One year later
"I'm merely suggesting, it would be far easier to hide their corpses than to ignore their incessant howling."
If it weren't going to cause mass panic, the Hunter would have taken the Doll up on her idea.
For an entire year these watered down dogs have been stalking him. Appearing in alleyways, in the garbage bins, and on rooftops staring into the Hunter's room. They just won't stop following them.
The Hunter sat cross-legged on the creaky wooden floor of their room, sharpening the blade of their saw cleaver with deliberate, almost meditative focus. The dim light of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the walls, exaggerating the pale features of the Doll and the golden luminescence of Miquella, both seated nearby.
Miquella was perched on the edge of the bed, his hands folded neatly in his lap. His gaze, soft yet unsettlingly piercing, lingered on the Hunter. His youthful features betrayed none of the weight of his ancient wisdom, but his voice carried a gravity that felt out of place in this small, rented room.
"You cannot continue to evade them forever, my beloved Consort," Miquella murmured, his tone both compassionate and firm. "These creatures are not ordinary beasts. Their persistence suggests a greater purpose—one you must address before it consumes you."
The Doll, seated serenely by the window, tilted her head slightly, her porcelain-like face devoid of any outward frustration despite the edge in her words. "Forgive me, but I fail to see the wisdom in allowing these beasts to live. They threaten your sanctuary and your sanity. Their howls disturb your peace, and their presence brings danger to those around you, including poor Clara."
The Hunter paused, the rasping sound of metal on stone silencing for a moment as they looked between their two spectral companions. "If I kill them, more will come," they said, their voice quiet but laced with exhaustion. "These wolves aren't just beasts. They're scouts-spies for something bigger. Killing them will only draw attention to Clara's bakery."
Miquella's expression remained calm, though his golden eyes darkened slightly. "You are wise to be cautious, but hesitation is a blade that cuts both ways. If you wait too long, the wolves may grow bold enough to strike. And if they do, their wrath will not discriminate between you and the innocent."
The Hunter leaned back against the wall, closing their eyes for a brief moment. The weight of the past year pressed heavily on their chest—the nights spent listening to howls in the distance, the days filled with Clara's concerned glances, the constant vigilance he'd gained in Yharnam wearing him out more than it should. They had fought gods and monstrosities, faced horrors beyond comprehension, yet this persistent, creeping threat gnawed at them in a way few enemies ever had.
The Doll spoke again, her tone softening. "Good Hunter, you are weary. Perhaps there is another way to confront these creatures without spilling blood. Might it not be worth seeking an audience with their true leader? Kurt has proven to be on a lower level than he first appeared to be after you severed his head, so it's likely going higher would allow us to learn their true motives."
The Hunter opened their eyes, meeting her gaze. "And if their motives are to tear me apart?"
The Doll's small smile was enigmatic. "Then you will have the clarity to act without hesitation."
Miquella nodded in agreement. "There is wisdom in understanding your enemy. But you must tread carefully. Wolves respect strength, not weakness. If you go to them, you must be prepared to remind them why they should fear you."
The Hunter's hand clenched around the handle of their saw cleaver. For a long moment, they said nothing, their thoughts churning like the sea during a storm. Finally, they rose to their feet, their shadow stretching across the room.
"I'll think about it," they said, their voice low and determined. "But for now, I need to keep Clara and the other's safe. If they come too close to the bakery again, I won't hesitate."
Miquella inclined his head. "A reasonable decision. But do not delay too long, my Consort. The time to act may come sooner than you think."
The Doll stood as well, folding her hands in front of her. "And remember, Good Hunter, you are not alone in this. You carry the burning strength of the Dream, and the blessings of those who care for you." Her expression grew ever so slightly playful. "And if nothing else, I know of an excellent distraction."
The Hunter snorted faintly at that, a rare flicker of humor breaking through their stoic demeanor. "I'll keep that in mind."
As the moonlight filtered through the window, casting a silvery glow over the room, the Hunter turned their attention back to their blade. Outside, the distant howl of a wolf pierced the quiet night, a reminder that the hunt was never truly over, and that the Hunter wasn't going to get any sleep.
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"I need to take off tomorrow morning."
Clara looked up from her desk, surprised by the Hunter's sudden presence.
"I'm sorry?" She asked, believing that she hadn't heard them correctly.
The Hunter cleared his throat, side eyeing the mountain of paperwork on Clara's desk. "I require absence from work tomorrow morning, some ... issues ... have become more dire than I anticipated and I need to deal with them now meaning I won't be fully awake tomorrow."
Clara stared at the Hunter silently, processing his words slowly.
"Sure," she said finally. "I've been meaning to ask you to take some vacation days, you've been working so much I was worried OSHA may get involved."
The Hunter's eyebrow raised, "Vacation days? What is OSHA?" He asked.
He's heard of Vacation days, Gabriella —the Bakery Assistant— said she was planning to use hers next month. But what is OSHA?
