After the "Great Hunt," a profound sadness fell over the village of Axios. The men who had been taken left behind voids that could not be filled. The atmosphere in the village became heavy and subdued. Lycaon often saw his friend, Icarus, trudging through the work of two people, his thin shoulders seeming to buckle under the weight of an adult. The cheerful innocence had vanished from his face.
The event had taught Lycaon a lesson. He understood that anger and impulsive actions were meaningless. He needed to prepare in a practical way. Every day, he spent more time at the edge of the forest and by the riverbank. He applied his father's lessons systematically. He meticulously crafted snares from vines, concealing them skillfully on the small animal trails. He tasted different kinds of roots, memorizing which were edible and which were poisonous. He was no longer a rebellious boy; he had become a methodical survivor.
But this world did not grant luck easily. Many days passed, and his traps remained empty. He began to feel the harshness of reality, that even wresting a morsel of food from nature was an arduous battle.
And then, one afternoon, his persistence was rewarded. In a trap well-hidden under a bush, he found two fat wild rabbits.
He stood there, looking at his prize. In his heart, there was no boisterous joy, but a cold, calm satisfaction. This was not a miracle. This was the result of calculation and patience.
That evening, for the first time in months, their small house was filled with the smell of roasting meat. Lyra squealed with delight. Mother Theona, though she tried to hide it, had an indescribable look of happiness and pride in her eyes. Even Father Orpheus, who was always taciturn, looked at his son with a different gaze, a mixture of pride and a vague anxiety.
That meal was the most filling and delicious one they'd had in years. Rare laughter echoed through the house, chasing away the heavy atmosphere of the past days. In that moment, it seemed as if all their worries had vanished. It seemed that as long as they were together, trying their best, they could overcome the harsh winter to come. A fragile but warm glimmer of hope had been kindled.
That night, Lycaon lay on his straw bed, listening to the steady breathing of his parents and sister. The warmth from the meal was still in his stomach, but his mind was exceptionally clear. He touched the cold iron hilt of the knife beside him.
He knew that one full meal could not change anything. Winter was fast approaching. And the Church's "Purification Ceremony," like a ghost, still hung over their heads.
This peace was too fragile. It was like a thin layer of ice on a deep, dark lake; just one small stone could shatter it.