I'm still absorbing all this information when the world suddenly unfreezes. The leaf continues its descent, and the Huntsman is midway through drawing his knife.
"—not a good sign," he finishes his earlier statement, apparently unaware that for me, several minutes have passed.
"I'm fine," I say quickly. "Just… adjusting." I look down at my bloody feet and then back up at him. "Could we rest for a moment? I need to tend to these cuts."
The Huntsman narrows his eyes but nods reluctantly. "Briefly. We've gained some distance, but we can't linger. These woods are safer from the Purifiers, but they have their own dangers."
He gestures to a fallen log, and I sink onto it gratefully. Now that I've stopped moving, I realize how utterly exhausted I am. My muscles ache, my feet throb, and the hollow feeling in my chest persists—some kind of magical depletion, I now understand.
While the Huntsman checks our back trail, I use the opportunity to examine my attributes and abilities more closely. Five attribute points to distribute… where should I put them? And one ability point—which of the three options should I choose?
I close my eyes, trying to decide. Boosting Intelligence might strengthen my magical abilities, but increasing Constitution could help with my endurance and recovery. As for the abilities—Blood Sigil Creation sounds the most versatile, though Demonic Resilience might be more immediately useful if we encounter more Purifiers.
I take a deep breath, focusing on my status screen. The numbers and choices swirl in my mind as I carefully allocate my points. My heart races a little with the weight of the decision.
First, I choose to bolster my Constitution, adding 3 points. My total now reaches 12, with the Veil Lands bonus pushing it to 14. I can already feel the subtle shift, a sense of greater endurance settling into my bones.
Next, I turn my attention to Intelligence. I add 2 more points, bringing my total to 16, which, with the Veil Lands bonus, becomes 18. I can almost feel the fog in my mind lifting, my thoughts sharpening, the raw power of sorcery within me beginning to solidify.
Finally, I choose my new ability. I unlock Blood Sigil Creation, the first step toward harnessing my bloodline's potential. The sigils are said to hold immense power, something I'll need to control carefully, but it feels right to take the first step toward that.
With the decisions made, I feel the subtle shift in my being, the flow of energy, and the sense of possibility. My power is growing, and with it, the path ahead becomes clearer.
A warm feeling flows through me as the changes take effect. My exhaustion doesn't vanish, but it subsides slightly. More importantly, new knowledge seems to unfold in my mind—understanding of how to channel my blood into basic magical symbols.
"What are you doing?" The Huntsman's voice startles me. He's returned silently and stands watching me with wary curiosity.
"I…" I hesitate, unsure how to explain. "I'm learning about what I am. What I can do."
To my surprise, the Huntsman nods as if this makes perfect sense. "The awakening. I've seen it before, though not quite like this." He crouches before me, studying my face. "Your mother had a different way about her. More… controlled. Refined."
My heart speeds up. "You really knew her? Please, tell me about her."
The Huntsman's expression darkens. "Later. We need to keep moving. Those cuts need binding first, though." He reaches into a pouch at his belt and pulls out a small jar. "This will help."
He opens it to reveal a greenish salve that gives off a pungent herbal scent. Without asking permission, he smears some on my wounded feet. The effect is immediate—a cooling sensation followed by blessed numbness.
"What is that?" I ask, wiggling my toes experimentally.
"Veilmoss extract. Useful stuff, if you know how to prepare it." He gestures to the glowing fungi on the trees. "One advantage of these cursed woods."
When he finishes, he tears strips from the hem of his cloak and binds my feet tightly. It's not pretty, but it should prevent further bleeding.
"Thank you," I say.
He grunts in acknowledgment. "Can you walk?"
I nod and stand, testing my weight. The pain is greatly reduced, though not entirely gone.
"Good. We need to reach my shelter before nightfall. You don't want to be outside after dark here."
As we continue our journey, I try to make sense of everything that's happened. In less than a day, my entire life has been upended. I've discovered I'm some kind of demon-human hybrid with an internal magical system. I've fled the only home I've ever known. And I'm now following a stranger through a forest that exists in some kind of liminal space between worlds.
"The Purifiers," I say as we walk, breaking the silence between us. "Why do they want me dead?"
The Huntsman doesn't slow his pace. "They don't necessarily want you dead. They want you contained. Studied. Used, most likely."
"Used for what?"
"That depends on which faction got to you." He ducking under a low-hanging branch of luminescent wood. "The Covenant would want to drain your power for their rituals. The Archivists would dissect you to understand your nature. And the Harbingers…" He glances back at me. "Well, they'd try to control you, point you like a weapon."
My stomach churns. "And the Purifiers?"
