Chapter 30: The Hunt Begins
Morning came swiftly, the pale light filtering through stained glass windows and pooling onto the marble floors. The academy grounds buzzed with energy as students gathered in the main courtyard, armor gleaming and weapons strapped securely. The chill of dawn hung in the air, mist curling between boots and swirling faintly with every breath.
Lyrian stood with Elyreina, Reynard, Selene, and Dorian near one of the stone archways, arms crossed and gaze distant. He wore a dark cloak over reinforced leather, the hilt of his blade peeking out beneath the folds. Though his posture was relaxed, his eyes were sharp, scanning the crowd with a calculated coolness.
Elyreina glanced at him briefly, concern flickering in her emerald eyes, but she said nothing. Beside her, Reynard grinned, fingers drumming impatiently against the pommel of his sword.
"Well," he drawled, voice carrying a faintly amused lilt, "looks like everyone's either half-asleep or scared stiff."
Dorian snorted, inspecting the edge of his blade with a bored expression. "Can you blame them? Not every day we get thrown into a beast-infested forest with no backup."
"Cowards," Reynard scoffed. "They should try fighting a King-Tier beast with nothing but a shattered blade and a headache."
"Right," Dorian deadpanned, "because your suffering makes them feel so much better."
Elyreina hid a smile behind her hand, eyes softening. Even Selene's usually guarded expression eased the faintest bit.
A horn's low, resonant call cut through the chatter, drawing every gaze to the raised platform at the courtyard's center. Professors and observers stood in a line, robes pristine and expressions severe. At their head, an instructor with grizzled hair and a scar tracing his jaw stepped forward, eyes gleaming with a hard, appraising light.
"Attention!" his voice boomed, silencing the crowd instantly. "Today marks the start of your first official hunt. Beyond the northern gate lies the Ashen Wilds—a forest dense with beasts of varying ranks."
His gaze swept over the gathered students, pausing briefly on Lyrian's group before continuing. "Your objective is simple: survive, hunt, and return with as many beast crystals as possible. Each crystal will be evaluated and points allocated based on the rank of the beast slain."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, some students paling while others straightened with barely contained excitement.
The instructor's eyes narrowed. "Stray too far from your group, and you'll find yourselves overwhelmed. Retreat if necessary—arrogance will get you killed faster than any beast's claws. Healing stations will be marked, but reaching them is your responsibility. You have one week to complete this task. Survive, adapt, and return victorious—or not at all."
A chorus of affirmations followed, some more confident than others.
Reynard scoffed softly, a smirk curling his lips. "Well, doesn't this sound like a lovely stroll through the woods?"
Selene sighed, adjusting the strap of her quiver. "Try not to die within the first hour," she muttered.
"No promises."
Elyreina chuckled under her breath, the sound soft but genuine. "We should focus on working together," she reminded, voice calm. "If we split up, it'll only make things harder."
Dorian nodded curtly. "Agreed. We'll cover more ground efficiently if we stick together." His eyes flickered to Lyrian. "Any objections?"
Lyrian shrugged, gaze distant. "None," he muttered simply.
Reynard arched a brow, lips twitching with faint amusement. "Well, that's the most agreeable you've been since we met."
Lyrian didn't bother to respond, eyes drifting back to the platform where the instructors were handing out enchanted pouches—each one inscribed with faint runes designed to preserve the beast crystals without degrading their power.
As one was pressed into his hand, Lyrian's fingers tightened faintly around the smooth fabric. His reflection flickered faintly in the polished metal trim—eyes colder, features sharper. He glanced away quickly.
The gates to the Ashen Wilds creaked open with a groan, mist rolling out in curling tendrils. The scent of damp earth and pine wafted through, sharp and foreboding.
The instructor's voice rang out one last time, hard and unyielding. "You have one week. Survive, adapt, and return victorious—or not at all."
Without further ceremony, students began moving forward in clusters, some hesitating at the edge while others surged eagerly. Lyrian adjusted the strap of his sheath, falling into step with the others as they passed beneath the archway and into the forest's embrace.
Reynard let out a low whistle, eyes glinting with thrill. "Well," he mused, voice low but unshaken, "guess it's time to see what we're really made of."
Elyreina glanced at him, lips curling faintly. "Stay close," she warned softly. "And try not to get us all killed."
"No promises," Reynard grinned, blade gleaming as he unsheathed it.
Lyrian smirked faintly but remained silent, eyes fixed forward. The mist clung to the trees in wispy coils, light filtering through in gentle streams. Somewhere in the distance, a beast's howl cut through the quiet—low and guttural, like gravel grinding beneath iron.
The hunt had begun.