The house felt empty without him.
Kitana sat in silence, staring at the wooden floorboards of their cottage, her hands resting on the old dining table. The same table where they had shared breakfast. The same table where Arlo had laughed, teasing her about how she worried too much.
Now, the house was filled with an aching stillness. The faint scent of smoke from the village fire still clung to the walls, a cruel reminder of the night everything was stolen from her.
Days blurred into nights. She remained trapped within the remnants of their life together, unable to leave, unable to move forward. Shadows flickered across the walls as she lit a candle each evening, as if waiting for him to return. Sometimes, she thought she heard his voice in the creaking of the house. Other times, she woke from dreams so vivid she swore she could feel his arms around her.
And yet, the bed was cold.
Kitana had never feared silence before.
Before, it had been comfortable, filled with the quiet rustling of clothes as Arlo moved beside her, the soft breathing of someone she loved nearby. Silence had been peaceful.
Now, it was suffocating.
She lay in their bed, curled beneath thin sheets, staring at the ceiling. The bed was too big. The blankets barely held warmth. The space where he used to sleep was untouched.
How long had it been since she last moved from this spot? Hours? Days?
Her limbs ached, but she didn't care.
A cold breeze slipped in through the cracks in the walls. Winter was creeping in. She should gather firewood, should light the hearth.
But what was the point?
The world outside had moved on. The village had been rebuilt. The dead were mourned, but life continued. Her's didn't
Her stomach growled.
She ignored it.
The hunger was just another dull ache, lost among so many others.
She turned onto her side, her gaze drifting to the chair by the window.
His chair.
Arlo had always sat there in the evenings, one leg slung over the other, a book in his lap. He had never been a particularly fast reader, often rereading passages just to enjoy the way the words flowed.
"You're not even reading, are you?" Kitana had teased once, nudging his knee with her foot.
He had smirked, tapping a page. "I am. I just like the way the ink looks on the paper."
"That's the worst excuse I've ever heard."
"It's not an excuse, it's appreciation."
She had rolled her eyes, but she had smiled anyway.
Now the chair sat empty. The book he had last read still rested on the windowsill, a dry leaf marking his place.
Slowly, she reached for it.
Her fingers brushed the worn cover, and a fresh wave of grief crashed over her.
Kitana curled her hand into a fist and pulled back.
She couldn't do this.
Not today.
It wasn't the hunger that finally drove her from the house. It was the dust.
It had settled over everything—over the table where they had shared meals, over the shelves lined with Arlo's carefully arranged books, over the training swords propped by the door.
Everywhere she looked, it was as if time had moved forward without her.
She grabbed a rag and started wiping things down. The dust clung to her fingers, staining them gray. She cleaned the table first, then the shelves.
Then she reached the training swords.
Her hand hesitated.
She could still hear his voice in her head.
"Keep your stance firm, Kitana. Your enemy won't wait for you to adjust."
"Again. You dropped your elbow."
"No, don't rely on brute force—use the momentum of your swing."
She swallowed hard, gripping the wooden sword.
She had always struggled to match him. Arlo had been fluid, precise, always knowing where to move before his opponent even struck, she knew someday he would becomea knight. Kitana had been reckless, all aggression and impatience.
"You're fast," he had once admitted, grinning as they sparred in the backyard. "But you fight like you're chasing a storm."
"Maybe I am."
"Then learn how to control it."
Kitana let out a shaky breath.
She hadn't picked up a blade since he died.
She should have been the one fighting that night. She should have been the one to—
She clenched her jaw and shoved the training sword back into its place.
Not yet.
The village was just as she had left it—bustling, loud, alive.
Kitana moved through the streets like a ghost. Vendors called out their wares, children ran laughing through the roads, blacksmiths hammered steel into shape.
The normalcy of it all made her sick.
Did no one else realize the world had ended? That he was gone?
She turned a corner and stopped in front of a familiar stall. The scent of roasted chestnuts filled the air, warm and sweet.
Arlo had loved chestnuts.
"Here," she had said once, handing him a bag. "Try them while they're still warm."
He had taken one, biting into it with a hum of approval. "You spoil me."
"Someone has to."
He had smiled at her then, soft and full of love.
Kitana clenched her fists and turned away.
She couldn't do this.
Not today.
She didn't remember how she got to the notice board.
One moment, she had been walking through the village, lost in the past. The next, she was standing in front of it, staring at the parchment pinned to the wood.
One notice caught her eye.
Join the Hunters' Guild—Protect the Land, Earn Your Keep.
A way forward.
Her pulse quickened.
She had no grand plan, no clear path. But she had anger. And grief. And a promise that had taken root to her soul had to be fulfill.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she turned on her heel and walked toward the guild hall.
The guild hall was a different kind of silence. Not empty, not hollow, but heavy with the weight of seasoned warriors.
Eyes turned toward her the moment she stepped inside.
A man behind the counter studied her with a sharp gaze. His arms were thick with muscle, his presence commanding.
"New recruit?" he asked.
Kitana nodded.
"Name?"
Her lips parted.
For a moment, she almost gave him her husband's name.
But she wasn't his shadow. She wasn't what he had left behind.
She was what came next.
"Kitana," she said firmly.
The man pushed the ledger toward her.
She signed.
It was official.
The first hunts were miserable.
They gave her a borrowed sword—heavy, unbalanced. It wasn't hers, and it felt wrong in her hands.
She fought low-level beasts—feral wolves, corrupted hounds, creatures barely worth a real hunter's time. She struggled.
Her movements were clumsy. Her strikes lacked precision.
She trained every night until her arms ached, until blisters covered her hands.
It wasn't enough.
Something was missing.
Something vital.
And then, one night, she found it.
The storage shed behind the house had remained untouched. Dust and time had swallowed everything inside.
But something called to her.
She stepped inside, brushing past forgotten belongings.
And then she saw it.
A wooden box, tucked away beneath old blankets.
Her breath caught.
Slowly, she lifted the lid.
Inside lay two katanas. The hilts were worn with age, the steel rusted from years of neglect.
Her grandfather's weapons.
Kitana reached out.
The moment her fingers curled around the hilt, something inside her shifted.
A memory surged forward.
"A sword isn't just a weapon, Kitana," her grandfather's voice echoed from the past. "It's an extension of yourself. It will answer your will."
Kitana unsheathed one of the blades.
The edge was dull, the metal tarnished.
But in her hands, it felt right.
For the first time since Arlo's death, she felt something other than grief.
She felt ready.
Tomorrow, she would return to the hunt.
And this time, she would not fail.