The pale grey light of morning crept through the gaps in the hut's leather walls, carrying the thin, cold air of the mountain. I lay still for a moment, staring at the smoke-darkened beams above me, my body heavy with the sleep that hadn't come until the stars were already fading.

A soft weight shifted against my side—Sheba, our twin-tailed cat. She’d adopted my sister and me when we were young. She’s stuck by us ever since she found us one day out in the valley.

Her sleek black body curled into the hollow of my ribs, both tails twitching in separate rhythms that flicked sharply with irritation as I'd tossed again. Her green eyes cracked open, slit with distaste. She'd stayed the whole night, her white muzzle pressed against my wrist.

She got up and stretched, front paws extending, each tail lifting separately, then resettled with her chin on my shoulder. The warmth of her presence was a small anchor helping pull me out of my slumbered state. I ran a hand along her back. “Good morning.”

The door flap flew open.

"Almerus!"

Sheba jumped up as Eliana's voice cut through the dim like a blade. She stood silhouetted against the brighter light outside, her blond braid swinging as she bounced on her heels. Sheba shot Eliana a glare and slipped past her outside.

"Tomorrow's our Rak-Tah celebration! Tonight we get to go out on our very first hunt!" Eliana yelled out, dismissing Sheba as she passed.

She was gone before I could answer, the flap slapping back into place, leaving me in the grey quiet. Her footsteps faded, quick and light, already carrying her toward whatever else needed her attention.

Sitting up slowly. The furs pooled around my waist, and the cold bit at my bare shoulders. Across the hut, the small polished bronze hanging on the wall caught the thin light. Swinging my legs over the edge of the sleeping platform and stood, crossing the packed earth floor.

The mirror showed me what I already knew. Red-rimmed eyes. Dark crescents beneath them. My hair stood in tangled tufts, and my face looked thinner than it had a season ago. The night had been spent turning, counting breaths, listening to the wind scrape against the hide walls. Restless.

The water jug sat beside the wash basin, heavier than usual in my hand. Water splashed into the clay bowl, loud in the quiet. Cold bit sharp against my skin as I cupped it and pressed it to my face, holding it there until the chill dragged me fully awake.

Another splash. Water dripped down my chin and onto my chest. Wet fingers pushed through my hair, forcing it back, and I drew in a breath that felt like the first real one of the day.

The leathers hung from a wooden peg beside my sleeping platform.

I hadn’t touched them since Mother brought them in—folded, pressed, stitched with the care only her hands could give, and made from the hunts of our parents. Both of them hunted for the parts, and our mother sewed them together.

Reaching out and touching the sleeve. The leather was cool and smooth, the stitching tight and even. Along the collar, a thin line of darker hide ran like a thread through the whole piece—a boar hide, remembering, from a hunt Father had told us about when we were small. The one that had taken him three days to track.

Pulling them off the peg, the leathers hung heavy in my hands. Stepping into the legs first, drawing them up, feeling the unfamiliar stiffness against my skin. The waist was tied with a hide cord and pulled tight, adjusting the fit. Then the tunic. The leather creaked as I shrugged it on, the shoulders broad enough, the sleeves snug around my arms. I fastened the side straps one by one, working them through the small bronze rings.

It fit. Of course, it fit. Mother had measured me three times.

But it didn't feel like mine. Not yet. Like the leather remembered being part of something else and hadn't decided to become part of me.

Running my hand down the front, feeling the grain. The leather was smooth in some places, rougher in others, marked by the life it had lived before. A faint scratch near the collar. A darker patch on the left shoulder. I wondered if the scratch was from the killing strike or some other accident in the deep woods.

I buckled the arm bracer next. Leather over leather, the old wood-and-hide guard strapped tight to my forearm. It was worn smooth from use—not ceremonial. A tool. Something that had been broken long before me.

Behind me, the old staff leaned against the wall where I'd left it the night before. Ash wood, dark with age and handling, as tall as my shoulder. The leather grip near the center was worn smooth by my palm. Picking it up, feeling the familiar weight settle into my hand. It was second nature now, the balance of it, the way it moved with me like an extension of my arm.

The bow hung beside the quiver on the far peg. The string held firm under a quick check before both were slung over my shoulder. The fletching brushed lightly against my neck as they settled into place.

Back at the mirror, the figure staring out felt different from the one who had woken up. The boy who had lain beneath those furs still lingered somewhere behind his eyes—but something else stood in his place now, waiting for the night to decide what remained.

The person staring back was different from the one who had woken up. The leathers changed the shape of him. Broader in the shoulders. Tougher. The red in his eyes was still there, but it looked less like exhaustion now and more like the stillness before a storm. He looked like someone who was about to go on his first hunt.

I didn’t feel like that person. But he was the one staring back.

