As quietly as I could, I eased my sword into its sheath.

Not quietly enough, apparently. It clunked against the side as it came to a stop. I muttered something dark and foul under my breath, grabbing for the shield that lay propped against the foot of my bed.

“Trellin?” A head popped around the edge of the open door. My father—big and burly, with a thick beard that had been solid black a few short years before. He stopped at the sight of me kitted out in my quilted armor, the guild-approved aerial unit strapped to my belt. “Were you hunting today?”

“Y-Yeah,” I said. “Yes. I’m...There are some minor contracts up in the guildhall. I was thinking I’d snag a few of them while I can.” I forced a smile onto my face. “Once the festival hits next week they’ll vanish, right?”

I cursed my poor word choice as a shadow crossed behind his eyes. “Ah,” he said. “Yes, that’s coming up, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. I hitched my sword belt a little higher, sliding the shield into its holder across my back. “I’ll be home before the evening rush, I promise.”

“You’d better be,” my father said, rapping his hand against the elegantly-curling frame. “The hunters will be pounding our door down. I tell you, Trellin, it’ll be insanity. We’ll need everyone’s help to keep up with the demand, you’ll see.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ll be here.”

I did know. The Festival of Knives came every two years, and every time, the guild went insane. It was the highlight of a hunter’s career, after all. For two months, the normally-rigid ranks within the guild were tossed open, and the game was on. All of the hunters would be clawing out in front of each other, fighting to get their hands on the trophies that’d propel them into the higher ranks each of them craved. Considering there were far more hunters than seats to be claimed, well...it could get more than a little hectic.

And a shop like ours, built around serving the hunters, would be pushed to its very limits. In theory, anyway. I could still remember the festivals when I was younger, with customers lining the yard amid clangs of metal and the smell of smoke filling the air.

It’d been years since we saw anywhere near that sort of business, even during the festival. My father had given up on it, I think. He couldn’t hunt anymore, after all, and how was he going to run the shop without quality components? The shop had become a shell of its former self, and so had he.

My hand tightened around the pommel of my sword.

Not this year.

“A-Anyway,” I said, sidling past him into the central room of our family’s home. My shield scraped against the door behind me. I jerked forward, wincing. No doubt I’d left scratches, which I’d have to fix later. That, though, was a problem for future me. I raised a hand, offering him a smile. “I’ll be back. Keep the place going until then, yeah?”

He frowned, but only sighed, turning away. He clutched a hammer in his hand, I saw. Already hard at work. “Be safe out there. Take your whistle.”

I patted my chest. “Got it right here. I’m not a rookie anymore, you know.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. He didn’t reply, but I knew exactly what he was thinking. You’re just a leather-tag. That’s not much better than wood.

My day was already packed full of plans that didn’t involve prolonged conversations with him, though, so I let it go with a wry smile and a shrug, striding toward the door. The sun was already high, which meant it was past time I got moving.

But only when the door clicked shut behind me did I droop, letting the tension bleed from my shoulders. Obstacle one, down.

The yard around our shop was filled with trees, all of them blooming with brilliant blossoms of white and violet. My mother’s doing, of course. The heat of the fires were just a distant, uncomfortable twinge over here by the family entrance, which made this our place—hers and mine. I paused for a moment, letting my fingers sweep gently over the velvet-soft petals of an orchid drooping from the branches above me, before turning and continuing out into the street.

Once my feet hit cobblestones, my back straightened, my chin rising. Back there, I was just Trellin, the sole son of an adventurer family. Out here, I was Trellin, leather-tag hunter of the guild. I was a warrior.

Of course, I turned down a side street each time I saw another armored figure coming the other way. And I made sure I was all the way on the opposite side of town from the tall, fabric-sided structure of the Hunter’s Guild. No sense in risking someone spotting me, let alone reporting me back to the clerks. I was still a junior member, which meant that no one should be taking notice of me, but...better safe than sorry.

The farther I got from the guild hall, the more I relaxed. Mersali was a bustling town, the largest in the Eastern Plains, and every day brought with it something else to draw my eye. A caravan of traders, dustswept from their trip over the hills. A group of soldiers, passing through to take up raider-watch in the forts along the southern coast. It was always something.

