangs heavy with the aroma of damp earth and corroded metal. Torches line the walls, their flickering flames casting undulating shadows that mimic the motions of unseen beings.
In the heart of the chamber, Lucian stands, his visage bathed in the gentle radiance of the torches. He grips two polished blades, their edges gleaming with a lethal allure.
"Tonight, we commence with the fundamentals." He declares, his voice firm and authoritative. "The art of combat is essential for survival in our world. You must learn to defend yourself, to move with grace and precision."
I nod, steeling myself for the challenges ahead. With a casual flick of his wrist, Lucian sends one of the blades spinning in my direction. I catch it smoothly, its weight familiar and reassuring in my hand.
"Let's test your mettle." He challenges a glint of anticipation in his voice.
We move cautiously around each other, the atmosphere thick with tension. Every step is measured as I study his actions, seeking out any vulnerability.
In an instant, he surges forward, his blade cutting through the air with lethal precision. I respond instinctively, parrying his attack with a swift countermove. Our blades clash together with a resounding clang, the sound echoing off the stone walls.