Razor woke in the dead of night, cold sweat beading on his forehead. The same nightmare. It had hunted him since childhood. In it, he and his mother ran through the forest of Ellem with a shadow at their heels. Her face was tight with fear as she pushed him into the hollow of a massive tree. "Don't let them find you, my love," she whispered. "Find the hunters. They'll keep you safe." Then she slipped into the dark, and her footsteps faded to nothing.
That broken memory was the last thing Razor had of his mother, and it came back night after night. That was also the night that set his path. It led him to the Shadow Hunters' Lair. The hunters took him in and raised him as one of their own. They forged him into the warrior he was now, a debt he could never repay. Razor swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood.
"Max, I'm heading out," he called to his comrade as he left his quarters. Torch in hand, he walked into the black depths of the forest. Its silence closed around him.
Hunting the creatures that prowled the night was his duty. The other hunters were busy tracing the shadow beasts to their source. They had found a cave where the beasts had gone to ground. Normally it took a full group to bring even one down.
Razor was a Grade S hunter, the highest rank the guild had. Each grade set a hunter's place in a fight and the weapon he carried. Grades E through C carried fiery bows and arrows and supported from the rear. Grade B hunters were the tanks, armed with shield and burning spear. Grade A and S hunters chose their own weapons, whether dagger, short sword, or longsword, and held the front line while the archers covered them. A single shadow beast took a small army: tanks ringing both the frontliners and the beast, archers loosing arrows from behind.
Inside the cave, Razor set a bottle of crimson elixir at the entrance and went deeper into the tunnels. He watched for any movement. It did not take long. A shadow slid along the rock ahead of him. He drew his blade and set it burning with crimson fire.
He carved a circle into the ground with the flames, trapping the creature inside it. Fire erupted, and the beast's nightmare shape showed through. It lunged, claws reaching for his flesh. Razor met it, blade against talons.
Neither gave ground. Then Razor forced the beast down and looked for an opening. He slipped past its claws and drove the burning sword into its belly. The beast howled, its form tearing open. But this time something happened that never had before.
The wounded creature staggered back, and its eyes locked on his. Pain tore through Razor's skull. The old nightmare flooded him, but it had changed. This time he and his mother did not part in the forest. They walked hand in hand toward a bright, unearthly light. His mother smiled, cradling a green vase against her chest.
Razor knew that vase. He had seen it years after the night she left. Then the vision broke. His blue eyes now burned an eerie green. When his gaze met the crimson eyes of the shadow beast, raw power surged through him, and the creature trembled. For a heartbeat it felt as if something older than his own name had answered from inside his blood—something he had no word for, and no memory to explain.
He lunged again. The beast thrashed and threw him clear of the ring of fire. The flames guttered out. Razor stared, confused but unafraid. Something in the beast had changed. Its crimson eyes now glowed the same green that burned in his veins. A gust of wind tore out of it and snuffed the last of the fire. Yet Razor felt no malice in it.
Something had passed between them, unspoken. Razor collected the bottle of crimson elixir and slipped into the shadows. The beast followed.