"They're zealots who believe mixing human and otherworldly blood is an abomination. Most would kill you on sight. The fact they tried to capture you instead suggests someone high up has other plans."
"Like what?"
The Huntsman's silence is answer enough.
We walk for what feels like hours. The strange forest never quite becomes familiar—shifting in ways that defy normal geography. Shadows move oddly here, sometimes stretching against the direction of light. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of movement in my peripheral vision, but when I turn, nothing is there.
"Don't stare too long at any one thing," the Huntsman advises, noticing my wandering attention. "The Veil has a way of staring back."
Finally, we reach what appears to be our destination—a massive, hollow tree trunk. The opening is concealed by hanging vines that glow with faint blue bioluminescence. The Huntsman parts them and gestures for me to enter.
"Home sweet home," he says with a hint of irony. "At least for tonight."
I duck inside and am surprised by what I find. The interior of the hollow tree is far larger than it appeared from outside—almost like a small cabin. There's a crude bed of furs in one corner, a small stone firepit with a chimney hole carved upward through the trunk, and shelves carved directly into the wood, holding an assortment of jars, pouches, and oddly shaped weapons.
A new notification flashes in my vision, drawing my attention.
NEW LOCATION DISCOVERED: HUNTSMAN'S HOLLOW
A safe shelter within the Twilight Veil Forest. Rest here to recover energy and health.
The Huntsman follows me in and immediately begins preparing a fire. I sink onto a rough wooden stool, suddenly aware of how every muscle in my body aches.
"We should be safe here," he says as he works. "The wards will keep most things out, and nothing too nasty hunts this close to the border."
"Most things?" I echo.
He gives me a thin smile. "Nothing in life is certain, especially in the Veil Lands." The fire catches, casting dancing shadows around the hollow. "Now, I suppose you have questions."
"About a million," I admit. "But I'll start with the most important. Who am I? Who was my mother? And…" I swallow hard. "Who was my father?"
The Huntsman stares into the fire for a long moment. His face, half-illuminated by the flames, looks older suddenly—worn by years of hard living and harder choices.
"Your mother," he begins slowly, "was Mira Moonshadow, one of the most gifted sorcerers of her generation. She was part of the Arcanum—a council of magic users who tried to maintain some kind of balance between the mortal world and… other realms."
He reaches for a pouch at his belt and pulls out a small object, holding it out to me. It's a simple silver pendant—a crescent moon with a small blue gem at its center.
"This was hers. I've kept it safe, waiting for the right time to return it."
My hand trembles as I take it. The moment my fingers touch the metal, the gem pulses with faint light, and I feel a subtle resonance—like recognizing a melody I've never consciously heard.
ITEM ATTUNED: Moonstone Pendant
A focus item once belonging to Mira Moonshadow. Increases spell control by 10% when worn. Additional properties locked.
"She was beautiful," the Huntsman continues, "brilliant, and feared by those who understood what she was capable of. The Arcanum sent her to investigate rumors of a breach between realms—a tear in the fabric of reality that shouldn't have been possible."
His expression darkens. "What she found was your father."
The fire crackles in the silence that follows. Outside, something howls in the distance—a sound that isn't quite animal.
"And who was he?" I whisper, though part of me already knows the answer.
"His name, at least the one he gave her, was Azrael. A noble from the Eighth Circle." The Huntsman's voice drops lower. "A demon lord of considerable power."
The word lands like a physical blow. Demon. Despite the system's information about my heritage, hearing it spoken aloud makes it real in a way it wasn't before.
"Not like the mindless beasts that sometimes break through to our world," the Huntsman clarifies, seeing my expression. "The lords of the deeper circles are ancient beings—intelligent, cunning, and in many ways more civilized than humans. They're also utterly alien in their thinking and ruthless in pursuing their goals."
"Which were what, exactly?" I ask, my throat dry.
The Huntsman shrugs. "Who can say with certainty? The lords of the Eighth Circle are masters of blood magic and secrets. Perhaps he sought knowledge only your mother possessed, or a way to extend his influence into our world."
"But they… they had me." The implication hangs in the air between us.
"Yes." The Huntsman's amber eyes fix on me. "What began as investigation became something else. Mira broke every oath of the Arcanum by consorting with him. When the Council discovered her pregnancy, they ordered her execution."
My fingers tighten around the pendant. "But she escaped."
"With my help." A bitter smile crosses his face. "I was younger then. Still believed in choosing my own path rather than following orders. I helped her hide, brought supplies when I could. But the Arcanum has long memories and longer reach."
