The night air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the tall grass at the edge of the clearing. The last embers of the campfire glowed a dull red, occasionally spitting sparks that floated upward before fading into the darkness. The silence of the forest was deceptive—every rustle of leaves, every crack of twigs was sharpened to Hunnt's ears, as though the world itself leaned closer to hear what he would decide tonight.
Hunnt sat cross-legged by the fire, gauntlets resting against his thighs, his broad shoulders slumped with the weight of the day. Pyro was curled tightly at his side, tail wrapped close to his body, ears flicking at every sound in the brush. They had eaten little, a scrap of dried meat and a few berries scavenged from their packs, but hunger wasn't what gnawed at Hunnt's chest.
The sting of rejection still burned in him. The guild's sharp words, the cruel laughter of hunters who looked down on him, the way the ledger had closed without his name written in it—it all pressed like iron chains against his chest. Behind that, deeper still, was the image of smoldering ruins where a village once stood. The smell of ash. The cries of survivors who had no defenders left.
Yet in all that weight, a spark refused to be smothered.
"I can't rely on the guild," Hunnt murmured at last, his gaze fixed on the trembling flame. His voice was low, but it carried a steel edge that had not been there before. "Not their rules… not their pride. If villages are left to die, if monsters roam unchecked… then we'll have to take matters into our own hands."
Pyro stirred, raising his head. His golden eyes reflected the light of the embers, twin sparks mirroring Hunnt's resolve. "Action… how, master?"
Hunnt exhaled slowly, and as he did, his thoughts sharpened. That tiny spark inside him became a blaze, and in its glow, he saw a path forward.
"We'll become wandering hunters. But not just for ourselves… for the villages, for the people, for the world. And one day, we'll gather others who share this purpose. An organization… a family of hunters who do what must be done."
Pyro's ears perked, his tail flicking thoughtfully. "An organization?"
Hunnt nodded, firm and steady. "Yes. But it needs a name. Wandering hunter… that's too long, too cumbersome. Drifters. That's it. Short, simple, easy to remember. Our members will be Drifters—loyal, brave, and willing to risk everything to protect those in need."
He leaned back, drawing lines absently in the dirt beside him with his gauntleted finger. Each stroke was slow, deliberate, as though his very thoughts were being carved into the earth itself.
"But loyalty alone isn't enough," he continued, his voice dropping into something solemn. "They must keep our existence secret. They can work alongside other groups, even hunters' guilds if needed, but the Eternal Wanderer… our actions, our purpose… must remain hidden from the public. Only those who truly understand the mission will know the truth."
Pyro purred softly, rubbing his cheek against Hunnt's knee. "I like it… Drifters."
Hunnt's brow furrowed as he stared into the glowing embers. He could already see it—the structure, the foundation.
"We'll need more than hunters. Scholars to study monsters and the world, artisans to craft weapons and tools, support specialists for healing and logistics, merchants to manage supplies, scouts to track threats and gather information… and of course, hunters to fight. Everyone plays a role, but all share the same goal: protect the innocent, save lives, stop monsters before they destroy everything."
His gaze lifted from the fire to the night sky. The heavens stretched endlessly above, stars scattered like sparks across black velvet. Inspiration struck him with the same weight as the guild's rejection earlier that day.
"Every organization needs an emblem," Hunnt whispered. "Something that represents us. Something every Drifter can recognize at a glance, no matter where they go."
Closing his eyes, he began to describe what his mind's eye saw.
"A black circle as the base… the world, whole and endless. At the center, a triangle pointing upward, symbolizing growth and strength. Overlaid with a subtle fist silhouette… courage, action, protection. Around the edges, small dots, streaks, and spirals. Decorative, but meaningful—paths of stars, journeys that never end."
Hunnt tapped his chin, opening his eyes again to stare at the crude sketch in the dirt.
"Where should we place it? A tattoo on the back of the hand… a tool mark… subtly etched into their gear. It must be visible only to members, meaningful only to them."
Pyro's tail flicked in approval, his whiskers twitching. "Subtle… but unmistakable."
Hunnt allowed himself a small smile. The firelight made his expression half-shadow, half-light—hope wrapped in determination.
"Drifters will be the heart of this organization. Loyal to the Eternal Wanderer, loyal to me. Ready to risk their lives to save villages, protect people… defend the world. Silent, disciplined, honorable."
He traced the emblem one last time, imagining it engraved into steel, stitched into leather, inked into skin. Each mark would be more than a symbol—it would be a vow.
"We begin small… one hunter, one companion. Then we grow. Only those who understand our purpose will be allowed to join. Our guild will not exist for fame, recognition, or personal gain. It will exist for those who have no one else. For those left behind by the world."
Pyro shifted, pressing his head more firmly against Hunnt's knee. His voice was quiet, but certain.
"We can do it, master. We'll make a difference."
Hunnt looked down at him, and for the first time since the rejection, a spark of humor lit his features. His eyes glinted in the firelight, and a smirk tugged at his lips.
"And we need a motto. A philosophy to guide us. Something simple, true… and strong."
He thought for a moment, letting the weight of the night air and the endless stars settle over him. Then the words came, as natural as breathing. He smiled, then chuckled softly, laughter rolling out of him in quiet relief. Pyro looked up, his ears twitching, then laughed too—a small, honest sound that cracked through the heaviness.
"The path has no end, the hunt has no master," Hunnt declared at last. The words rang through the quiet clearing, not loud, but powerful—like steel drawn from a sheath.
Pyro straightened, his tail curling upward. "Perfect, master. That… that feels right."
Hunnt leaned back, lying on his elbows, eyes fixed on the glittering stars above. His chest no longer felt weighed down; instead, it felt anchored—steady, certain. He imagined the years ahead: others joining them, voices repeating the motto, lives saved, villages protected.
The Eternal Wanderer had been born in the shadows, in the ashes of rejection and loss. But it would grow, as all sparks grow, into a flame that no storm could snuff out.
Drifters would rise. Scholars, artisans, hunters, merchants, and scouts would all play their part. Together, they would protect the innocent, fight the threats that others ignored, and keep the world safe—quietly, fiercely, and with loyalty that could never be broken.
The fire sank lower, embers winking out one by one. Long shadows stretched across the clearing, but Hunnt no longer saw them as dark. He traced the emblem once more into the dirt, his finger lingering on the triangle and the fist. He pictured it on the hands of comrades he had yet to meet, etched into weapons forged for battles not yet fought.
Tomorrow, he thought, would be the first step. But tonight, beneath the stars and with the fire as witness, the path of the Eternal Wanderer had begun.
And though no one else in the world yet knew its name, destiny itself seemed to lean closer, listening.