"Right ..." Clara muttered. "You're twelve- okay so since you're a minor, you're supposed to work less. But, since you're so stubborn to work, you've been racking up a lot of overtime time. This has been documented in your pay and has resulted in me being susceptible to legal action unless you start working less." Clara tried to explain in simple terms, but only made things more confusing.
The Hunter stood there for a moment, staring at Clara, the weight of her words sinking in slowly. Four weeks. Paid. Time off. Their mind wrestled with the concept, trying to process something so foreign amidst the chaos they had grown accustomed to.
"Four weeks," they repeated quietly, as if the words were testing their ears. "Paid... to not work?"
Clara nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Yes. It's not just for you to rest—though that's part of it—but to keep you out of trouble too. If OSHA finds out how much overtime you've been working, they could start asking questions. Legal questions. And I don't need that kind of hassle."
The Hunter took a step back, running a hand through their hair, a rare look of confusion crossing their usually stoic face. "You're telling me... I can just walk away from the bakery for a month, and you'll still pay me?"
Clara shrugged, gesturing to the pile of documents on her desk. "Yeah. You've earned it. You've been at this long enough. Besides, it'll give everyone a breather. Including you."
The idea was almost absurd, like something from a dream. The Hunter had fought nightmares, monsters, and gods, but the thought of stepping away from the constant grind, of not having to be on edge every second, felt surreal. Their mind drifted to the past year—a year of sleep filled nights, minor vigilance, and the ever-present non threat of the beasts trying and failing to o lurk beyond the bakery walls.
"But what about—" The Hunter began, but Clara cut them off.
"Don't worry about what happens while you're gone," she said firmly. "Gabriella, Hiroshi, Liam, Marcus, and Aisha can handle things while you're off. And when you get back, everything will still be here. You'll still have your job."
The Hunter let out a slow breath, their gaze fixed on the floor as they mulled over the offer. The reality of the situation was strange, almost disorienting —even after a year of annoyances, after the relentless pursuit of annoying howls, they were being given more time to rest?
Is this really where the Hunter was born?
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The Hunter stepped out of the bakery, the chime of the bell above the door fading into the din of the town. Clara's words about "vacation days" still echoed faintly in his mind, but they were quickly shoved aside by the task at hand. His grip tightened around his saw cleaver, hidden beneath his long coat, and he adjusted the strap of the small satchel slung over his shoulder. Within it rested a few vials of blood—precious remnants of his old life. He hoped he wouldn't need them tonight, but the wolves rarely left him a choice.
The streets of Sweet Haven were quieter than usual, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting long shadows over the cobblestone paths. Most City folk had already retreated indoors, the occasional clink of a closing shop door the only sign of life. The Hunter moved with purpose, his steps silent but deliberate, his sharp eyes scanning every alleyway and rooftop for signs of movement.
The wolves would be waiting. They always were.
He paused at the edge of a narrow alley, his instincts prickling as he caught a faint, almost imperceptible sound—a low growl, distant but distinct. It was coming from the woods beyond the town, where the trees loomed tall and dark, their gnarled branches twisting like the claws of some ancient beast. He adjusted his grip on the cleaver, the blade whispering against the edge of its sheath as he moved toward the sound.
The forest was alive with its usual nocturnal symphony—the rustle of leaves in the wind, the chirp of crickets, the occasional hoot of an owl. But beneath it all was a deeper, more menacing undercurrent: the guttural snarls and growls of wolves.
The Hunter crept through the underbrush, his movements careful and measured. He could see them now—a pack of five, their silhouettes outlined by the pale light of the crescent moon. They were gathered in a rough circle, their attention focused on something—or someone—at the center.
As he drew closer, he saw her: a girl, no older than fourteen, her stocky frame clad in battered armor that gleamed faintly in the moonlight. Her curly brown hair was matted with blood and dirt, her dark eyes blazing with defiance despite the deep gash on her left arm. She held a battered spear in her right hand, its tip glinting as she swung it in wide arcs to keep the wolves at bay.
"Come on, you mangy mutts!" she snarled, her voice hoarse but fierce. "You want a piece of me? Let's see if you've got the guts!"
The wolves didn't respond with words, but their intent was clear. They prowled closer, their red eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. One of them—a massive beast with black fur and a scar running down its muzzle—lunged forward, snapping at her legs. She barely managed to sidestep, her spear striking out and grazing its side.
The Hunter didn't hesitate. He surged forward, his cleaver gleaming as it caught the moonlight. The closest wolf didn't even see him coming; his blade sliced through its flank with a wet, sickening sound, and the beast crumpled to the ground with a strangled yelp.
The others whirled to face him, their growls deepening as they recognized their new opponent. The girl's eyes widened in shock, but she didn't lower her spear. "Who the Hades are you?" she demanded, her voice laced with equal parts suspicion and relief.
