Perytos shifted in his bed, mumbling something incomprehensible. He twisted again. Slowly he began to wake; his golden, animalistic eyes snapped into focus. Damn, what are they making, it smells so good.

  It turned out that they were, indeed, making some omelets with a side of fried, greasy bacon.

  When he slowly walked down the stairs to the dining room, Callum greeted him with an uncertain smile. Mercel lazily kept watch of other guests at the diner. He sat on a furnished sofa, curled up into a fluffy ball. Perytos’ loyal hound just blinked feverishly at him in greeting.

  "How are you doing... you know, after yesterday?" Callum asked with a tight smile carved on his face.

  "Definitely better than yesterday. Much poorer." Perytos shortly replied. His declaration made Callum slump down in shame- Like a friendly dog that disappointed its owners.

  “I’m sorry, I was useless back there in the alley. I could have said something, stand up for us.”

  “Don’t overthink it. You did as much as any one of us; if you spoke up, that guy would just cleave you in half. It is not right for a guard to do such a thing.” The younger boy said quietly, as he clasped Callum on his shoulder. Then, he raised his voice slightly in an attempt of joviality.

  "On a positive note, the sooner we can get out of this godforsaken town the better. Are you going to the capital with us?” The question caught the Primal human like a deer in headlights. His eyes widened, as he had to consider his future. Never before did he have to decide for himself.

  Mercel snorted from his little cot. Both ignored him. Callum’s jaw tensed hard, but Perytos had no way of knowing what went on in there. It must have worked either way, since Callum’s voice steadied- Like a tree unwilling to bend in the strongest wind.

  “I’m going with you.”

  It was not a question; it was a declaration.

  After they ate breakfast, Perytos split from Callum. Mercel obediently followed in his footsteps. They collectively decided that splitting up would save them more time running errands; more importantly, they could get out of Netcore as soon as possible.

  Perytos and Mercel had only the clothes on their backs- fur in the lykani’s case- while Callum carried a small hemp bag filled with memorabilia. As it turned out, Callum had scrounged up some money from that bag, along with a few flickers of change from the inn’s good Samaritans, who felt pity at Callum’s cunning act.

  Callum was tasked with getting any food and camping supplies for the road, while Perytos along with Mercel looked for any ensemble willing to let them join.

  The roads inside the New Empire were relatively safe- Except during Beast Tides or hostile incursions- it was just that the road from Netcore to the capital would take weeks on foot. Ideally, they would snatch a horse or different means of transportation on sale; as it was, they would have to make do.

  To be honest, there was no shortage of carriages or draft animals for sale. It was just that they couldn’t even afford the price tag.

  When they parted ways, they agreed to meet on the south end of the city at noon. Callum headed in the opposite direction, to the barren merchant stalls.

  Perytos quickly lost sight of him in the crowd; the people of Netcore were quick to bounce back from grieving- Life had to go on.

  Perytos wanted to find a caravan with still empty seats. Better that than risk getting robbed. Because of the happenings of yesterday though, that was looking unlikely. Everyone wanted to get out as quick as possible; the walls may not have been breached, but it would take weeks to the Tremor wood’s ecosystem to return to balance. Without the main source of income, merchants had no business here, along with the adventurers and mercenaries.

  It turned out his hunch was correct. Time after time, they were rejected. All the groups of adventurers in heavy metal armor were too expensive for them to hire, while any merchants traveling in groups had all their spots taken. Hell, they even asked some of the logging companies disembarking with their produce. They were desperate. No one wanted them.

  When they were marching to the south gate to meet Callum and admit defeat, Perytos stopped. His survival instincts blared. Looking around rapidly, he searched for the source of danger. There!

  Perytos gasped audibly. Those were the bastards that tried to kidnap Mercel. His anger flared like unleashed forgefire, but Perytos stifled it urgently.

  His instincts guided him gently to hide behind a nearby crate. He quickly pulled Mercel behind himself. Hopefully they remained undetected.

