The warm sunlight filtered through the leaves of a sprawling oak, casting dappled patterns across the grass where Ash sat with Noah.
The air carried the faint scent of earth and pine, a memory of days before the Merge tore the world apart.
Noah, his friend with a mischievous grin and tousled brown hair, hunched over a worn book, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Ash, leaning against the tree, tilted his head with a curious smile.
"What book's that, Noah?" he asked, his voice light with interest.
Noah looked up, his dark eyes brightening.
"It's about a warrior named Dockwish," he said, a hint of pride in his tone.
"He's strong—fought off a dark horde single-handedly with just a battered sword. But something terrible happened—his whole village was wiped out by a beast, everyone he loved gone." He paused, tracing a finger along the page, his voice softening.
"Still, Dockwish stayed strong, fought to the end, even when there was nothing left to save."
Ash burst into a short, involuntary laugh, the name catching him off guard. "Dockwish? That's a funny name!"
Noah grinned, clapping Ash's shoulder with a playful shove.
"Maybe, but remember that time you took the blame for my fault, knowing fully well you could get in bigger trouble with your father—you feel more like him."
Ash shook his head, unconvinced. "I couldn't be that strong."
Noah's smile widened, his gaze steady. "It might not sound it, but it actually is."
The memory began to blur—Noah's face softening into a haze, his laugh fading—as Ash's essence stole it away.
The loss stung, a hollow ache settling in his chest. Could he ever face a shadow beast like Dockwish had?
The thought faded as Ash jolted awake, his body screaming from the brutal fight against the shadow monster that had ravaged Fallow's Ferry just hours before.
Dawn crept over the ruins, the pale light revealing a landscape of shattered stone, splintered wood, and smoldering debris.
The air was thick with the acrid stench of burnt flesh and the shadow's lingering energy, a metallic tang that coated his throat.
He slumped against a collapsed wall, his scarred face gaunt with exhaustion, wild dark hair matted with sweat, blood, and dust.
His bandaged shoulder throbbed where a Reaver's claw had raked him during the chaos, the crimson-soaked cloth sticking to his skin.
The battle replayed in his mind—the ground shaking as the shadow's multi-limbed form loomed, its jagged maw roaring, red eyes blazing.
He'd tried to Unweave its tendrils, his hands glowing faintly, but the energy slipped, his gasp echoing.
Lyra's cry had been cut short as she fell, impaled, while Sven was crushed under rubble, and Borin's torn remains marked his failed shield.
Beside him, Eren leaned against the same wall, his thin face etched with fatigue, dark eyes hollow yet alert.
His messy brown hair clung to his forehead, streaked with grime, and a fade flickered—his hand phasing briefly before solidifying—a cost of the Severed Echoes he'd unleashed.
Ash recalled Eren charging, his form flickering like a ghost, blasting the shadow with blue energy, driving it back.
But the beast had retaliated, tendrils lashing, and Eren's power had faltered, his fades worsening.
The fight had been a desperate stand—Ash, Eren, and Blackthorn against the nightmare.
Blackthorn had shoved Ash aside, taking a tendril's strike that severed his arm, his roar of pain reverberating as he collapsed.
They'd survived, and fought till the shadow had to escape, beaten but not destroyed, its dark figure slipping into the rift with a chilling laugh, the ground still trembling faintly.
The aftermath was a raw, unfinished wound.
The rift pulsed with a faint, ominous glow, its tendrils retracted but its energy crackling, a promise of return.
Scattered across the village were the broken bodies of Sol, Sven, Lyra, and Borin—Sol's chest pierced, Sven's form half-buried, Lyra slumped against a wall, Borin's remains amid the debris.
Ash's chest tightened, guilt clawing at him as he relived his failure, the shadow's red beams cutting through his efforts.
Blackthorn sat nearby, his rugged face grim, his right sleeve pinned up where the tendril had struck, blood seeping through the improvised bandage.
The old warrior's eyes were clouded with pain, his katana discarded, his breathing labored.
Eren stirred, his voice cold as he directed a limping survivor toward the knights' aid station, his fades a subtle hint of strain.
Ash watched, a flicker of respect stirring as he recalled Eren covering him during a tendril lash, the blue energy saving them both.
Blackthorn coughed, his tone gruff. "We faced that monster and lived—more than I expected after last night." His lost arm, a stark reminder of the fight, marked the price, retirement looming as he adjusted to his new reality.