Today, with the Festival of Knives fast-approaching, mostly I saw chaos. Hunters from the smaller towns that didn’t have their own guild halls were congregating, filling up Mersali’s inns and hostels and pouring out the doors into the streets. Everywhere I looked, I saw merchants hurrying to resupply alehouses with drink. Forges billowed with smoke, their yards filled with idle hunters who lingered, stripped of their armor. I let my eyes linger on them, my determination rising.

I wouldn’t let the family down. This year, we’d take back the place of respect we deserved.

I’d made this walk hundreds of times, enough that my feet could make it all on their own. Within minutes, the stone walls that lined the edge of town rose high overhead. I hurried toward the nearest gate, my heart rising in my throat. Calm down, I hissed to myself. You’re a hunter. You’re just going on a patrol. That’s all. Don’t make a fool of yourself.

The guards perked up as I approached. For a moment, the one standing alongside the road frowned, his eyes settling on my face. I all but rolled my eyes. Yes, I was young. Yes, travel outside the city walls was restricted, and yes you needed the proper qualifications to get through. But I had those qualifications.

I shifted, letting my left hand settle comfortably to the hilt of my sword, and his gaze dropped—then rose, locking onto my face.

“Hunter,” he said at last, straightening. At my confirming smile, he held a hand out. “We’ll need to confirm your tag, of course.”

I’d expected this. My right hand was already moving, easing my necklace out from under my armor. The stitched leather square that denoted my rank bounced from its end. With the guard watching, I swiped my thumb across it. My skin prickled as the magic of the tag took hold. Blue-green, glowing letters danced across the leather’s surface.

Trellin

Leather 1, Hunter’s Guild

Mersali Outpost

Protector

Aura Limit: 210

Leather 1. The words rankled, burning at me. Each of the tags had its own material type - wood, leather, bone, iron, chitin, steel, silver, and gold. Earning my leather tag had been a simple enough process of passing guild-administered tests. Everything else aside, the guild did like to ensure that their younglings didn’t run out one after another to get themselves killed. Earning the leather tag had granted me the freedom to leave the city walls on my own patrols, instead of being shackled to expeditions run by more experienced guildmembers.

But the number that went along with the material? That, the tag itself produced, spitting out an assessment from my aura. At leather 1, I was among the strongest hunters of the tier. In fact, I had a sneaking suspicion I was stronger than many of them. Most of them. My father’s injury might keep him from hunting, but he’d still taught me plenty.

Getting past leather 1 meant taking trophies from fiends during the festival, though. You didn’t earn a bone badge by passing a test—you took it, with blood and victory, and you defended it each festival against those younger than you, all playing the same game.

But...the festival was when we were busiest. The shop needed me there, not running around the plains looking for creatures to slay. How was I supposed to tell my family I wouldn’t be there helping?

I couldn’t. And so I didn’t, and there I stayed - frozen at leather 1.

The guard glanced over the tag, then nodded. “Right. Off you go, then. Gate closes at-”

“Sundown,” I said, dancing past him. “I’m not a rookie.” Why did I keep having to qualify that today?

He only sniffed, turning to a merchant drawing up behind him. I was dismissed.

Obstacle two, down.

The hubbub of the city fell away as I strode out into the open air. The noise of voices and wheels and animals followed behind me, the last remnants of Mersali as the buildings and walls fell away to grassy hills and prairie.

My mood brightened almost immediately. There was something about being out here, by myself with only the wind and the sun for company. Back in the city, there was just too much—too many obligations, too many promises and responsibilities weighing me down. Out here, there was just me, my sword, and the contract.

I smiled to myself. Not today, there wasn’t. Today, I was contract-free.

The road decayed the farther I got from the city gates. The cobblestones wore down, turning back to beaten dirt in patches. Ruts had been worn deep into the terrain by the merchants unlucky enough to have to cart through the region.

It was no problem at all on foot. I bounced from ridge to ridge, leaping past the worst of the mud. If anything, the soft, powdery dirt felt good against my bare feet. A whistle burst from my lips as I steadied myself again, hurrying on my way.

The minutes slipped past as I walked. The hills grew steeper around me, the grasses pockmarked with bushes sporting thorns as long as my forearm. I watched the landscape change, nodding with satisfaction.

Until at last I slowed, coming to a stop alongside a path that branched off the main road.