  Your skill(Survival instincts) has reached level 7-8

  He warily glanced from behind the crate. They were just standing there, weapon in hand, talking and laughing. Are... are they guards?

  It definitely seemed so. The one he remembered as Bart just stopped a passerby and gesticulated for their papers.

  I can't believe it, they are just standing there, and no one is doing anything! He wanted to walk up to them and punch those smug smirks off their faces, but he knew better.

  Perytos may have been young and inexperienced, but no one would accuse him of being careless when other people depended on him.

  He focused on the things he could actually change. Mercel was by his side, coiled in a fetal position, whining like a scared pup. The young lykani shook in recoiling tremors, probably thinking about the corrupted men that tried to take him away.

  Perytos embraced him, caressing his companion's fur while tears of rage slipped free from his golden eyes.

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  A gentle tap on the shoulder took him out of it. Mercel still shook slightly, but the worst had passed. Perytos looked up, knowing his companion was safe. The same cloaked figure that saved him before stared at him.

  Stanford looked much worse for wear; his masterfully crafted cloak was now in tatters, one of his signature daggers was missing from the holster on his hip. Even the older man’s beard was caught in the crossfire; pieces of it were charred while others were missing entirely.

  “Are you okay?" Perytos asked carefully. The man looked like he came from a warzone.

  Stanford shook his head.

  “I should be the one asking you. You look like you’ve seen better times.”

  Perytos didn’t know what to say. Should he tell the truth? That things were falling apart whenever he touched them?

  He bottled his doubts for the moment- it wouldn’t do to break down in the middle of the street; they had work to do. He just grumbled, “I’m fine.”

  The hardy man nodded without a word and gestured to follow him. It should have scared him, but he knew Stanford meant him no harm. Also, his Survival instincts were silent.

  They walked through winding alleyways and districts of the walled-off city with only silence as their companion. Perytos was deep in thought, wondering how he could get stronger, so a situation like that never happened. Suddenly he stopped, bumping into Stanford.

  "Watch the cape, it's still repairable- Unless you destroy it completely." The older man warned.

  Perytos wanted to ask how exactly those few strands of loose material could be repaired but thought better of it.

  They were at their destination. A small, stone building jutted out of the ground. Stanford unlocked the door with a clang, and walked in.

  "I'll brew some tea, make yourself at home." The veteran monster hunter said, taking off his aforementioned cloak.

  Looking around, Perytos saw many trophies of dead beasts; giant bone-white antlers, scaled maws full of razor-sharp teeth, or glowing shards of crystallized power.

  What caught his eyes though were the framed photographs of young people celebrating a good hunt. They usually held some beast carcass, displaying it proudly, but not always.

  Perytos found two chairs in the living room and sat down, with Mercel coiling beside him. The wolf was still shaken but had put on his aloof mask. Either way, Perytos left him alone for now.

  It was... weird being in Stanford's house. The experienced monster hunter didn't seem like the type to own a house, or drink tea on that matter. It seemed kind of lonely, being here on his own. He felt some pity for the man, as rough as he had sometimes been, he still helped them, risking his life in the process.

  An herbal scent attracted his senses. It tasted of home; of the exact same blend his mother drank on cold mornings. He got a bit teary eyed, but quickly reigned control of himself. He was here to talk after all, not reminisce about days gone by.

  “So” Stanford started, appearing with a hot, steaming mug. "Tell me, how does a boy and a lykani end up alone in the Tremor woods?"

  “You know?” Perytos asked, surprised. Lykani were beasts of legend; people would rather believe Mercel was a mutated wolf than one of the Lunar Defenders.

  “Oh please, I’ve been hunting for decades. Of course I can recognize one of the great beasts. Now, if you would please answer my question.”

  And so Perytos spun up his tale, telling Stanford about the tragedy that had befallen him, along with how he met Mercel. He also told him about the men at the gates and what they tried to do. He hoped the veteran would take his side over those scumbags’.

  When he finished, he felt lighter, finally able to let it all out. The weight that had been compounding on him didn't disappear, but it did feel just a bit lighter on his shoulders.