He pokes at the fire, sending sparks spiraling up the chimney. "They found her when you were just an infant. I arrived too late to save her, but I managed to get you away. Brought you to the village, to old Matron Hewen. She owed me a life debt and agreed to raise you as her own, but left you at the Monastery when she became ill. "
"All these years," I say, my voice breaking, "you've been watching over me?"
"From a distance. The Arcanum has eyes everywhere. If they'd known I was connected to you…" He shakes his head. "It was safer this way."
"And now? What changed?"
"You did." He gestures vaguely toward me. "Your power awakened. The Arcanum felt it, like a ripple in still water. And they weren't the only ones."
The implications sink in slowly. "The Purifiers. The Covenant. They all felt it too."
"Yes. The balance your mother tried to maintain is breaking down. The barriers between worlds grow thinner. When someone like you manifests such power…" He trails off, then adds quietly, "Some see a weapon. Others see a key."
I stare into the fire, trying to process everything. My entire life has been a lie—or at least built on carefully constructed omissions. My past wasn't what I thought, and my future…
"What happens now?" I ask.
The Huntsman sighs. "That depends on you. We can't stay here forever—the Veil Lands are no place for extended habitation. In the morning, we have choices to make."
"Such as?"
"I know people—outcasts, exiles, those who live in the margins between magical society and the mundane world. They might help us, give you time to understand your powers before the Arcanum or the Purifiers find us again."
He shifts, reaching for a waterskin and offering it to me. "Or there's the Ashen Academy. A hidden school for those with… unusual magical gifts. It's dangerous—political, cutthroat—but they might protect you, train you."
I take a long drink, realizing only now how thirsty I am. "Are those my only options? Hiding or putting myself in the hands of yet another group who might want to use me?"
The Huntsman's expression softens slightly. "There's one more path, though it's the most dangerous. We could seek out Maeve's Mirror."
"What's that?"
"A legendary scrying pool said to reveal one's true destiny. It might show you ways to control your dual nature, or even how to break the blood connection to your father's realm entirely."
"Where is it?"
"Deep in the Heart of Thorns—a place where the boundaries between realms are so thin they're practically nonexistent. Few who enter ever return."
I turn the pendant over in my hand, watching how the firelight plays across its surface. "If my mother were here, what would she advise?"
The Huntsman is quiet for a long moment. "Mira trusted her instincts above all else. She believed power—true power—comes not from external sources but from understanding oneself completely."
A notification appears in my vision:
NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: MOONSTONE LEGACY
Discover the full potential of your mother's pendant. Find someone who can help unlock its secrets.
"I think," I say slowly, "I need time to process all this before making any decisions."
The Huntsman nods. "Rest tonight. These woods are strange, but my wards will hold until morning." He gestures toward the bed of furs. "Take those. I'll keep watch."
I want to argue, to insist he rest too, but exhaustion overwhelms me. As I settle onto the surprisingly comfortable furs, a sudden thought strikes me.
"You never told me your name," I realize. "Your real name, I mean. Everyone in the village just called you the Huntsman."
A shadow passes over his face. "Names have power, especially in places like this. But…" He hesitates, then seems to come to a decision. "You can call me Thorne."
"Is that your real name?"
"It's real enough." He turns away, moving to sit by the entrance with his back against the wall. "Sleep, Aria. Tomorrow will demand strength you don't yet know you have."
As I drift toward sleep, the pendant still clutched in my hand, I try using my new Observe ability on Thorne.
OBSERVE ACTIVATED
Target: Thorne (The Huntsman)
Level: ???
Race: Human
Status: Concealing (Details blocked by target's magical protection)
Note: Advanced observation blocked by level difference and target's protective wards.
Interesting. Not only can he conceal information from my ability, but he knows enough magic to use protective wards. Who exactly is this man who has apparently watched over me my entire life?
The soft crackling of the fire and the distant, ethereal sounds of the Veil Lands outside gradually fade as sleep claims me. My last conscious thought is wondering what dreams might come in this place between worlds.
I awaken to darkness and the feeling of something terribly wrong.
The fire has died to embers, casting just enough crimson light to see that Thorne is no longer by the entrance. The hollow tree is silent—too silent. Even the strange ambient sounds of the forest outside have ceased.
I sit up slowly, every sense on high alert. "Thorne?" I whisper.
No answer.
Something warm drips onto my cheek from above. I wipe it away, and my fingers come away wet and dark in the dim light. Blood.
Slowly, heart pounding, I look up toward the chimney hole in the ceiling of the hollow.
Two glowing red eyes stare back at me from the darkness—eyes that belong to something clinging to the inside of the tree trunk, something that should not be able to fit through the narrow chimney passage.
"Hello, daughter," whispers a voice like velvet over broken glass. "How lovely to finally meet you."