The hut felt smaller with the leathers on. I could smell the hide, the oil, the faint trace of smoke that clung to everything in the village. Sounds of morning could be heard outside—the low murmur of voices, the clank of a pot, the distant bark of someone calling a name. Life is moving forward. The village wakes up on the day before Rak-Tah.

I ran my thumb along the edge of my bracer. The leather was warm now. Warming to my body.

Eliana would be outside already. Probably at the practice grounds, running through forms with her twin swords, not because she needed the practice but because she couldn't sit still before something important. She had always been like that. The hunt tonight wasn't just a hunt—it was their right of passage. The moment when the village would look at us and see adults.

She had woken me as if it were a gift, like the hunt was something to run toward.

I touched the leather over my chest. The stitching held firm. The boar hide was a dark line against the lighter brown, a reminder that the people who made this had done more than sew. They had hunted. They had killed. They had brought back meat and hide and bone, and they had turned it into this.

Reaching for the water jug again, I took a long drink. Cold water ran down my throat, settling something in my chest that had been restless all night. Then set the jug down, adjusted the bow on my shoulder, and gripped my staff.

The door flap was still where Eliana had left it, hanging slightly open. I could see a sliver of the village beyond—the worn paths, the other huts, the cooking fires sending thin columns of smoke into the pale sky. The air smelled of woodsmoke and pine and the damp earth of early morning.

Stepping through the light hit me full in the face, and I had to blink for my eyes to adjust. Then the view opened before me.

Our hut sat at the top of the village's highest rise near the southern edge of the valley, and from here the whole of Caelfall lay spread out below. The huts clustered below in a neat spiral around the central gathering ground, their thatched roofs still damp with morning dew. Cooking smoke rose in thin ribbons from a dozen fires, blending into the pale sky. Beyond the village, the valley widened into a patchwork of fields and wild grasses, cut through by the silver thread of the Swiftwater River.

And beyond that, the mountains. They ringed the entire horizon, their peaks jagged and snow-capped even in the early warmth. The Graytooth Range, Old Man Renn called them. Some of the peaks had names—Whitespear near the pass, the Sentinel, the Twin Sisters—but from here they all looked like the same thing: a wall that separated us from whatever lay beyond. I had never been past them. Very few in the village had. They were the edge of the world to us, and we had no reason to go past them. Everything we needed was here.

I stood there a moment longer, letting the air settle in my lungs. The leather creaked as I shifted my weight. Somewhere below, a dog barked, and a child laughed. The day was starting, and tonight I would walk into those woods and prove I could survive in them.

The village was already stirring. Old Man Renn was outside his hut, feeding kindling into a fire pit. A couple of children were chasing each other near the center post. Farther down, near the practice grounds, I could see a flash of blond hair moving in quick, controlled arcs.

"Al."

I knew that voice. Soft, but it always found me. The way it curled around my name made something in my chest tighten before I could stop it.

Lyla stood a few paces away, her hands clasped behind her back. Her dark hair hung loose past her shoulders, catching the morning light in quiet strands, and the simple wool tunic she wore moved gently with the breeze, the leather cord at her waist pulling it close just enough to trace her shape. She was almost a year younger than me, but she had never felt younger—not the way she watched things. Calm. Patient. Like she saw more than she let on.

I realized I’d been staring a moment too long.

"I wanted to give you something." She stepped closer, and I caught the scent of woodsmoke and dried herbs clinging to her clothes. It suited her. Grounded. Familiar. My fingers flexed slightly at my side before I even knew why.

Her hands came forward, holding a small bundle wrapped in soft leather. "For your hunt."

I took it, and my fingers brushed hers.

The contact was brief—barely anything—but it lingered longer than it should have. Warmer than it should have been.

The leather fell open to reveal a carved wooden charm—a deer in mid-leap, its antlers sweeping back, the grain of the wood following the curve of its body. The detail was fine, deliberate. Careful. Like time had been poured into every line.

"I made it," she said, and for the first time, her confidence slipped just a little. "It's not much. Just something to keep you safe."

I turned it over in my palm, buying myself a second to steady my thoughts. The wood was smooth, still holding the warmth of her hands.

"Lyla, this is—" I stopped, the words catching somewhere between my chest and my throat. I looked up at her.

She was already watching me.

That steady gaze again—but closer now. Softer. Her cheeks carried the faintest hint of color, and for a moment I forgot what I’d meant to say at all.

"Thank you," I managed, quieter than I intended.

She smiled. Small, but real.

Then she reached out and touched my wrist.

It was nothing—just a light brush of her fingers—but it sent a sharp awareness up my arm, like I’d stepped too close to a flame without realizing it.

"Come back safe," she said.

Before I could answer—before I could even think of something worth saying—she turned and walked away, her hair swaying gently behind her as she disappeared between the huts.

