Yig awoke early the next morning, wanting to experience the day in full—and to start adjusting to the early mornings he and Mona would face on their journey. His room didn’t contain much, but was somehow still messy. Though he had a shelf, his books and clothes were stacked in uneven piles that looked like random assortments to anyone but Yig. One book, however, he took particular care of. It sat high on his shelf above everything else, its cover stitched with the image of a large tree, looming over Yig and his room like a quiet guardian.

  After dressing and grabbing his large red cloak, Yig dashed out of the house. He ran through farmland as the dawn glistened off the wet crops. Most of the town was still asleep, though a few old men waved as he bounded down roads and over fences. Before handling any pre-adventure preparations, he ventured deep into the forest to find a familiar boulder—one ten times his size. There, he picked up a wooden sword like the kind he and Mona had used for years and approached the rock, noting the sharp gashes in its surface. Mona had shown off her professional blades a few times now. Yig started whacking the rock, splintering his weapon bit by bit, all the while vowing he wouldn’t be left behind in this race of skill.

  By the time he reached the center of Chestnut Town, only a couple of shop signs had been turned to mark the new business day. Yig shoved open the blacksmith’s door—perhaps harder than necessary—and looked around at the tools hanging on the walls. Large knives and shovels lined the racks, and smaller items like daggers and trowels sat on the lower shelves. Wooden armor stands displayed simple chest plates bound with leather straps, while others held sets of chainmail. Yig noticed how quiet the room was—until he remembered the hour—and became suddenly self-conscious about the door he had slammed.

  The shop owner limped around the corner, back cracking with effort, and stepped into view. His skin was permanently stained from years of work, his face stern enough to scare off a beast. No one questioned how he’d once been a Hunter.

  Before speaking, the man took a breath and sat at a table, cracking one more bone as he growled softly:

  “I won’t lie, young’un—I’ll miss you as my little delivery boy. Got plenty of better nights thanks to the work you’ve done these past few weeks.”

  It had been a month since the battle with the Great-Boar. Since leaving the Hunters, the town had found another role for him. Of course, it was only something to fill the time until his and Mona’s birthdays—when they'd finally be old enough to begin their grand adventure.

  Yig grinned. “It was... enjoyable.”

  The old man snorted, a faint cough rattling in his throat. “No need to exaggerate. Work’s work, and you did what I asked. Your sword’s almost ready—just give Del a few more days and he’ll have it finished.”

  Yig nodded. “Great. I’ll be off, then.”

  The blacksmith chuckled at the boy’s bluntness, leaning back in his chair as the morning light drifted through the windows and spread across him.

  Yig wandered around town for another hour or so, watching as each shop opened one by one. He bought the supplies his mother had requested and picked up gear he planned to take on his adventure.

  As the sky brightened, Yig found himself hobbling through a crowd, struggling to balance a large sack on his back. He exhaled sharply as he squeezed out from the tangle of morning buyers—a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Setting the sack down, he sat against a nearby fence for support. Just as he closed his eyes to rest, a small foot stomped on his toe. The light pain jolted him back to awareness—just in time to see a group of children rush by in a blur of laughter and excitement.

  But Yig knew, almost instinctively, why so many had gathered on this road.

  The Hunters had returned.

  They wore leather and fur across their backs, morning catches skewered with stakes and slung over their shoulders. They moved with confidence—demanding respect—and the town gave them plenty. At the front of the group walked their leader—the coordinator—a broad-shouldered man three years Yig’s senior, though his hair bore the grey of someone much older. A scruffy red beard hung beneath his chin and over his mouth, caked with mud from the morning’s work, his gear showing the same evidence. Jordan Beastly, of the famed Beastly Hunter Lineage.

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  Having once been a hunter himself, Yig knew they must have left just after he’d woken up—meaning they had completed a full hunt in the time it took him to run a few errands. Obviously, if he’d been with them, it wouldn’t have taken nearly as long. He pushed himself off the road and onto the fence behind him to make way, but as they passed, most of them turned their noses up pompously, letting the cheers of the children serve as a grand welcome. Even Yig had to admit they looked more like warriors than he did—muscular, sweat-drenched, bloodied, each carrying the carcasses of wolves slung over broad shoulders.

  One of them, however, far less arrogant than the others, approached Yig with a friendly smile.

  “Collecting your adventuring gear?” the hunter asked.