If I kept going, I’d wind up in the same hunting grounds I visited over and over again. I’d find the usual targets there - plainsrunners and higrone, with a smattering of birds and ground critters mixed in. Those were the lowest of the low that I’d find out here in the hills. I could kill them all day, harvesting what I needed off them, but...that’s what I’d been doing. It kept us in business, but with such poor materials, we couldn’t put up a good showing.

No, I needed something better. I needed something bigger.

And so I turned toward the side path.

The road toward my usual hunting grounds had been worn down to a shadow of its former glory. This path, in contrast, had never been glorious. It was just an animal track, leading off into the underbrush, sloping down all the while. If I peered ahead, I could see the trail dip lower still, until the hills rose up on either side of it like a craggy, rock-studded gorge.

“Here we go,” I whispered, steeling myself.

I took a step forward. My tag hummed, quivering against my chest where it’d been dropped.

A red line appeared in midair in front of me, straight across the trail. Letters hovered on either side of the bar.

Zone Restricted - Minimum rank: Iron 5

Rank insufficient

Entry Forbidden by the Hunter’s Guild, Mersali Outpost

I grinned, ignoring the bead of sweat that dripped down my back. “Right. Whatever you say.” Taking a step back, I waited, counting the seconds. The red bar and its warning disappeared.

The necklace grabbed at my hair as I pulled it free. I wound the chain around the tag until it was little more than a leather-and-steel block—and then I ducked away, winding up, and tossed the tag straight over the line and onto the trail beyond.

My breath caught as I crept forward again, waiting. But no red bar sprang up. No letters appeared to warn me away.

A laugh burst from my throat. I stooped to pick up my tag, unwinding the chain from around it. “You guys think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Without a tag—hunter’s guild or merchant—you wouldn’t be leaving Mersali. And so the zone warning was attached to the badge, not the person. The tag reacted to my aura, so without it, it was just a useless hunk of leather. On the other hand, if I’d just jumped across the barrier while wearing the thing, well, they’d probably have someone out and sniffing around for me within the hour.

Getting caught out here in a zone forbidden to my rank would mean expulsion from the guild. I’d be stuck inside Mersali, limited to helping my family. Forever. And without a hunter to bring the materials to keep the shop going…

Despite myself, I shivered. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I’d use whatever tricks I could, if it meant bringing home a prize worthy of my father’s skills.

Putting the necklace back around my neck, I hurried on down the trail. But those words hung in my mind, like the zone warning was haunting me. Iron 5, it’d said.

It was nothing to worry about. The only reason I was still a leather-tag was because I couldn’t partake in the festival. That was it, and it meant my rank was frankly incorrect. I was at least as strong as an iron 5.

I did draw my sword, though.

The hills faded away. Within minutes, the trail had turned into a gully, winding through cliff walls that grew taller and more foreboding with every step. My steps had slowed, once it became apparent these were no longer the plains I was familiar with. My eyes scanned the path ahead, searching for a hint. A threat. Any warning sign that I wasn’t alone out here.

A bird flapped past, screeching madly. I jumped to the side, biting back a yelp. It cawed again, angling away toward the city.

“Stupid bird,” I whispered, letting my sword arm drop to my side. My heart thrummed in my chest. I waited, sucking down lungfuls of air, until the adrenaline running through me started to ebb.

That was when I saw it—just a divot in the dirt alongside the trail, half-lost amidst the wilds that surrounded me. But it was fresh-torn, with tiny clumps of dirt piled along one side.

It had rained the night before. This gash was new. It was new, and something had put it here. Something big.

Bingo. I crouched down alongside it, sheathing my sword for a moment. Now, with this gouge right in front of me, I found myself unwilling to let go of the hilt, as though the monster would jump out at me at any moment.

Which was ridiculous. I’d been walking around just moments before, and I’d heard nothing. I was fine.

I slipped a hand into one of the pouches hanging off my belt, pulling out the charm within. It was as simple and plain as everything else I carried, just a circle of smooth metal with a clear crystal set into the center.

It being visually plain didn’t change the fact it’d cost me almost a full year’s savings to buy off the guild. Using it would expend charges, but if things went well, it’d be worth it.

I held the amulet close to the gash. A chime sounded in my head. I jumped, my grip on it tightening. Words flashed through my mind a heartbeat later.

Finder’s Charm Activated

Uses left - 9/10

A glow seeped out from beneath my fingers, brilliantly green. It spread like wildfire, pouring through the air to fill the divot—and then surged out, coursing down the trail beyond.

