Chapter 1
Elias wakes in darkness.
At first he doesn’t know where he is. The nightmare still clings to him—blood dripping through floorboards, Mira’s hand clutching his sleeve, the laughter of the thing that slaughtered his family.
Then the smell of stale alcohol and damp wood replaces the scent of blood.
He realizes he’s lying on cold stone.
He pushes himself upright slowly. His head throbs. His mouth tastes sour with old mead.
The room around him is dim, barely lit by thin slivers of daylight slipping through the cracks of the floorboards above.
He recognizes it.
The tavern cellar.
A few large casks of beer and mead sit along the walls. Stacks of sacks—grain, flour, dried fruit—are piled near a corner. Clay jars of rendered animal fat sit on a low shelf.
Somewhere in the darkness something skitters.
Rodents.
He hears them squeaking and scratching against wood.
Elias exhales slowly and rubs his eyes.
The drinking had once helped keep the nightmares away.
But lately the memories have been coming back stronger.
More vivid.
Almost like the past is refusing to stay buried.
He mutters softly into the darkness.
“Mira?”
No answer.
Only the scratching of the rodents and the faint noise of voices upstairs.
He pushes himself to his feet and finds the cellar stairs.
The tavern above is already alive with the low hum of morning drinkers.
Sunlight spills through the windows, bright enough to sting Elias’s eyes after the darkness below.
Three men sit at a table near the fire, already deep into their tankards of mead. Their laughter rolls lazily through the room.
The barkeep wipes down the counter with a rag.
He glances up as Elias approaches.
Elias rubs the back of his neck.
“You seen Mira?”
The barkeep nods toward the window without hesitation.
“Been out there since sunrise.”
Elias turns and looks.
Outside, beyond the tavern yard, Mira stands in the open grass.
She’s drenched in sweat.
Her dark hair is tied back, loose strands clinging to her face.
She moves with relentless precision.
Sword first.
Fast, controlled strikes cutting through empty air.
Then she swaps to the bow.
Arrow after arrow thuds into a distant tree trunk.
She never stops moving.
Never slows.
Elias exhales through his nose.
That was Mira.
While he drowned memories in drink, she burned them away with discipline.
He places a small black coin on the bar.
The onyx surface gleams in the morning light.
The barkeep freezes.
Then his eyes widen.
Without a word he snatches the coin and rushes toward the kitchen.
“Breakfast! Now!” he shouts through the door.
Elias leans against the bar.
He doesn’t mind the wait.
But as he turns toward the back door he suddenly stops.
His sword.
Still upstairs in his room.
Elias retrieves his blade and steps outside.
The cool air clears his head immediately.
Mira looses another arrow.
Thud.
Dead center.
She lowers the bow and glances over her shoulder.
Her expression hardens when she sees him.
“You smell like a brewery.”
Elias shrugs.
“Good morning to you too.”
“You drank again.”
“I always drink.”
“You passed out again.”
“That part was new.”
Mira shakes her head in irritation.
“You’ll dull your senses.”
Elias rolls his shoulders and draws his sword.
“Then wake them up for me.”
Mira raises an eyebrow.
“Sparring?”
Elias pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside.
His body is covered in scars.
Some long and jagged.
Others small and precise.
Marks from claws.
Teeth.
Blades.
Ten years of hunting monsters leaves its record on a man.
“You’ve been practicing all morning,” he says.
“Let’s see if it helped.”
Mira draws her sword.
They circle.
Then clash.
Steel rings sharply in the quiet morning air.
Mira is fast.
Faster than she used to be.
But Elias moves like someone who has spent years fighting creatures that kill faster than humans ever could.
He disarms her twice.
Knocks her blade aside a third time.
But each round she adjusts.
Learns.
Adapts.
Finally Elias lowers his sword.
“You’re getting better.”
Mira wipes sweat from her brow.
“You’re getting sloppy.”
Elias smirks.
“Maybe.”
Then the smell of food drifts from the tavern door.
"I ordered us some breakfast"
The table groaned under the weight of food.
Bowls of oats.
Fresh fruit.
Roasted nuts.
Thick sausages.
Blood pudding.
Warm bread.
A pitcher of mead.
The barkeep hovers nearby nervously.
“That coin… was worth far more than this,” he says cautiously.
“I still owe you change.”
Elias takes a bite of sausage.
Mira shakes her head.
“Keep it.”
The barkeep stares.
“That’s… a week’s profit.”
“Then it’s a good week,” Elias replies.
The man nods slowly and backs away.
Mira eats quietly for a while.
Then she says softly,
“Ten years.”
Elias doesn’t look up.
“I know.”
Neither of them says the name of the village.
Or the thing that destroyed it.
They don’t need to.
Mira finally speaks again.
“Do you ever think about going back?”
Elias considers.
“Every day.”
“Then why don’t we?”
“Because we’d die.”
Mira nods once.
Cold.
Practical.
Ten years of hunting monsters has stripped away the girl who once hid under floorboards.
She’s something sharper now.
Harder.
Around them the tavern patrons begin talking loudly.
One of the locals leans toward another.
“You hear about North Hollow?”
“Whole village under siege.”
“Creatures no one recognizes.”
“Council put out a bounty.”
“How much?”
“Ten onyx coins.”
Elias and Mira stop eating.
They exchange a look.
Ten onyx coins is a fortune.
More than most hunters see in a year.
Too good to ignore.
Even if it means heading north.
Mira wipes her hands.
Elias drains his cup.
Neither of them needs to say the words.
Their eyes say enough.
Another hunt.
Another monster.
Another step forward.
“Finish eating,” Elias says.
“We leave in an hour.”