  Stanford just said: "I see..." And fell deep in thought.

  He finally finished processing Perytos' words, just as his tea was beginning to get cold.

  "You were very lucky that the horde gathered, all but the weakest beasts in the Tremor woods would end you in a blink. Those undead and their leader scared off any bigger beasts, leaving just the low-tier critters."

  Stanford put his hand on Perytos' shoulders. His eyes shone with gentle pride, veiled in existential sadness.

  "You really went through a lot; no one deserves to experience what you did. Most people would break under that burden. People even stronger than me."

  He winced, bracing at what he was about to say. "Unfortunately, I can't do anything about those bandits, or the poachers." Perytos didn't replay, waiting for the man to explain himself, his face was unreadable.

  "I can't hunt the bandits down. Their trail is already too cold, and I’ve spent most of my Soul spark hunting for the Composer. Maybe if it was earlier... After over three days, all their signs are gone, and I am no diviner, just a damn good tracker.

  Your friend Mercel's situation is a bit trickier. If those guards had been poaching on a noble's payroll like I suspect, then there is little I can do. My influence is limited; I am just a cranky old man. No one of importance. Had either one of us had reported those bastards we would be put in prison while they would get to walk free.”

  His face turned wistful, reminiscing on past regrets. "The only way to protect what's yours is to be too strong for anyone to oppose you." As he was saying that he looked at his chimney, where a framed picture of a beautiful young woman sat. She hugged a younger, adolescent version of the broken, sad man in front of Perytos.

  Perytos still didn't say anything; he didn't even move, but inside his thoughts churned like the sea before a tide. I guess he doesn't owe me anything, but this seems really disappointing. Those people deserve what's coming for them, even if it takes a hundred years.

  He vowed to himself; he wouldn't let those bastards escape. Not even if he had to chase them until the end of this world. Still, he had a long way to walk. It would be long before he was strong enough to seek justice. Perytos forced his feelings of rage and pain down, compressing them and stowing them until he had the strength to process them.

  He replied emotionlessly. "Okay, I understand. Can you help me in any other way?" At this Stanford just nodded, clearly uncomfortable at his weakness to do anything meaningful.

  "There’s a few things I can do. Mostly give you more money since I already have more than I can ever spend, but also a trinket or two you could both find useful."

  He stood up, searching for where he put away the items he mentioned. After a few moments of rustling, he pulled out a large... trident covered in rust, and a collar with colorful red ribbons. The choice of the items seemed strange, but who was Perytos to decide?

  "Those seemed like the best items I have on hand, and any other ones would take too much time, since most merchants are out of town."

  "It's fine, just what do they do...?" Perytos asked, confused.

  "Well, ekhem." The older man coughed softly into his hand.

  "The collar is the most useful for you immediately, its enchant allows the creature that wears it to change the color of their skin or fur. It would be best that shiny friend of yours isn't recognized at a second glance. It already is a miracle that no one recognized him."

  Perytos decided to omit that someone already recognized the lykanos.

  "The trident however... it was- never mind. Basically, it's made of a very tough alloy, even though it isn't enchanted. Right now, though, it’s just a rusty piece of junk. It should serve you well if you decide to have it restored.”

  As he was handing them off, he stopped, sorrow evident on his face. "Just... treat it with care. It means a lot to me- used to at least." Perytos nodded, even if he decided to use a different weapon, he would respect the elder’s wishes. It was his first weapon, discounting his pocketknife- if it could even be considered such.

  With everything that needed to be said, acknowledged, Mercel along with Perytos stood up.

  When they were at the door of the little cottage, Perytos' heart stirred. He felt for the man, he really did. The old, enigmatic man offered kindness from the start. Even though he was rough around the edges, it didn't mean he deserved to be alone. Most didn't.

  Looking back, Perytos said. "Thank you, for everything you've done for us. You saved our lives. I won't ever forget it. If... When I come back here, I'll visit you."

  As someone who had all his past ties severed, he knew what it was like to be alone.

  Perytos opened the door, readying himself for what Epision would throw at him.