Here we go. I swallowed hard, but couldn’t quite keep the smile from my face.

Breaking into a run, I followed on the magic’s heels just as quickly as I could. My shield bounced with every step, thudding against the back of my lead. My feet slapped against the rough sand and stone. It stung, but I’d spent years building my callouses, and they held.

Deeper and deeper I went. The canyon branched out into narrow ravines and wide, shallower valleys. I peered down each, curious for a sight of my quarry, but the magic led me unerringly on.

When it finally stopped, it did so abruptly I had to skid to a stop, my arms pinwheeling. It veered off to one side, into one of those steep-walled cuts. With a final burst of eerie blue, the light vanished.

If I’d thought my heart was beating fast before, it was nothing compared to now. I inched around the corner, casting a wary glance around. My hand went back to my sword, drawing it carefully.

Well, it was much the same as the rest of the gorge—red dirt, and sun-bleached white stone, and scrubby brush growing up from wherever it could take hold. The grasses atop the rest of the plains waved gently from high above.

My eyes, though, were glued to the fiend curled up in its nest at the ravine’s end—a four-legged creature, long and delicate. Considering each of those four legs ended in a massive, metal-bright hoof bigger than my head, that delicacy was a deception. Even from a distance, I could tell its fur was thick and wiry. Exactly the sort the armorsmiths in Mersali loved to ply into protective padding for beneath a hunter’s armor.

Perhaps most impressive, though, was the set of horns the beast sported. They gleamed like the finest of steel, almost blinding in the morning light, and branched out endlessly until finally culminating in razor-sharp spikes.

An irontail issachi. Or, as most of the hunters called them, a stomper. Looking at those hooves left nothing to the imagination for the ‘why’.

My prey. I’d finally found it.

Obstacle three, down.

Okay. I hunkered lower, taking a harder grip on my sword, and eyed the area. This terrain was pretty barren. I might be able to get a grapple into the cliff walls, in a pinch, but my options for cover were going to be limited to the rocks and boulders that had tumbled down from the gorge. The stomper was much like a larger, meaner version of the plainsrunners that roamed the high grounds, so if I was going to survive, I needed to keep this thing from getting up speed and trampling me.

My eyes landed on another trail that wound its way deeper toward the stomper’s nest. Above it, in fact. I grinned. Someone had done this before. Perhaps a great many someones. If I followed that trail, I’d wind up directly above the sleeping beast—in a perfect place to drop down on it sword-first. I’d be hard-pressed to find a better first blow.

So here I go.

I sank my toes into the dirt as I crept forward, fighting to keep from making the slightest noise. It wouldn’t take much to wake a monster like this. Every few steps, I cast another look back toward its motionless, mahogany-brown form. And every time I looked, it lay in exactly the same place it’d been. I smiled, my heart beating faster yet. I could do this.

Straight down the ravine. Straight past the nest, along the far side. Up the slope—grab that vine for stability, don’t trip—and around the back.

Before long, my eyes were glued to a rock at the apex of the train, worn almost-smooth. There. From there, I could jump down onto the issachi, plunging my sword through its spine before it could move. It’d be done, just like that.

And I was almost there.

Somehow, that was the part that stung worst, later. I was almost there. I’d been so slow and careful, just like my father taught me. I hadn’t rushed. I hadn’t let the nerves get to me. I’d done everything right.

But sometimes, it wasn’t about me.

A wild dog set to yipping, somewhere on the plains. I flinched, my shoulders rising. It’s just a dog, I told myself. That’s all. No reason to worry. It’s just-

The beast kept yipping—and the flock of birds it had chased erupted into motion. They exploded out and over the rim of the canyon, massive wings flapping, honking their displeasure for the world to hear. Loudly. Very, very loudly.

For a moment, my ears rang with their anger. My nerves sang, perfectly taut. My eyes were fixed to the shape of them fleeing.

Something rumbling from beneath me brought that to a stop. Slowly, my gaze fell.

The issachi was moving. It shifted, swaying back and forth. Those steely hooves of its glittered through the air. Its razor-sharp horns swung wildly as it lifted its head.

There, poised above the back of its nest with the cliff behind me and only a narrow path for an escape route, I crouched, frozen like a statue, sword in hand.

The stomper stared back with wide, endlessly black eyes.

And then it roared.