"Enough chatter. Time to move."
Deren's voice cracked through the morning air like a whip, still and final. Sylas stiffened instinctively, the ease of breakfast and banter dissolving in a heartbeat. Just beyond the grove, his father stood like a boulder carved from the land itself, broad and imposing, utterly unmoved by the warmth of the rising sun.
His hunting spear rested across his back, the blade gleaming faintly in the early light. Every part of him radiated calm control, the kind of quiet certainty that came from decades of practice.
"Eiran, take point," Deren said, already striding toward the plains. "Sylas, you're in the middle. Watch and learn."
Sylas fell into formation with a reluctant nod. Eiran moved ahead with confident strides, bow slung over one shoulder and eyes scanning the horizon. Sylas kept his pace light, his mind focused on each step, on the feel of his boots in the dew-slick grass. Behind him came another set of footsteps and a familiar voice.
"Surprised to see me?" Nara murmured, her smirk audible even if he didn't turn to see it.
Sylas twisted around. "Weren't you supposed to be helping in the kitchen?"
"I was. For about five minutes." Nara shrugged and adjusted her bow strap. "Then I figured sneaking out was more productive. Besides, someone needs to make sure you don't wander off into a snake pit."
Sylas blinked. "You snuck out?"
"Obviously."
Before Sylas could react, Deren's voice slammed into them from a few paces ahead. "Nara !"
She winced theatrically and sped up to walk beside him.
"You were told to stay with your mother," Deren said, his tone iron-clad.
"I finished my part," she said brightly. "And I figured—"
"This isn't a joke," Deren snapped.
Eiran, glancing over his shoulder, frowned. "You know how Father gets about discipline."
Nara waved a hand dismissively. "We're just hunting, not facing an unimaginable beast."
Deren's glare could've flayed bark from a tree.
"Fall in," he ordered. "Silently."
And that was that.
-----------------------------
The Broken Plains opened before them like a sea of gold and green. Rolling hills dipped and rose around patches of wildflowers and scattered stone, their petals trembling in the breeze. Every step felt quieter here, the kind of hush that made Sylas hyperaware of every rustle of grass underfoot and each distant birdsong.
They moved for a while in silence, boots brushing through the underbrush. Sylas focused on matching Eiran's rhythm, adjusting the strap of his bow so it didn't tug wrong across his shoulder. The sky was clear overhead. Too clear. It made the land feel exposed.
After a time, Deren slowed his pace and motioned for Sylas to come closer.
Sylas hesitated, then obeyed.
"Do you know what to look for?" Deren asked, scanning the ground ahead with narrow eyes.
Sylas's heart beat faster. "Tracks. Bent grass. Movement."
Deren gave a short nod. "And do you know how to read them?"
"I… I think so."
"That's not good enough."
Deren crouched beside a patch of flattened grass and ran a hand over it. "Here. Look."
Sylas dropped beside him, trying to suppress the thrum in his chest. The grass had been pressed down, forming an uneven trail. He followed the curve of the bend, his eyes narrowing.
"What do you see?" Deren asked.
Sylas leaned closer. "Something big came through here. Recently. Within the hour."
"Not bad," Deren murmured. "Look closer."
Sylas scanned the dirt beneath the grass and caught the faint drag of claws.
"Predator?" he guessed.
"A wolf," Deren confirmed, standing again. "Likely tracking the same prey we are. Keep your eyes open. The plains aren't as empty as they seem."
They moved deeper into the plains, the golden grass rising higher with each hill they crossed. Sylas tried to absorb everything: the way Eiran's eyes constantly swept the horizon, the twitch of Deren's jaw when he sensed something, the way even Nara despite her defiance walked with a quiet grace when she was serious.
She drifted up beside Sylas after a while.
"Father, give you the 'read the land with your soul' speech again?"
Sylas nodded. "Apparently, I'm supposed to be an expert tracker after watching a patch of grass."
"That's his way," she said with a shrug. "He forgets not everyone was born into this with blood in their teeth."
Sylas snorted. "Doesn't seem like Eiran had to be taught anything."
Nara rolled her eyes. "Eiran was born with a bow in his hand and the Bear god's approval stamped on his forehead. But trust me he tries twice as hard when Father's watching."
"You think he's faking it?"
"Not faking," she said. "Just… performing."
Sylas turned that over as they continued walking. It didn't quite lift the pressure from his chest, but it eased it enough to breathe.
Ahead, Eiran raised a hand.
The group stopped instantly. Sylas's muscles went rigid.
Eiran crouched low, eyes locked ahead. "Movement," he said. "Near that shrub line. Could be deer."
Deren stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Could be something else."
He turned back. "Spread out. Quietly."
Sylas's pulse jumped. He unslung his bow, fingers fumbling at the quiver. His first arrow stuck slightly. He tugged it free and nocked it, the string humming against his fingertips. The sound of blood in his ears nearly drowned out everything else.
They moved forward again slow and silent, feet whispering through grass.
The shrub line grew closer. The stalks were tall and waving, but not enough to hide a herd. Still, the tension in the air was thick as glue.
Deren signaled again. Halt.
"Eiran," he said. "Go."
Eiran moved like a shadow, slipping through the grass with ease. Sylas crouched lower, breath shallow. His heart was hammering now.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Then—
Eiran's hand rose. Prey spotted.
Deren began issuing instructions with sharp, silent gestures. Sylas moved to his assigned position, nerves vibrating in his hands.
Deren passed him with a single whispered word: "Focus."
No second chances.
Sylas crouched and peeked over the top of the grass.
There they were.
A small herd of deer, grazing at the edge of the shrubs. Lean, alert. One of the stags twitched his ears.
Sylas drew an arrow, his fingers slick with sweat. He pulled the string taut.
Eiran fired first.
The arrow sliced through the air with a perfect whistle—straight and clean. It struck a young buck in the neck. The beast collapsed.
The herd scattered.
"Now!" Deren barked.
Sylas loosed.
His hand slipped at the last second.
The arrow jerked off course and vanished into the grass.
"Damn it, Sylas," Deren hissed, furious.
Sylas fumbled for another arrow, but the deer were gone—vanished into the brush.
Eiran was already retrieving his kill, quiet and composed as ever.
Sylas's bow lowered slowly. His shoulders slumped.
His mistake hung in the air like smoke.