The storm had passed, but the city did not sleep.
Fires burned low through the ruins, casting long amber streaks over shattered stone and blood-soaked streets. Hunters moved like ghosts among the wreckage, silent, hollow-eyed, their bodies heavy with exhaustion and disbelief. For the first time in memory, the Guild's bell did not toll. There were no overseers to demand reports, no scribes to count the dead, no chains to bind the living.
Only the wind and the faint whisper of beasts breathing beside their chosen partners.
Ethan stood on what had once been the Guild's central dais — a cracked marble platform now littered with broken steel and shattered insignias. The symbol of the Oath, once engraved in silver on the wall behind him, had been split clean down the middle by the Titan's fall.
Shadowfang rested nearby, coiled in half-slumber, its golden flames dimming to a soft glow. It had fought until its essence flickered, yet its breathing was steady. That, more than the smoldering battlefield, told Ethan they had truly survived.
He looked over the survivors. The count was grim. Perhaps a third of the hunters still stood. Some had lost their beasts; others bled quietly beside dying friends. And yet, they were alive. Unshackled.
Freedom had a sound — and it was not the cheer of victory.
It was the hush that followed, heavy, uncertain, alive with the weight of choice.
Lyra approached, her serpent curled loosely around her shoulders, its scales cracked and blackened in places. She had tied her hair with a strip of cloth soaked in blood, but her gaze was clear, sharp as ever.
"They're looking to you," she said simply.
Ethan didn't turn. "They shouldn't."
Her voice softened. "Then who should they look to? The dead Masters?"
He said nothing. The silence stretched between them, heavy with ghosts.
"They need something," she continued. "A reason to stay. A name for what we've become."
Ethan finally looked at her. "We're not a Guild."
"No," she agreed. "But we can be something better."
He wanted to believe that. He really did. But belief was easy in the fire of battle — hard in the cold dawn that followed. The Hunters had tasted freedom for barely a day, and already the questions were rising like smoke. Who led? Who decided? Who kept order when the Oath no longer bound them?
From the edges of the square, murmurs began to spread. Hunters arguing in low tones. A wounded man shouted that his team had been abandoned in the north wall. Another accused a rival of stealing supplies. Someone demanded ration control. Someone else claimed the beasts were turning feral without the old chains.
Freedom was already fraying.
Ethan closed his eyes. We fought so hard to break the chains… only to forge new ones in panic.
He felt Shadowfang stir beside him, a soft growl rumbling deep in its chest. Its voice brushed the edge of his mind — a low, resonant whisper that only he could hear.
> You freed them. Now you must lead them.
He clenched his fists. "I never wanted to lead."
> The storm does not ask the fire if it wants to burn. It just burns.
Ethan exhaled slowly, tasting ash on his tongue.
---
By morning, the survivors had gathered in what remained of the courtyard. Makeshift fires smoked beneath the grey dawn, and the smell of charred meat and damp earth mixed with blood.
There were perhaps seventy hunters left. Some stood with their beasts, silent. Others avoided his eyes entirely.
Lyra stepped forward first. "We can't stay here. The Titan's death will draw scavengers. The Wild will come again."
The scarred hunter — Toren, the one whose wolf had limped through the battle — crossed his arms. "And where would we go? There's nothing left beyond the walls but monsters and dust. The cities won't take us. We're Guild-born. They see us as cursed."
Lyra's serpent hissed softly. "Then we carve out our own place."
"That's madness," Toren snapped. "We barely survived one attack. You want to start a kingdom out there? With what?"
His voice rose, carrying across the courtyard. Heads turned. Murmurs flared. Ethan felt the tension thickening — fear, anger, exhaustion twisting into something sharp.
He stepped forward. "Enough."
The word carried more power than he expected. The crowd fell quiet.
"We didn't survive the Guild just to tear each other apart," he said. "You're right — we're not soldiers, not a kingdom. We're survivors. But that's exactly why we can't go back to the way things were. The Guild used fear to keep order. If we do the same, we're no different."
Someone from the back shouted, "Then what are we supposed to be?"
Ethan looked around — at the faces burned and bruised, at beasts standing loyally beside them despite the carnage. He thought of the chains, of the Master's cold gaze, of the way freedom had burned brighter than any flame.
"Hunters," he said quietly. "Not for gold, not for power. But for the world that forgot how to fight. We hunt what others fear — and we do it together. No Oath. No chains. Only choice."
The words hung in the air. Simple, almost fragile. Yet something in them struck true.
Lyra smiled faintly. "The Hunters of Choice."
Toren scoffed. "Pretty words. But words won't feed us."
"Then we earn it," Ethan said. "The Wild is full of beasts that could wipe out cities. We hunt them, sell their cores, trade their essence. We use what we know — but on our own terms."
There was a long silence. Then, slowly, one by one, heads began to nod.
Maybe it wasn't faith. Maybe it was desperation. But it was enough.
---
As night fell again, Ethan stood on the broken wall overlooking the valley. The air was cold, the wind sharp. Shadowfang lay curled beside him, tail flicking like a lazy flame.
Lyra joined him quietly. "You gave them hope," she said.
"I gave them work," he murmured. "Hope will have to come later."
Her eyes softened. "You don't see it yet, do you? The chains broke, but they still need something to believe in. You could be that."
He turned to her. "Belief in people dies fast."
"Then make them believe in the fire," she whispered. "The one that refuses to die."
Below them, the courtyard flickered with new fires — not of destruction, but of rebuilding. Hunters were raising tents, mending armor, feeding beasts. A rhythm was returning, raw and unsteady, but real.
For the first time, Ethan felt a faint ember of something dangerous stirring in his chest. Not pride. Not even peace.
Purpose.
He looked at Shadowfang, its golden eyes glinting in the dark. "We'll need strength," he said softly. "More than we have."
> Then seek it, the beast rumbled. The Wild hides deeper secrets than you know. And not all monsters bow to chaos.
Ethan frowned. "You mean… others like you?"
Shadowfang's eyes flared. Older. Stronger. Bound to no man. If you would lead, you must stand among them — or fall before them.
The thought sent a chill through him. But it also ignited something fierce — a pull toward the unknown, toward the heart of the Wild where even legends feared to tread.
Lyra watched him silently. "You're thinking of leaving."
He didn't deny it. "The Hunters can rebuild without me for a time. But if this freedom is going to last, we need more than survival. We need power."
She stepped closer, the firelight glinting off her serpent's eyes. "Then I'm coming with you."
Ethan looked at her — really looked — and for a heartbeat, the weight of everything lifted. The ruin, the loss, the endless fight. There was only resolve. Two fires burning against the darkness.
He nodded once. "At dawn, then."
And as the night deepened, the first wind from the Outer Wild swept over the city once more — carrying with it the scent of ancient beasts and forgotten gods.
The storm had been survived.
But the true hunt was only beginning.
---