I stood there longer than I should have, watching the space she’d left behind.

The charm rested in my hand, still warm.

I fastened it to the cord at my belt, letting it settle against my hip, more aware of it than I had any right to be. Then I started walking again, toward the practice grounds—toward Eliana’s flashing blades—but my focus wasn’t as steady as it had been before.

And I smiled as I could still feel where her fingers had touched my wrist.

Down the path, I found the training grounds outside the weaponmaster’s forge.

Eliana.

She was already in her leathers. The same deep brown as mine, cut to her frame, the stitching following the same patterns. Her twin swords were out, catching the morning light as she moved through a sequence—turn, strike, pivot, block—her body flowing from one position to the next without pause. She looked like she belonged in those leathers. Like they had always been hers.

I started walking toward her. The leather creaked with each step, the stiffness gradually giving way to the rhythm of my movement. The staff tapped against the packed earth. Somewhere behind me, a door flap opened, and a voice called out a greeting. “Morning, Almerus! Hope you're ready for your Rak-Tah!”

I gave a smile and a wave back.

As I approached, Eliana saw me before I entered the training square. She stopped mid-sequence, her swords dropping to her sides, and she grinned.

"You look like your lame self," she said teasingly.

I stopped a few paces away. "I look like I haven't slept."

"True," She shook her head, stepping closer. The grin softened into something quieter. "But, you look like you're ready."

I didn't answer. I looked down at the leathers, at the way the light played across the grain. Then I looked up at my sister, already sharp and certain in her own skin.

"Tonight," I said. Not a question.

"Tonight." She sheathed one sword, then the other, the blades sliding home with a sound I knew as well as my own breathing. "We get to do our first hunt. Then tomorrow, Rak-Tah."

"And then?"

Eliana tilted her head, her braid swinging. "Then we're not children anymore."

I felt the weight of the leathers, the bow, the staff. All of it pressed against me, not heavy, not light. Just present. Just real.

A voice cut through the morning air. "Well, well. Look at the two of you."

I turned. Agna was walking toward us from the direction of the forge, her heavy apron still tied at her waist, the leather of it dark with years of work. She was the only person in the village who could make carrying a hammer look so easy. Her grey hair was pulled back tight, and her face carried the deep lines of someone who had spent more time over a fire than under the sun. But her eyes were sharp, and they were fixed on us with something that looked like pride.

"Agna," Eliana said, and she straightened with respect.

The weapon master stopped a few paces away, her gaze sweeping over both of us. She took in the leathers, the weapons, the way we stood. Then she nodded, slow and deliberate. "You'll do."

I felt something loosen in my chest. I hadn't realized I'd been holding it tight.

"I heard it was your birth celebration today," Agna said. "Which means your Rak-Tah tomorrow. First hunt tonight." She tilted her head. "That's a big step."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"Don't 'ma'am' me. I'm not old enough for that yet." But there was a glint in her eye. She then turned and reached into a small crate sitting just outside her forge and pulled out two objects wrapped in oilcloth. "I've been working on these for a while. Saving them for today. My gift to you two." Agna hands the bundle to Eliana

Eliana's eyes went wide. "Agna, you didn't—"

"Hush. Let me finish." Agna unwrapped the first bundle. Inside was a pair of swords, each blade catching the morning light in a way that made my breath catch. The steel was clean, the edges sharp, the balance written in every line of them. But it was the hilts that stood out. One was wrapped in black leather, the other in white, the contrast stark and deliberate against the polished metal.

"For you, Eliana." Agna held them out, hilt-first. "Twin swords, matched to your grip and your reach. The balance is yours—I checked it against your practice forms. You'll find they move with you, not against you."

Eliana took them slowly, reverently. She weighed each one in her hand, her fingers finding the grip without hesitation. Then she looked up, and her voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. "They're perfect."

"I know," Agna said. "Now you—" She turned to me, and I felt the weight of her attention shift. "You've been using that old ash staff your father gave you. It's served you well, but it's time for something that fits what you're becoming."

She unwrapped the second bundle. The oilcloth fell away, and I saw it.

The staff was white. Not painted—the wood itself was pale, almost bone-colored, with a grain so fine it looked smooth as water. It was the length of my height, maybe a handspan taller, and the surface had been treated until it gleamed like polished stone. There were no signs of carving, no decoration. Just the wood, clean and unadorned, the way a weapon should be.

"Loa-loa wood," Agna said. "From deep in the mountain forest. Stronger than ash, lighter than oak. It'll take a beating and won't splinter on you. Took me a season to find a piece straight enough to work."

My fingers brushed the wood, and it was cool, smooth, almost warm despite the morning air. I wrapped my hand around it and lifted.

“Agna… Loa-loa wood is rare… I can’t accept this, it’s too much.” I say with awe.

