Chapter 1: The Lord of the Hunt
The Wild Hunt had existed before Jack.
It was a storm birthed from countless myths across countless worlds. A whisper of terror given form: hounds baying in the void, riders cloaked in shadow, horns that heralded calamity.
It had no face.
It had no voice.
It was only a concept.
Until now.
—
Jack remembered dying. Forgotten in the dark. A body that the world would never miss. And then—awakening.
He opened his eyes beneath a storm.
Above him, riders charged across the sky, their steeds striking sparks from the air. Hounds prowled in the thunderclouds, their eyes like twin suns. And the horns—oh, the horns—blew long and low, shaking the heavens.
The Hunt turned to him.
Not as prey.
But as master.
A voice rang in his soul, a truth that could not be denied:
[Gift: The Eternal Hunt]
The embodiment of pursuit. The storm, the riders, the hounds—yours to command. Where the Hunt rides, prey is inevitable.
Jack staggered to his feet. The plain beneath him was endless crystal grass, each blade bending in worship to the storm. On the horizon, he saw them: colossal gates, towering to the heavens, engraved with starlight.
[Little Garden].
The Hunt pressed close. The hounds growled, their hot breath like fire. The riders lowered their spears, awaiting his command.
Jack swallowed, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"…I… am this?"
The sky answered with a deafening horn.
He was no longer a forgotten boy. He was the Fey Lord of the Wild Hunt — the very concept made flesh.
And the world of Little Garden shuddered at his arrival.