I have finally done it! I am now for certain a chapter ahead of every day. I have written three chapters today with this one... well I guess not since it is 0133, but still. I hope you enjoy.
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"When Patrona returned, she guided the girls into the other room, teaching them how to preserve meat and craft essentials like glue, wax, and soaps from fat and pelts. Grey stayed behind, slipping into meditation until nightfall, when Tear gently shook him awake. On their walk home through the crisp darkness, Tear chattered endlessly about everything she'd learned, proudly recounting how she and Stilra had followed Patrona's instructions flawlessly. Back home, they lit a small fire, exchanged quiet goodnights, and drifted into sleep.
Thus, Windday came to an end.
With the pale light of dawn on Fusionday, Keen arrived at Grey's home. His voice was steady, but his expression carried the weight of what lay ahead. Bark's funeral ceremony and Stone's naming would take place today, followed by an announcement regarding the Grand Hunt—an event that could change everything.
The night before, Grey had told Tear, in the gentlest way he could, about Bark's fate. He described the danger they had faced, the wolf's terrifying hunger, and how Bark had sacrificed himself to ensure Grey and Keen survived. Tear had listened intently, her wide eyes reflecting both sorrow and relief. Relief that Grey had come back to her, alive.
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The square was already filled with people by the time Grey and Tear arrived, the air heavy with smoke from small ceremonial fires. Most of the villagers—around three hundred souls—were already gathered. Their somber faces glowed orange in the faint light of flickering torches.
Grey paused near the edge of the crowd, placing a hand gently on Tear's shoulder. "Go on. Stilra's over there with Patrona. I'll stay here."
Tear hesitated for just a moment before nodding. She slipped through the crowd, welcomed warmly by Stilra and her mother. Grey stayed back, his eyes scanning the assembled villagers.
There were about one hundred and fifty adults—weathered hunters, skilled crafters, and sturdy builders. Fifty children clung to their parents or stood silently in small clusters. The remainder were the elders of crafts—men and women who had made it to sixty cycles, their hands twisted from years of work, their backs bent but their minds sharp. These elders passed down their knowledge, guiding the next generation from the quiet shadows of their trade.
They stood near Grey at the back, their pale eyes fixed on the stone platform ahead. Upon it lay Bark's body, wrapped in ceremonial furs made from Hooded Horn's. A wooden pyre had been carefully built beneath him, soaked with rendered animal grease. The air carried the heavy scent of smoke, resin, and pine.
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From behind Grey came the uneven sound of a three-legged walk. Tap. Drag. Tap.
He turned slightly, recognizing the distinct rhythm. Elder.
The elders of crafts bowed their heads, their gnarled hands clasped respectfully before them. In low voices, they murmured a single word in unison as Elder passed them:
"Ancestor."
Grey froze. The title felt... strange. Heavy. Something about the way they said it—it wasn't reverence; it was fear. A kind of quiet, trembling fear, as if they were in the presence of something unknowable.
Elder moved through the parting crowd, his cane tapping rhythmically against the stone floor. His presence demanded space, not through force but through sheer gravity.
As he reached the stone platform, Elder's cane slipped on a crack between stones. For a fleeting moment, he stumbled. Grey noticed a brief flicker of movement—Elder's hand darting into the folds of his fur cloak, grasping something hidden within.
A faint, golden glow pulsed briefly before vanishing as quickly as it appeared.
Grey's breath caught in his chest. He'd seen that glow before—the day Elder had opened the warehouse door, the day Grey had followed him into those stone corridors filled with secrets.
That necklace... Grey's brow furrowed slightly. What was it? He'd assumed it was a relic, something old and tied to the strange mechanisms of the warehouse. But the way Elder clutched it, how the glow seemed to ripple through him like a breath of fresh air—it felt... different now.
Almost alive.
When Elder straightened again, it was as though his stumble had never happened. His frail appearance seemed momentarily... lessened. He climbed the stone steps without aid from his cane, his back straighter, his steps surer.
Grey's sharp ears caught the soft murmurs of the nearby elders.