Ash nodded, the shadow's escape a lingering threat in his mind.
As the morning wore on, Ash moved toward the wounded, his shoulder a dull roar.
He found Elis finishing her aid on a villager, her delicate hands arranging medical supplies with weary precision.
She looked up, offering a faint smile. "You're up so early for someone who fought a battle—you really did do well," she said, her tone sad and heavy, burdened by loss.
Ash tilted his head, concern etching his features. "What's wrong?" Elis's hands trembled as she clenched her fist, her voice breaking.
"I wish I could've saved more lives—innocent lives dead for nothing. Borin, Sven, Lira…" Her slip from Lyra to Lira, unintentional.
Overwhelmed, her shoulders shook, and she collapsed against Ash, sobbing into his chest.
The sound pierced him, guilt and helplessness warring within.
He didn't know what do, was telling her "everything will be okay" a lie?
Unsure, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her silently, her tears soaking his shirt as he recalled Noah's words about strength.
Her sobs slowed, and she pulled back, leaving Ash to wander on, his mind heavy with the fight's toll.
Seeking solace, he wandered around the emergency infirmary building, the creak of broken timbers a reminder of the shadow's rampage.
A half-closed door caught his eye, and he peered inside.
Eren sat on a crate, treating his arm and hand, his fades causing a bandage roll to pass through his grip after three seconds—a stark sign of his essence cost.
The room was cluttered with shadow remnants—cracked crystals, blackened tendril shards—evoking the battle's ferocity.
Ash hesitated, then stepped forward, his voice soft.
"You fought well yesterday, if you weren't there, I don't think we would have gone toe-to-toe against that thing, whatever it was— I don't think I would even be alive, thanks for covering me."
A shared glance from the fight flashed in his mind, Eren's blue energy shielding him, grounding his gratitude.
Eren's head jerked up, his dark eyes narrowing. A fade flickered, his hand phasing as a blurred image of a girl—dark-haired laughing by a river—stretched in his mind, her voice a distant echo calling his name.
The memory lingered, her laughter fading into the shadow's roar, then vanished.
He gripped the table, knuckles whitening, anger flaring as Ash's words broke his focus.
"Pathetic" he snapped, his voice distorting with the fade, exhaustion cracking his snobbish shield.
He finished bandaging with jerky movements, stood, and walked toward the door, muttering, "Now, we are even," his distance reinforced.
Yet the bond lingered, a silent respect beneath his cold exterior, forged in the shadow's shadow.
Ash stood alone, the encounter replaying, the shadow's escape fueling his resolve.
As evening fell, he joined Blackthorn by a small fire, the sky streaked with orange and purple.
The old warrior's rugged face was illuminated by the flames, his lost arm's sleeve pinned up, blood still seeping faintly.
Blackthorn broke the silence, his voice gruff but steady. "Lad, I've fought my last battle. This arm's gone, I wouldn't be of much help in battles, and I'm announcing my retirement. The knights can manage without me."
He paused, eyeing Ash.
"I was thinking about you— your ability —closing the Merge—making it your goal. I know you have no interest in becoming a knight, so I was thinking, with your potential, what do you say about becoming a hunter."
Ash stared into the flames, his scarred face thoughtful.
The question hung heavy, he didn't know what a hunter was, but he has heard of them from the discussion of some of the knights during his training with them.
After a long silence, he turned to Blackthorn, voice earnest. "What's that—hunter?"
Blackthorn's eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and caution.
"Hunters are different from knights. Knights defend territories, bound by kingdoms, their swords pledged to order. Hunters roam free, licensed to enter restricted zones, hunt bounties—merged beasts, shadow relics, even the Merge itself. They get perks—immunity from local laws, access to rare resources, a network of knowledge. But it's not easy. The exams are brutal—survival tests, combat trials. You could die trying, lad. But from what I've seen, I think you can become one. Do you want to?"
Ash's gaze drifted to the rift, the memory of Dockwish's fight-to-the-end spirit merging with Noah's belief.
The battle's toll—the blood, the screams, the escape—weighed on him, yet a pull toward this path grew.
He looked back at Blackthorn, his voice steady. "If it's worth a try, it's worth doing, isn't that what you taught me?"
Blackthorn smirked, a faint glimmer of pride breaking through. "Aye, it is."
Ash nodded, resolve firming. "I really want to make everything right, so if becoming a hunter is what I have to do then I want to become a hunter."