The Hunter didn't answer. His focus was on the wolves, his movements fluid and precise as he positioned himself between the girl and the remaining four beasts. The largest of them—the scarred leader—snarled and charged, its claws slashing through the air. The Hunter met it head-on, his cleaver sparking as it clashed against the beast's claws. He ducked low, pivoting to avoid a second strike, and drove his blade upward, piercing its throat. The wolf gurgled, its red eyes dimming as it collapsed at his feet.
The remaining three hesitated, their snarls faltering as they watched their leader fall. The Hunter seized the moment, advancing on them with an air of cold, unrelenting determination. One of the wolves whimpered and bolted into the trees, its tail tucked between its legs. The other two hesitated a moment longer before following suit, their howls echoing through the night as they fled.
The forest fell silent once more.
The Hunter turned to the girl, his expression unreadable. She was still on guard, her spear raised slightly, though her stance was unsteady. Blood dripped from her injured arm, staining the ground at her feet.
"Who are you?" she asked again, her voice quieter now but no less wary.
The Hunter tilted his head slightly, studying her. She was no ordinary girl—that much was clear. Her armor, her weapon, her defiant attitude despite her injuries—all of it marked her as someone accustomed to battle. But there was something else, something he couldn't quite place.
"Just a hunter," he said finally, his voice low and even. "Are you hurt?"
The girl snorted, though the sound was more pained than amused. "What do you think, genius?" She gestured to her arm, wincing as she did so. "I've had worse, though. Name's Clarisse, by the way. And you are?"
He hesitated for a moment before answering. "Hunter."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's it? No first name? No last name?"
"That's all you need to know."
Clarisse rolled her eyes but didn't press the issue. "Well, thanks for the assist, I guess. Not that I needed it."
"You were outnumbered," he pointed out.
"Yeah, and I was handling it," she shot back, though her tone lacked real heat. She glanced down at the dead wolves, her brow furrowing. "These things aren't normal, are they?"
The Hunter shook his head. "No. They've been following me for a while."
"Following you?" She frowned, her grip on her spear tightening. "What the hell did you do to piss off a pack of werewolves?"
"I exist," he said simply.
Clarisse stared at him for a moment, then let out a short, humorless laugh. "Great. Just my luck to run into the guy with a werewolf problem."
She swayed slightly, and the Hunter moved forward instinctively, steadying her before she could fall. She tensed under his touch but didn't pull away.
"You're injured," he said. "We need to stop the bleeding."
"I told you, I've had worse," she muttered, though her voice was weaker now.
"Worse doesn't mean it's fine." He reached into his satchel, pulling out a small vial of blood. "Hold still."
Clarisse eyed the vial warily. "What is that?"
"Medicine," he said simply. He uncorked it and poured a small amount onto her wound. The blood sizzled slightly as it made contact with her skin, and she hissed in pain.
"Are you trying to kill me?" she snapped, but a moment later, her eyes widened as the wound began to close, the flesh knitting itself back together.
The Hunter stepped back, watching her carefully. "Better?"
Clarisse flexed her arm, staring at it in disbelief. "Yeah... I guess so. What kind of medicine is that?"
He didn't answer, and after a moment, she shrugged, slinging her spear over her shoulder. "Whatever. Thanks, I guess."
"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said. "The wolves might come back."
"I can handle myself," she said, though her tone was less certain now. She glanced at him, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not human, are you?"
The Hunter's expression didn't change. "Why do you say that?"
She gestured to the wolves. "Because no regular guy takes down a pack of giant wolves with a rusty cleaver and barely breaks a sweat. So what are you? A demigod? Some kind of peaceful monster?... a male hunter of Artemis?"
A soft chuckle echoed from the Hunter's left as Miquella's transparent form faded into the Hunter's sight.
"I'm a hunter," he said again, his tone final. "And you should get back to safety."
Clarisse studied him for a moment longer before nodding reluctantly. "Fine. But if I see you again, you'd better have a better answer."
With that, she turned and began making her way back toward the town, her movements slow but steady. The Hunter watched her go, making sure she got away safely before she quickly passed out onto the dirt from exhaustion.
The Doll faded into Hunter's vision, staring at the passed out girl.
"Well Good Hunter, you did want to talk with someone," the Doll hummed. "Seem's she's the one."
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DGW: Thank you all for reading. If you have any suggestions about this story feel free to share them with me. Doesn't matter what it is I will think it over.
Tools used: Grammarly Spell Check, the FANDOM app.
Suggested Love Interest's: Thalia and Reyna
Love Interest's I won't do: Artemis (reason's that will be known in time), Hestia (reason's that will be known in time), and Zeus(reason's that will be known in time)
DGW: Thank you Lunar_Lunatics for inspiring me to write this story. They are a great writer and very cool person. I forgot to mention them last time as I had recently lost blood.
Word Count: 2941