Kael crossed the boundary post at first bell.
The iron crescent mounted above the road hummed faintly in the cold. One of the shrine technicians stood on a ladder, carefully prying a crystal core from its housing. The removed shard lay wrapped in cloth on the ground — its interior webbed with fine fractures that glowed weakly even in daylight.
"Should've replaced it yesterday," the man muttered.
His partner tightened the bracket bolts. "New moon tonight. Everything runs thin."
The first man glanced toward the forest.
The forest beyond the road did not move.
Kael adjusted the strap at his wrist and continued toward the Guild.
The market square was already active.
Under a reinforced awning, two mireling carcasses lay split along the spine. Their gland cavities had been removed cleanly and placed in ceramic bowls. A clerk recorded weight and purity while the butcher shaved scaled hide for tanning.
Mooncraft did not function without materials.
Materials did not come without hunts.
A cart rolled past carrying something beneath canvas. The outline beneath it was human-shaped.
Kael entered the Guild hall.
The air inside carried iron, oil, and crystal residue. Hunters moved in loose groups beneath suspended moon lamps — crescent brackets inset with silver filigree and cold-burning cores.
Behind a broad oak desk near the entrance sat the Guild receptionist.
She wore charcoal gray rather than hunter black. Ink stains marked her cuffs. A ledger thicker than her forearm lay open before her.
She did not look up immediately.
"Name."
"Kael Ardyn."
Now she looked up.
Her eyes moved once over his insignia.
"Tier One. Clearance intact." She turned a page in the ledger. "Available for assignment?"
"Yes."
She dipped her pen.
"It's a new moon tonight. You'll be placed where needed."
"As usual."
She paused.
"Is that dissatisfaction, Hunter Ardyn?"
"No."
A flicker of something unreadable passed across her expression. She tore a slip from the ledger and slid it toward him.
"Meeting Room Three. Lead Rourke. Await instruction."
Kael took the slip.
Behind him, one of the interior lanterns flickered Once. He stopped.
The flame steadied.
He continued walking.
Meeting Room Three was narrow and windowless.
A long wooden table dominated the center. Maps were pinned to the far wall — road markers, shrine locations, colored rings marking Seeded Zones by severity.
Level One in yellow.
Level Two in orange.
Level Three in red.
Level Four circled twice.
Anything beyond Four was marked as condemned, and no one was allowed to enter without authorization.
Three others already occupied the room.
The first leaned against the wall with deliberate ease.
Broad shoulders. Weathered leather. A scar along the jawline that suggested something had bitten down and not let go. His weapon — a long, reinforced lance — rested within arm's reach. He looked exactly like a veteran hunter should.
Darin Holt.
He looked at Kael once and nodded.
Assessment complete.
The second stood too straight.
Armor newly issued. Blade polished recently enough to reflect the lantern light. Barely past twenty. Trying not to show it.
Leto Varin.
His gaze lingered on Kael's insignia.
Comparison.
The third sat at the table with her gloves folded precisely beside her.
She wore no visible weapon.
Her cloak was travel-gray layered over white undercloth, the mark of Guild medical certification stitched at the collar. Blonde hair braided tightly over one shoulder. Calm posture. Observant eyes.
Mara Kest.
Healer.
She studied Kael not as a hunter would — but as someone measuring breath and pulse.
No one spoke first.
Temporary formation.
Assigned, not chosen.
The door opened.
Master Rourke entered without ceremony.
He did not lean. Did not hurry. Broad frame filling the doorway before he stepped inside. Graying at the temples. Eyes sharp enough to cut through posturing.
He closed the door behind him.
"Sector Two," he said.
No preamble.
Rourke spread the map across the table.
"Sector Two. Second road marker. Increased vermin density. One confirmed civilian casualty."
He tapped the marked circle.
"Preliminary S0. We verify and clear before dusk. I don't need to remind anyone what tonight is."
"No Tier Three engagements," Darin said flatly.
"Correct."
Leto shifted slightly. "Even if escalation is confirmed?"
"Then we withdraw," Rourke replied. "New moon strips margin. We do not gamble it."
Mara's gaze flicked briefly toward the lantern above them — steady, but faint.
Kael watched the edge of the map instead.
Level Four circled twice.
Anything above that had no color.
"Darin — right flank. Leto — forward sweep. Mara — medical observation."
His eyes settled on Kael.
"Lantern checks and inventory. Report irregularities immediately."
"Yes, sir."
Rourke rolled the map closed.
"Move."
Chairs scraped.
Leto adjusted his grip on his blade, trying not to appear eager.
Darin lifted his lance in one smooth motion.
Mara pulled her gloves back on.
Kael reached for the door.
The lantern above the table flickered.
Once.
He stopped.
The flame steadied.
"Problem?" Rourke asked.
"No," Kael replied.
Measured.
Rourke studied him a second longer than necessary.
Then he opened the door.
Cold air from the street drifted into the corridor.
Outside the Guild hall, the road toward Sector Two stretched pale and still.
Routine assignment. S0 verification.
Nothing more.
Beyond the second marker, the forest waited.
And beneath soil something had already begun to root.