Kael didn't show up the next night.
The boy wandered the market alone, the lanterns flickering above like false stars. Merchants still shouted, children still cried, coins still clinked—but without Kael's shadow beside him, the crowd felt sharper, hungrier.
Eyes followed him.
Whispers slid like knives:"Kael's stray is out alone.""Easy pouch.""Blank slates bleed the sweetest."
He tugged his robe tighter, knuckles white around the dagger hidden beneath it. Fuck. I should've stayed in the alley.
A stall barked for attention—trauma coins stacked high, glowing faintly red. Another sold stolen laughter, bottled in crystal vials. Everywhere he turned, temptation reeked like rot.
Then he felt it. A prickle at the back of his neck. Someone watching too closely.
He slipped into a side corridor, boots silent on damp stone. The whispers of the crowd dulled, replaced by the faint drip of water.
That's when he heard it. Steps. Slow. Measured. Following.
His hand tightened on the dagger. Heart pounding, he spun around.
Three figures emerged from the dark. Hoods low, eyes glinting. Hunters.
The tallest one smiled, teeth gleaming in the lantern haze. "Kael's pet. Out without a leash."
The boy swallowed hard, dagger raised. "Not in the mood. Fuck off."
They chuckled. The leader tilted his head. "We don't want you, stray. We want your pouch."
Of course. Always the fucking pouch.
His chest burned. His dagger felt too light against three predators. But his muscles thrummed with stolen reflexes, instincts pulling him into a stance before his mind could scream.
I'm not prey.
The tallest hunter stepped forward. "Last chance. Drop it."
The boy's grip tightened. His lips curled into a bitter smile. "Come and take it."
The first hunter lunged. Steel slashed for his ribs.
His body moved on its own—dagger flashing up, deflecting the strike. His pivot was perfect, feet shifting with the rhythm burned into his bones. His blade bit deep into the attacker's shoulder. Blood sprayed.
The man roared, staggering back.
The second hunter swung a mace down. The boy ducked low, reflexes screaming through his veins, and drove his dagger up under the ribs. Warmth spilled over his hand as the man collapsed, choking.
The third froze for a heartbeat, then snarled, charging. Their blades clashed, sparks lighting the shadows. The boy's arms shook, but instinct carried him—parry, twist, strike.
His dagger carved across the man's throat. The hunter gurgled, collapsing in a heap.
Silence.
The boy stood panting, chest heaving, blood dripping down his arm. His vision blurred, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
Three bodies lay at his feet. Three glowing coins scattered across the stone.
He stared at them, bile rising. I killed them. I fucking killed them.
But his hands still moved, scooping up the coins, shoving them into his pouch. Because survival demanded it. Because Kael was right—prey dies, predators live.
Footsteps echoed behind him. He spun, dagger raised.
Kael leaned casually against the wall, smirking. "Not bad."
The boy's stomach twisted. "You were watching?"
Kael's smirk sharpened. "Lesson ten. No one hunts alone. You survived the test. Congratulations."
Rage flared. "You set me up!"
Kael shrugged. "And you didn't die. That's what matters."
The boy's hand shook around the dagger, caught between stabbing Kael and collapsing. Instead, he spat to the side, voice raw. "Fuck you."
Kael's laugh echoed, cold and amused. "Good. Keep that anger. You'll need it."
The boy staggered past him, blood heavy on his hands, the weight of the pouch digging into his hip.
Each step felt heavier, but one truth burned clearer than ever:
In this world, there were no lessons. Only survival.
The boy spent the rest of the night scrubbing his hands raw in the underground stream that cut through the market. No matter how hard he scraped, the blood clung, staining his skin, seeping under his nails.
The water ran red, then pink, then clear. His hands still stank of iron.
He slumped against the stone wall, chest heaving. Three hunters dead. Three coins heavier. His body thrummed with their reflexes, his veins hot with stolen instincts.
His mind screamed. His stomach twisted. But his hand still clutched the pouch tight.
I survived.
That truth drowned everything else.
When he dragged himself back to the stalls, merchants stared longer than usual. Some with curiosity. Others with calculation.
"Not dead yet.""Stronger now."
Their whispers crawled over his skin like insects.
At the little girl's stall, she glanced up from her stale bread. Her gaze lingered on his trembling hands, the blood he hadn't washed clean.
"You killed again," she said flatly.
His throat tightened. "…Yeah."
Her eyes narrowed, unreadable. "Then you'll keep killing. That's the only way to stay alive."
He wanted to argue. To scream he wasn't like Kael, wasn't like them. But the coins at his hip clinked, mocking him.
Instead, he shoved a coin onto her tray. "Food."
She handed him a hard loaf, gaze steady, unblinking.
He bit into it, jaw aching, crumbs scattering across his lap. The bread tasted like ash, but it kept him breathing.
Every bite echoed the same bitter truth: survival had a price. And he was already paying.
Kael found him the next morning, lounging near the gate like a wolf in human skin. His smirk hadn't changed.
"You handled yourself well," Kael said, grey eyes sharp. "Three hunters in one night. Not bad for a stray."
The boy's voice was hoarse. "You set me up."
Kael shrugged, unconcerned. "Lesson eleven. No hunter survives without being hunted first."
His jaw clenched. "You could've warned me."
Kael chuckled. "Warning dulls instincts. You needed the fear. Fear sharpens."
The boy's hand twitched toward his dagger. He wanted to drive it into Kael's throat, wipe that smirk off his face. But rage and survival tangled together until he could barely breathe.
Kael leaned close, voice low, almost a whisper. "You hate me. Good. Hate keeps you alive. Love? Mercy? They'll kill you faster than a blade."
The boy's chest burned. His pulse thundered. But he stayed silent, because Kael was right about one thing—anger kept him moving.
Kael straightened, cloak shifting. "Tonight, we hunt deeper. Stronger prey. Bigger coins."
The boy's stomach turned, but his fist tightened around his pouch.
He wanted to scream, to run, to throw it all away. But instead, he muttered, "Fine."
Kael's smirk widened. "Good. You're starting to sound like a hunter."
The boy turned away, the taste of iron still on his tongue.
If becoming a hunter is the only way to live… then I'll walk the path. But I'll never forget who pushed me into it.