"It's the same as before..."
"I can't believe it..."
"How much longer can this go on..."
Their whispers were disjointed and hushed, fragments carried by the wind. Grey's brow furrowed, a faint chill creeping into his chest.
But Elder had reached the top of the platform now, and all murmurs ceased.
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Elder raised his cane, and the village fell silent. His voice, though soft, carried to every corner of the square.
"Bark died fighting. He died protecting his fellow hunters, his family, and this village. In his final moments, he fulfilled his duty—a duty every one of us carries within our hearts. We honor him not just in his death, but in how we carry on from here."
His gaze swept across the crowd, resting briefly on Keen, who stood near the front, and then on Grey at the back. There was something knowing in his eyes—something that made Grey shift uneasily where he stood.
Elder turned and reached for a torch resting against a stone stand. Its flame crackled softly as he lifted it, his lined face illuminated by the glow. He paused, staring into the fire as if seeing something—or someone—within it.
Then, with a deliberate motion, he lowered the torch onto the pyre.
Flames roared to life instantly, consuming the grease-soaked wood and climbing toward the darkening sky. The fire danced and sputtered, casting long shadows across the crowd.
When Elder turned back to face the crowd, his voice rose again—clear, resolute, carrying with it great weight.
"The danger in the forest grows sharper with every passing day. It can no longer be ignored. The time has come to hold the Grand Hunt. Tomorrow, the leader of each squad will come to my home to prepare. Because of this, Fireday's hunt will be postponed."
His words hung heavy in the cold air, settling into the bones of every listener. The fire crackled behind him, and the night felt still, as if the forest itself was listening.
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The villagers remained still, their faces illuminated in flickering amber light. Some whispered quiet prayers, others simply stared, their expressions unreadable.
Slowly, the crowd began to thin as people turned away, returning to their homes and duties. The air felt colder in the wake of the fire's warmth, as though something irreplaceable had been taken from them.
Grey remained where he was, watching the fire consume what remained of Bark. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides.
Elder lingered near the platform, his silhouette sharp against the flames. For a moment, Grey thought the old man might turn to him—might say something else. But instead, Elder simply stared into the fire, his head bowed slightly.
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The days that followed passed in a steady rhythm. Tear and Stilra continued their training with surprising diligence, their small hands growing steadier, their techniques sharper. Tear, in particular, had taken to sneaking off early some mornings, vanishing before Grey could catch her in the act.
He let her be. At her age, he had been just as restless, seeking small adventures and secret places within the village borders. As long as she remained within those boundaries and still attended her training with Patrona and Stilra, he saw no harm in it. Yet, there was something about the glint in her eyes when she returned, dirt-smudged and grinning, that made him suspect she was up to something more.
The quiet days were punctuated by the formal naming ceremony for Stone. It was a private affair, attended only by his blood relatives and Elder himself. In the flickering glow of ceremonial torches, Elder marked symbols onto a preserved pelt—characters only he could read. These markings would remain hidden away, a part of a tradition older than anyone alive could recall.
The days bled into one another, and soon the eve of the Grand Hunt arrived.
Grey sat cross-legged in his meditative space, his translucent form now entirely solid—a deep, unyielding red. The golden pool at his feet had been reduced to little more than a thin puddle, the liquid almost completely drained by his persistent efforts. He took one last pull, the final droplets rising and sinking into his form.With each drop he absorbed, his form had grown more defined, the once translucent red glow now a deep, solid crimson.
He exhaled slowly, rising to his feet as his crimson figure reflected upon the still surface of the galactic pool.
But then he noticed something—something unsettling. The orange orbs dotting the infinite void had grown in number, far more than he had ever seen before. Their faint glow flickered like distant warning fires in the dark.
He had once believed the orbs' positions mirrored the physical world somehow, their arrangement tied to proximity. But that theory had long since crumbled. Now, the orbs bound to him—Tear's massive, looming above the others—always hovered near, regardless of where their true selves might be.
Still, the sheer number of orange orbs gave him pause. Did it mean more danger? More beasts? Or perhaps... an opportunity? Resources, after all, came hand-in-hand with risk.