  It was Fynn. Of all the hunters Yig had once worked with, Fynn was the only one who still greeted him with kindness. More relaxed than the rest, he wasn’t caught up in the rivalry, the status games, or the constant friction they caused.

  “Uh-huh,” Yig replied with a nod.

  “What are you missing?”

  “Well… when night comes and our adventures end, I might not have a place to sleep.”

  “I’m familiar with the problem.”

  “So I need a tent—or something like it—to keep me and Mona warm when we try to rest. But they’re hard to find here in Chestnut.”

  “No one needs a tent in Chestnut. Nobody’s going anywhere.”

  “Well, I know that now. I guess I thought someone would’ve had one ready for me.”

  “That was stupid.”

  “Yep. And I can’t afford to do anything stupid once I leave.”

  “Well… that depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “Who you have around you.”

  As the hunters moved farther into town, the children were herded away from the street. So they turned to the next best thing—and rushed over to Yig.

  “Yig…?” a small girl asked. “Why didn’t you go hunting today?”

  “I’m not a hunter anymore,” Yig replied.

  “Haha!” another kid laughed. “I heard you only lasted three days! Is that true?”

  Yig gritted his teeth. “I’m a great hunter! If you don’t shut it, I’ll be hunting you next, you little imp!”

  The same boy stuck out his tongue and hopped onto the fence. “If you’re so good, then why’d they kick you out, huh?”

  “All the other guys got mad at me—for no good reason,” Yig growled, earning giggles from the crowd.

  “Yes,” Fynn chimed in, “and in those three days Yig was with the hunters, only he and Jordan managed to land a hit on anything.”

  “Pfft… Jordan just got in the way.”

  A girl near the back of the group raised her hand. “Then Yig, what do you do now?”

  Yig folded his arms.

  “He made a deal with the mayor,” Fynn said. “If he stays out of hunting, he gets to leave Chestnut someday.”

  “Sure did. On my eighteenth birthday,” he said. “Or, just after. I don’t want to miss my party.”

  “But that’s only a few days away!” one of the children squealed.

  “Yep.”

  “But we’ll miss you.”

  “Hmm… maybe I’ll bring you all snacks when I come back.”

  Little ears perked up, and suddenly, many of them seemed far more supportive of Yig’s plan to leave.

  “Are you going to be a great hero like Darleth?”

  “Sure am!”

  “You’re taking Mona too, right?”

  “Yeah. Speaking of which, where is Mona?”

  The smallest of the children ran to the other side of the road and pointed a delicate finger toward the mountain that overlooked Chestnut Town. “Up there!”

  Yig nodded. “Sounds about right.” He hopped off the fence, grabbed his bulging sack, and strapped it to his back. “See you later.”

  Bump. A man nudged Yig’s shoulder as he passed—hard enough to sting with spite. Yig staggered slightly, taken aback. He hadn’t even noticed them approaching—more hunters trailing behind the main group. At their lead was Shack.

  Without hesitation, Yig stuck out his leg, hooking around the hunter’s ankle and tripping him before he got too far. The man collapsed like a falling tree, caught by his friends just in time.

  “What’s your problem, huh?” Shack barked as they helped him up. “You trying to make me smash my face?! It’s not my fault you got kicked out of the hunters!”

  “You bumped me,” Yig replied, face unreadable.

  “You’re just jealous!”

  Yig shrugged.

  “Brother’s not going to be pleased when I tell him about this.”

  “Can’t you fight your own battles?” Yig raised his hands.

  Shack grabbed him by the shirt. “I can handle myself just fine.”

  “Woah, woah, woah—let’s calm down,” Fynn said, stepping in between them with his hands up.

  “Yeah!” the little girl shouted from below. “No fighting!”

  Shack kept his glare, but backed off when Fynn gave him a sharp look of his own. With a huff, the punk turned away, knocking over the girl at his feet as he stormed off, followed by the other hunters.

  “Are you alright?” Fynn asked, offering the girl a hand.

  She pushed herself back up with a scowl. Yig didn’t say anything. He just watched Shack walk away—then returned to his usual self in an instant.

  “Up the mountain, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Alright. See you later then.” And with that, the man raced off, waving as he vanished among the houses and shops.

  Fynn waved back, then turned to gather the children, still buzzing with morning energy, and led them toward the town center to keep them in the sight of nearby adults.