Anna emerged from the back room, fresh from her bath, droplets of water still clinging to her skin like scattered diamonds in the morning light. She pulled on her worn armor piece by piece—the leather scarred from countless clashes, patches sewn with careful stitches from old hunts, metal plates dulled and dented but still solid.
It wasn't new, wasn't fancy, but on her it looked perfect: hugging her form in a way that spoke of practicality and earned strength, accentuating the lean muscle built from years of survival rather than hiding it.
The armor suited her completely, turning her into the hunter she was born to be—fierce, unyielding, beautiful in a way that made David's chest tighten with that complicated warmth he could never quite name.
It fits her like it was made for her, he thought, the notion drifting through his mind before he pushed it aside, focusing on the task ahead. One day, I'll get her better.
Something that shines, that protects without all these scars.
Anna slung her Grade 2 spear across her back with practiced ease, the familiar weight settling between her shoulder blades like an old companion. David followed suit, securing his long blade—the reliable old one that had served him well until the new Grade 1 could be bought—at his side, the hilt worn smooth from use.
They stood together at the threshold of their small home, turning for one last, lingering look inside.
It wasn't much—a single cramped room with cracked plaster walls, a battered wooden table scarred from years of meals and weapon sharpening, their rolled mats on the floor, the small stove still holding faint warmth from last night's stew.
Nothing inside screamed value to an outsider: no hidden spirit stones, no treasures, just the bare bones of survival scraped together over years of hardship. But it was theirs. The only place in this cruel world that had ever truly felt like shelter, like home.
"We can't risk someone breaking in while we're gone," Anna said quietly, voice carrying the weight of too many past losses—times they had returned to find the door kicked in, meager possessions scattered or stolen just for spite.
"Even if there's nothing worth taking, they'll trash it anyway."
David nodded, stepping forward to secure the flimsy door. He locked the simple latch, then slid a hidden iron pin into place—a small trick she had taught him years ago, one that wouldn't stop a determined thief but would slow them enough to think twice.
It was a ritual now, this quiet act of protection for the little they had.
They stepped into the street, packs heavy but balanced on their shoulders—traps coiled neatly, ropes bundled tight, waterskins full, dried meat and herbs packed for the journey.
The morning light was fully claiming the sky now, washing the third level in muted gold, the distant hum of the base awakening around them.
A few neighbors lingered nearby—familiar faces David had seen his whole life but never trusted, the kind who smiled to your face and whispered behind your back.
One, an older man with shifty eyes and a perpetual slouch, caught sight of them preparing to leave. His gaze lingered a beat too long before he turned away quickly, fingers twitching in a subtle signal toward a shadowed alley across the way—a flick of the wrist, a quick gesture only someone watching would notice.
David saw it. Anna did too—her hand brushing the hilt of her spear briefly, eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second before returning to neutral. Neither spoke of it. Not yet. The road called, and distractions could wait.
They walked in silence toward the West Gate, the lesser-used exit that promised quieter passage but longer travel. The gate loomed ahead—massive iron-bound doors scarred from years of beasts and battles, flanked by bored guards who barely glanced up from their dice game.
David and Anna slid their hunter tokens into the slot without a word; a low, grinding rumble echoed as ancient mechanisms stirred to life, the doors creaking open with a loud, grating noise that reverberated through the ground like a warning growl.
Cool air from the wilds rushed in, carrying the scent of earth, pine, and distant danger.
They stepped through without looking back.
The doors boomed shut behind them.
The wilds swallowed them whole.
Half an hour later...
The West Gate groaned open once more, the same loud rumble echoing into the morning like thunder rolling over hills.
Five men emerged, cloaked in dark, patched hides, hooded faces shadowed against the light.
They moved with the practiced silence of hunters who knew how to stalk without sound, weapons glinting faintly under cloaks—swords, daggers, one with a short bow slung across his back.
Their leader—a broad-shouldered brute with a jagged scar slicing across his cheek and a gaze cold as winter steel—paused just outside the gate, scanning the trail ahead with narrowed eyes.
The others fanned out slightly behind him, waiting.
"Boss was clear," the leader growled low, voice rough as gravel dragged over stone, carrying the weight of someone who knew the price of failure.
"Kill the trash boy. Make it look like beasts did it—clean, quick, no traces back to us.
But the woman..." His lips curled in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Not a single scratch.
Boss finds out anything happened to Anna, and we're all dead meat. Worse than dead—he'll make it slow."
The others nodded grimly, faces set in hard lines beneath hoods. They knew William's temper all too well, his obsession with the woman who had rejected him time and again. Cross that line, and no amount of loyalty would save you.
One of the men—a younger one, lean and hungry-eyed with a smirk that never quite reached his gaze—licked his lips, voice dropping to a lewd whisper that made the air feel dirtier.
"What if we finish the boy fast? That woman... gods, look how gorgeous she is. Curves like that, walking alone out there—maybe we could—"
The leader's hand shot out like a striking viper, grabbing the speaker by the throat and slamming him against the gate wall with a thud that knocked the breath from his lungs.
The man's feet dangled, eyes bulging as the leader leaned in close, voice a deadly hiss.
"You touch her," he snarled, scar twisting with rage, "and I'll gut you myself before the boss even hears a whisper. Slow. Piece by piece.
She's his. Not yours. Not anyone's but his. Understand?"
The man gasped, nodding frantically, fear replacing lust in an instant.
The leader dropped him, the younger hunter crumpling to his knees, coughing.
"Move," the leader commanded, turning toward the trail without another glance.
The five vanished into the wilds, footsteps silent on the path David and Anna had taken.
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