The steel sang before dawn.
A clean, sharp whistle cut through the morning mist as blades clashed on the training grounds — the last echo of discipline before the world outside consumed it.
Kael stood at the center of it all, sweat clinging to his jawline, the scent of iron and dust lingering in the air. The academy yard spread around him — wide stone tiles, scarred from years of sparring. Rows of recruits watched from the sidelines, silent beneath the pale hue of the rising sun.
The exam proctor, an old veteran with a scar across his temple, raised his hand. "Final evaluation… commence."
Kael's opponent lunged — a blur of motion and rage. Their blades collided, sparks lighting the mist. Kael twisted, catching the edge, sliding low before striking the opponent's side in one clean arc. The man fell to his knees, the wooden blade snapping from the impact.
Silence. Then the proctor's voice cut through.
"Passed."
The word hit Kael like a release. His breathing steadied as he lowered his sword. Around him, murmurs broke the still air. Some clapped, others whispered his name — not in awe, but in expectation. Kael never celebrated his victories; he only measured the distance between himself and failure.
He sheathed his sword, eyes lifting toward the open horizon beyond the academy walls. The same sky under which he had lost everything.
---
The graduation hall was held in the old cathedral — once a church, now converted into the Hunter Corps' sanctuary. Stained glass windows painted the room in colors that no longer had meaning. The banners of the Corps hung behind the stage, emblazoned with their symbol — a pair of wings crossed by a single sword.
Kael stood with three others, the freshly appointed Ash Unit.
"Kael Verrin," the commander announced, voice echoing off the marble walls. "By merit of discipline, mastery, and leadership, you are hereby appointed Captain of Ash Unit."
Kael stepped forward to accept the insignia — a silver emblem shaped like a burning feather.
Rin clicked his tongue behind him. "Figures," he muttered.
Kael turned slightly, catching his teammate's smirk. Rin's crimson hair fell into his eyes, his stance loose and confident — too confident. He was the unit's powerhouse, sharp-tempered, impulsive. If Kael was the blade, Rin was the fire that tempered it.
Next came Lira, standing quiet and graceful, eyes hidden behind the reflection of her glasses. Her fingers tapped her thigh rhythmically, mind clearly elsewhere — calculating, always calculating.
And finally, Taro, the youngest, barely sixteen, adjusting his coat with nervous energy. His sword was almost as tall as he was. When their eyes met, he grinned sheepishly.
"Ash Unit," the commander continued. "You will serve as the Corps' vanguard against the hidden curse that plagues our cities. Wendigos lurk among the living — unseen, undetected. You will be our first line."
The hall fell silent.
For a moment, Kael felt the weight of those words press into his chest. He knew them too well. Wendigos.
The name carried memory — the stench of blood, the cracking of bones, the sound of a girl's last breath beneath a bedframe.
He clenched his fists around the insignia until the edges bit into his skin.
---
That evening, they trained one last time. The sky dimmed into a bruised violet, lamps flickering along the grounds.
Rin was the first to speak, spinning his sword casually.
"So, Captain," he said, voice dripping with mock respect. "You really think we're ready for this?"
Kael didn't look up from tying his blade's hilt. "We've been trained for years. We're ready enough."
"Ready enough to die?" Rin shot back.
Lira sighed, brushing her silver hair aside. "Statistically speaking, new units have a survival rate of thirty-two percent. If we die, we'll be average."
Taro choked. "You're not helping, Lira!"
Kael stood, resting the sword on his shoulder. "We don't plan to die. We plan to finish the mission."
Rin smirked. "And what if we don't?"
Kael turned then, eyes steady. "Then we make sure the others live."
The silence that followed was brief — heavy but honest. That was how Ash Unit understood each other: through quiet promises made between breaths and blades.
---
Night fell.
They gathered at the Corps' main gate, their coats fluttering under the cold wind. Each of them wore the standard black uniform — long coat, dark shirt, silver trims. The collars bore the Hunter insignia, and each sword was sheathed across the back, concealed but ready.
A convoy waited — black transport trucks lined along the cobblestone road. Their destination: Ravenwood, a small town on the northern border, recently quarantined after a string of disappearances.
Lira scanned her mission tablet. "Reports indicate at least six victims in the past two weeks. Locals claim it's a 'curse.' No witnesses survived to confirm."
Rin cracked his neck. "Sounds like fun."
Taro groaned. "You mean terrifying."
Kael looked at them, his expression unreadable. "We move at dawn. Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we hunt."
As he turned toward the barracks, he caught his reflection in a window — the faint shadow of something else staring back. Eyes pale, almost feral.
He blinked — and it was gone.
---
That night, he dreamed.
He was a child again, hiding under the bed. The floorboards creaked. The smell of blood was thick, metallic, suffocating. His friend's laughter — soft, distant — faded into silence.
Then the monster's eyes appeared — white, lidless, ancient hunger gleaming in the dark.
Its face twisted as it leaned close, whispering without sound, "You survived."
Kael jerked awake, drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged. The dorm was silent except for the faint hum of the lamps.
He pressed a hand over his face, steadying himself.
Across the room, Taro was snoring softly. Rin had passed out on the couch, and Lira sat cross-legged, reading a dossier under the lamplight.
Kael watched them for a while — his team.
For the first time in years, he felt something fragile stir in his chest. Hope.
He closed his eyes again, gripping the feather insignia in his hand.
Tomorrow, the hunt would begin.
And in the silence of his dreams, the Wendigo's laughter returned — faint, echoing, patient.