The knight's name was Sir Aldric of Veyne.
Kael learned it from the tavern whispers, spoken in half-awe, half-dread. Aldric was not a passing sellsword nor a common soldier; he was a sworn blade of the Order of the Wyvern — men who hunted monsters in all their forms.
It was said Aldric had slain a troll in the mountain passes, burned out a coven of witches in the east, and cut down a beast that drank blood from the sleeping. He wore his scars openly, each one a story carved into his flesh. His armor bore not the gleam of vanity but the dull scrape of battles survived.
This was no ordinary man. This was a hunter.
And his eyes were on Kael.
The first test came quietly.
At the forge, where Kael labored under his father's watch, Aldric appeared without warning. He stood in the doorway, the light of the fire painting his steel in shades of red.
"Boy," Aldric said, voice steady, commanding. "Show me your hands."
Kael froze, hammer mid-swing. His heart thudded once, heavy. Slowly, he set the hammer down and raised his hands.
Aldric's gaze swept over them — the calluses, the faint scars, the nails still rimmed in rawness from nights he could not remember. The knight's expression did not change.
"You've strength for your age," Aldric remarked. "And the look of one who does not sleep."
Kael forced a shrug. "The forge demands both."
Aldric's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "A fine answer." He lingered a moment longer, then left without another word.
Kael's father muttered under his breath, but Kael barely heard. His pulse thundered in his ears.
The second test came in the woods.
Aldric led another night hunt, hounds baying, torches burning bright. Kael was pressed into the group, though every nerve screamed at him to flee. He could feel Aldric's eyes on his back, sharp as a blade.
Midway through the hunt, Aldric called a halt. The men gathered in a clearing, hounds straining at their leashes. The knight crouched, pointing at the snow.
Tracks.
But not wolf tracks. Larger. Heavier. Clawed.
Kael's stomach knotted. He knew those tracks. They were his.
The villagers muttered nervously, gripping spears and pitchforks. Aldric straightened, gaze flicking to Kael.
"You know these woods," the knight said. "Tell us what beast leaves such a mark."
Kael swallowed, throat dry. "A… boar, perhaps. A great one."
Murmurs rippled. Aldric studied him in silence, then gave a single nod. "Perhaps."
The hunt moved on. But Kael knew. Aldric had seen the truth in his hesitation.
The third test came at dawn.
Kael had just returned from the woods, his tunic damp with dew, his breath ragged from a night of struggle against the hunger. He stepped into the village square — and found Aldric waiting.
The knight stood alone, sword sheathed, arms crossed. The morning sun gleamed off his armor, but his eyes were colder than steel.
"You walk often at night," Aldric said. Not a question.
Kael's blood chilled. "The forge burns late."
"Then why," Aldric asked softly, stepping closer, "do you smell of earth and pine, and not of smoke?"
Kael's throat tightened. He searched for words, any words, but none came. The hunger stirred, sensing danger, urging him to lash out, to silence the knight before his questions carved deeper.
Aldric's hand brushed the hilt of his sword. "You've the look of prey trying to wear a hunter's skin. Tell me, boy — what are you?"
For a heartbeat, Kael thought the mask would shatter then and there. His amber eyes glimmered in the sunlight, brighter than they should have. His nails bit into his palms, blood welling. The beast within screamed for release.
But before Kael could answer — before either blade or fang could flash — a cry went up from the far side of the square.
Another body had been found.
The moment broke. Aldric's gaze lingered a heartbeat longer, then he turned and strode toward the commotion, his cloak snapping behind him.
Kael sagged against the wall, breath ragged. He had escaped — but only just.
That night, Kael could not sleep. He lay staring at the rafters, the hunger gnawing, the knight's voice echoing in his skull.
What are you?
The truth pressed against his lips, against his very skin. He was not merely cursed. Not merely hungry. He was something older, deeper — something born of fire and blood.
And Sir Aldric of Veyne would not rest until he dragged that truth into the light.
The first hunter had come.
And Kael knew, with a certainty as sharp as steel, that only one of them would live to see the end.