The sun hung low behind the canopy of whispering pines, casting long shadows over the forest floor as they trudged onward. Half a day had passed in silence. The only sounds were the crunch of brittle leaves beneath their boots and the occasional rustle of unseen wildlife slipping through the underbrush.
The old man, who had spoken little since they entered the woods, finally broke the silence.
"Why did you change your mind and decide to follow me?"
Shakes didn't answer right away. He walked a few more paces, his eyes never leaving the winding path ahead. His jaw was set, unreadable. Then, without turning, he replied in a low voice.
"I need to protect what I care about most." His fists clenched at his sides. "I can't afford to lose again. I made a promise… but I won't keep it like this. I still don't fully understand my powers, and if I don't learn soon, more people will die."
The old man gave a slight nod, as though he had expected this answer all along.
"Don't worry, boy. When we reach Whistlehollow, you'll begin serious, intense training under masters who each bring something different to the table. They'll challenge everything you think you know. So don't slack off. And there, you'll meet others like you—those who can wield fire, shape it, become it."
Shakes didn't react with surprise. It was as though he had already sensed it—or perhaps, deep down, had always known.
After a long moment, he asked, "What's your name, old man? And how did you know my father?"
The man let out a breath, part sigh, part memory. "My name is Tharion Vexwood."
He paused, as though saying the name out loud summoned ghosts from a long-buried past. His voice grew softer, thick with emotion.
"I was once a man drowning in rage and grief. I joined the Den Hunters not out of duty, but out of desperation. I wanted revenge for my beloved wife… and my daughter. They were taken from me during the first great disaster brought by the Den Dwellers."
His voice cracked slightly, but he continued.
"But the truth is… I was a coward. I feared the dens more than I hated the monsters."
Tharion let out a bitter chuckle, dry and humorless.
"Whenever we were sent on missions, I'd find an excuse—some way to disappear into the background. I let others do the killing. I couldn't face the things that lived in those dark places. But I told myself I was doing my part. That being part of the cause, even in silence, was enough. I was lying. To them. To myself."
A breeze stirred the pine needles above, carrying with it a scent of smoke and old earth. Tharion's eyes stared ahead, seeing something far beyond the trees.
"Then came a mission that changed everything. We were ordered to clear a den just outside the city. It was known as a hotspot—lethal, infested. And that's when your father, Gavren Burnedead, joined our unit."
A warmth touched his voice, and a faint smile tugged at his weathered lips.
"He was unlike any man I'd ever met. Brave. Fierce. But more than that… he cared. He had this fire in him—not just the Severflame sword he carried, but something deeper. A fire in his soul. A will to protect. And it burned brighter."
Tharion's eyes softened with the memory, though the light behind them dimmed.
"We reached the den. It was worse than we imagined. Crawling with dwellers—dozens of them. At the center… a Crowned Dweller. Huge. Ancient. Pure nightmare."
He visibly shuddered, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders.
"I froze. My legs refused to move. My sword was like lead in my hand. I shook like a leaf in a storm. But your father… he charged in, like he'd done it a hundred times before. Severflame lit up the den like a sunburst. He tore through them, each strike precise and devastating. And then, in the middle of the chaos, he turned to me."
Tharion looked at Shakes, his voice cracking with memory.
"He shouted at me—not cruelly, but with purpose. He asked me if I really wanted revenge, or if I was going to keep running. He asked if my wife and daughter would want to see me cower—or stand. His words… they didn't just reach my ears. They pierced my soul."
Tharion clenched his trembling hand into a fist, holding it close to his chest.
"That shame. That anger. That sorrow. It erupted. I screamed—screamed like my lungs would tear. And I fought. I fought harder than I thought I could. I ripped through those creatures like a man possessed. When it was over, I wasn't the same. That day… I became a real hunter."
He fell silent again, breathing heavily, eyes glassy.
"After the battle, Gavren clapped me on the back and grinned. 'Took you long enough,' he said."
Tharion's smile faded slowly.
"Then came the day everything changed. I arrived at Den Hunter headquarters expecting routine. But the air was heavy. Silent. Off. Whispers drifted through the halls like smoke."
He swallowed hard.
"That's when I heard it. Gavren Burnedead—the Black Mantle, Wielder of Severflame—was gone. Slain by a Class S Den Dweller."
Shakes inhaled sharply, his eyes wide.
"Class S? That's…"
"Rare," Tharion nodded. "And terrifying. They're more myth than fact. But this one was real. Gavren faced it—and fell. No one expected it. Not him. Not us. I fainted from the shock."
He ran a rough hand over his face, pushing back years of pain.
"Later, we visited your mother, Lina. She was shattered… but strong. She didn't cry in front of us. She held you in her arms and said she had to stay strong—for you. For Gavren."
A shadow passed over Tharion's face.
"A year later, we got word. She was gone too. Killed in a raid. We searched for you. Every orphanage, every camp. But you'd vanished."
Tharion looked directly at him now, his voice firm but kind.
"We thought you were dead."
Shakes didn't speak. His throat was tight. Memories flickered behind his eyes—flames, screams, the cold silence that followed.
"But then," Tharion continued, "years later, I saw you. A man standing tall in the ruins of a den. Severflame in your grip. Fire flying from your strikes like poetry. You fought just like him. Controlled. Relentless."
Tharion placed a calloused hand on Shakes' shoulder.
"That day, I knew. You had survived. You were alive. And more than that—you were ready. That's why I chose to follow you. To help you. To turn that spark inside you into an inferno."
Shakes finally looked him in the eyes, his voice almost a whisper. "The night my father died... the creature that attacked us… that was a Class S, wasn't it?"
Tharion nodded grimly. "Yes. It was."
Silence fell between them like snow, thick and heavy. The wind slowed. Even the forest seemed to hush.
"I failed him," Shakes said, his voice shaking. "I wasn't strong enough. I watched him fall. I couldn't stop it."
"No," Tharion said firmly. "You were a child. You survived. That's more than most. And now you have a chance to finish what he started. To become what he hoped you would."
He squeezed Shakes' shoulder.
"We couldn't find you back then. But fate brought you back. And this time, we're not losing you."
Shakes looked down, his hands balled into trembling fists. The weight of his past, his bloodline, pressed down like a mountain. But beneath it, a fire stirred.
"Thank you," he said simply.
Tharion nodded. "No thanks needed, boy. Just be ready. Whistlehollow lies a day ahead. That's where your training begins. And so does your destiny."
They walked on in silence, side by side. The moon rose above the trees, bathing them in silver light. And somewhere in the distance, beyond the pines, beyond fear, the fires of the future burned—waiting.
To be continued...