The next morning came too quickly. Grey stood by the door, arms crossed, blocking Tear's usual escape route.
"No sneaking off today," he said with mock sternness.
To his surprise, Tear simply grinned and shrugged, not offering her usual resistance. "I wasn't going to!" she said brightly before hugging him around the waist, "Good luck today," and with that she dashed off towards Patrona's smokehouse.
Grey frowned slightly as he watched her go. He was almost certain she had planned something but had been stopped only because today was different.
Grey wasted no more time thinking on it. He hurried toward the village gates, where the hunting squads had already begun to assemble.
The sight that greeted him was one of quiet power. Four squads stood side by side, each led by a seasoned hunter. On the far left stood Spider, leader of the Fireday hunters, his sharp eyes scanning the gathering crowd. Next to him, Keen stood tall, his usual calm demeanor etched with quiet focus. Beside Keen was Brawl, his imposing figure impossible to miss, and lastly, Wild, the fierce leader of the Windday squad, her sharp gaze narrowing when she spotted Grey approaching.
"Finally, the kid arrives," Wild said with a dismissive snort.
Grey slowed but said nothing, his expression neutral. Before he could find his place, Elder's voice carried across the group.
"Stand next to Keen, Grey."
Without hesitation, Grey jogged over and took his place alongside Keen. Their squad was still one member short, a reminder of Bark's absence hanging heavy in the cold air. Grey wasn't technically supposed to be part of this hunt—not until he completed his sixteenth cycle. But circumstances had changed. The village needed every capable hunter, and Grey had already proven himself in ways few his age ever had.
Elder stepped forward, his cane tapping lightly against the frosted ground as he surveyed the gathered hunters. His presence commanded silence without effort, and when he spoke, his voice carried with a gravity that pressed on their chests.
"There has never been a single Grand Hunt in my time as Elder where every member has returned."
The weight of his words settled over them, like a heavy pelt draped over weary shoulders.
"I have spoken with your leaders. They know the creatures you will face and the herbs you must gather—knowledge passed down from generations who came before us. But do not let your minds linger on what might be gained. Think instead of what must be protected. Many of you have husbands, wives, children... futures waiting for you. Your lives are worth far more than any prize you might drag back from the forest."
Elder's gaze swept across the squads, lingering briefly on each leader before passing to the hunters behind them. When his eyes met Grey's, there was something knowing—a flicker of recognition that made Grey shift uneasily.
"The goal of this hunt," Elder continued, "is to thin the growing numbers of the forest's strongest predators. Their numbers have risen too high, their borders pressing against our own. If we fail, they will not stop at the edge of our village. They will come for our homes, our families, and our firepits."
Elder's hand tightened briefly on the head of his cane. His voice dropped to a softer tone, carrying even more weight.
"Do not let yourselves be consumed by greed. Do not let yourselves be consumed by fear. Remember your purpose—and return home."
A silence fell over the assembly, broken only by the faint howl of wind threading through the gate's wooden slats.
Then, with a sharp gesture of Elder's hand, he called out, "Open the gates!"
The massive wooden gates groaned as they began to swing outward, revealing the sprawling, snow-dappled forest beyond. The shadows of twisted trees and sharp undergrowth yawned before them, waiting.
The squads shifted into formation, bows tightened, spears gripped, and every hunter sharpened their focus for the task ahead.
Grey's chest felt tight as he looked beyond the gate into the sprawling unknown. The air seemed heavier, the stakes higher than any hunt before.
The Grand Hunt had begun.
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I sped up the pacing in this one quite a bit, I did not think the events for the one week that passed needed to be heavily delved into. These days would've passed as routine for the village other that the meeting for the Squad Leaders. If you are confused by the days, there are only five. They are as follows, Fireday, Waterday, Earthday, Windday, and Fusionday, just like the squads were lined up excluding Fusionday, as there are no hunts that day. Everyone needs a holiday right? Anyway get ready for some real development, will new crisis strike, or will a new adventure begin? What do you think?