The forest felt different that morning.
It wasn't the air—it was still thick with the scent of pine and loam, the distant songs of birds echoing through the trees. Nor was it the light, though the sun filtered gently through the canopy above, dappling the path in broken gold.
No, it was the silence between us.
The kind that came not from fear, but from focus.
Renji led the way, his steps light and practiced. He'd always been good in the woods—his father taught him how to walk like a shadow, to listen before speaking, to see before being seen. Hiro followed just behind, a short blade at his hip and a coil of rope slung over one shoulder.
I came last, fingers tight around the wooden spear Bram had lent me. It wasn't a real weapon—just a reinforced hunting tool—but it felt heavier than any sword in the world.
We weren't children chasing birds anymore.
This was real.
"Tracks," Renji whispered, dropping to one knee. He brushed aside some leaves, revealing a fresh indent in the earth. "Four-toed. Deep weight. It passed this way not long ago."
Hiro crouched beside him. "Westbound."
Renji looked back. "Still want to do this, Aisu?"
I swallowed. "Yes."
He nodded once, then rose. "Stay quiet. Blacktusks are fast, and if we corner it wrong, one of us won't walk back."
I didn't respond. I just followed.
---
We moved through the underbrush with care, tracing broken branches, bent grass, and disturbed roots. The further we went, the more the forest changed. Thicker shadows. Deeper quiet. Even the birds seemed to hold their breath here.
Eventually, we saw it.
A dark shape moved through the trees ahead—low to the ground, muscle-bound, its hide ashen gray with patches of bone-like armor along its flanks. A single jagged tusk curled from its snout, black as obsidian.
It was larger than I imagined.
The blacktusk boar.
Renji gestured for us to split.
He moved right. Hiro circled left.
I waited until I saw them in position, then took my place—front and center, where the spear mattered most. My heartbeat was a drum in my chest. My palms slick with sweat.
We had one chance.
Renji gave the signal.
A thrown rock struck a tree with a sharp crack, and the boar jerked its head toward the noise—just in time for Hiro to hurl another from the opposite side.
The creature roared, a guttural sound, and charged blindly toward me.
I braced.
Everything happened in seconds.
The beast thundered forward. I dropped low, angling the spear. Its tusk came within inches of my chest as I thrust upward with all the strength I could muster.
The tip struck, sliding against its armored shoulder—but not deep enough.
It shrieked and twisted, hurling me backward with a swipe of its head.
I hit the dirt hard, the breath knocked from my lungs.
Renji was already moving, blades flashing as he slashed at its side. Hiro lunged in from the rear, stabbing low, distracting it.
I gasped and forced myself up.
Blood pounded in my ears.
Move. You have to move.
I grabbed the spear, staggered to my feet, and charged again.
This time, I didn't aim for the armor.
I aimed for the eye.
With a cry, I leapt, planting one foot on a rock, and drove the spear down with everything I had.
A sickening crunch—and then stillness.
The blacktusk collapsed, limbs twitching once before going still.
Silence returned.
Panting, I dropped to my knees.
Renji approached, sheathing his blades. "You alright?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah."
Hiro laughed, breathless. "You looked like a lunatic leaping like that."
"Good," I managed. "Means it worked."
---
Later, with ropes tied and the carcass being dragged behind us, we made our way back toward Colva under the mid-morning sun. My body ached. My arms trembled. But my chest felt light.
We hadn't just survived.
We'd won.
"First kill's always the hardest," Renji said.
"Think we'll get good coin?" Hiro asked, nudging the boar with his boot.
"Enough to feed five mouths, maybe more," Renji replied.
I looked toward the sky, watching the clouds drift.
It wasn't glory.
It wasn't magic or blades or flying cities.
But it was a beginning.
And sometimes, a beginning is everything.