“You can and you will. I made this specifically for you. No one else uses a staff as well as you do.” Agna returned with that ‘you-have-no-choice’ look. There would be no point in fighting her.

It was light. Lighter than the ash staff, but the weight was dense, solid. I could feel the balance the same way I felt my own limbs—natural, unforced. I gave it a slow spin, testing the heft, and the wood sang through the air with a clean whistle.

"It's beautiful," I said. The words felt too small for what I was holding.

"And functional," Agna corrected, but she was smiling. “Care for it, and it’ll return the favor.”

I looked down at the staff in my hands. The white wood seemed to glow in the morning light, pale and steady. I thought of the old ash staff leaning against the wall of the hut, worn and familiar. This felt like a promise. Like something I had to grow into.

Eliana was already testing her swords, cutting through the air with short, precise arcs. The blades left trails of light, and the black-and-white hilts looked like they belonged to her. Like they'd been waiting for her hands.

"Thank you," I said. "This means—"

"It means you're ready," Agna said. "Your skill with the bowstaff always impressed me, even outshining me." She reached out and clasped my shoulder, her grip firm and calloused. "Your father and I go back a long way, Almerus. I knew you when you were small enough to fit in a sling. Seeing you now, in these leathers, holding that staff—it's good. It's right."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I just nodded.

She let go and looked between us. "The hunt is tonight. Becuase your twins, you get to do this together, a rare occurrence. You both will do fine. Trust what you've learned, trust each other, and don't do anything stupid." Her voice softened. "And when you come back, you'll be one of us. Truly."

She turned and walked back toward the forge, her hammer swinging at her side. The village sounds closed in around us again—the fires, the voices, the steady rhythm of morning.

Eliana sheathed her new swords, one at each hip. The black hilt sat over her left, the white over her right. She caught my eye and grinned. "I think I like the black one better."

"You would."

She laughed, and it was the real laugh—the one that came from somewhere deep. "We should find Father. He said he wanted to talk before the hunt."

I nodded. The new staff was warm in my hand, the wood already familiar. I gave it another slow spin, feeling the balance settle into my bones. Then I started walking beside Eliana, out of the practice grounds, toward the edge of the village where the path led into the trees.

Tonight, we would hunt. Tomorrow, we will be adults.

The village center opened ahead of us, a wide clearing where the main paths converged. The morning fires had burned down to embers, and the smell of smoke mixed with the damp earth from last night's rain. People were already moving—women carrying water skins, old men sitting on logs with cups in hand, children chasing each other between the huts. Normal. The same rhythm that had played out every morning of my life.

But it didn't feel normal. Not today.

The new staff was light in my hand, the wood cool against my palm. I kept my grip loose, letting it swing at my side, but I was aware of it the same way I was aware of my own heartbeat. Constant. Present.

"You're doing that thing again," Eliana said.

"What thing?"

"That thing where you go quiet and stare at nothing and pretend you're thinking about something important." She was grinning. "You're nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"You're fiddling with your bow strap."

I looked down. My fingers had found the leather strap of my bow, twisting it without my permission. I let go. "It's not nervousness. It's—"

"It's nervousness."

I didn't answer. She was right, but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. Of course, I was nervous. I’d never been as good at hunting as Eliana. What if I failed and came back empty-handed?

Pushing the negative thoughts from my mind, I pushed forward like I always did.

The statue rose ahead of us, carved from the same grey-white stone that framed the mountains above the village. I'd seen it every day of my life, but I'd never really looked at it. Not like this. Not when the morning light hit it at an angle that made the figures seem almost alive.

The Sun Goddess Aurelia stood on the left, her arm raised toward the center, her face tilted upward with an expression that could have been reverence or sorrow. On the right, the Moon God Vaelun mirrored her pose, his other hand resting on a crescent at his chest. Between them, held aloft by their joined hands, was a stone the size of a child's head. Dark. Almost black. It caught no light, reflected nothing, sat in the middle of the morning sun like a hole in the world.

I stopped walking.

"What?" Eliana said, turning back.

"Nothing. Just—" I stepped closer. The stone was rough, unpolished, nothing like the smooth carving of the rest of the statue. It looked like it had been placed there, not carved there. Set into the hands of the gods like an offering that had never been claimed.

I felt it before I heard it. A vibration. Low, deep, like the hum of a plucked string too thick to make a sound you could name. It resonated in my chest, in my teeth, in the bones of my skull.

"Almerus?"

I blinked. The vibration was gone. Just the morning air, the village sounds, my sister watching me with a faint crease between her brows.

"Did you feel that?" I asked.

"Feel what?"

I looked at the stone. Still. Silent. Just a rock in the hands of gods.

"Nothing," I said. "Thought I felt something. Must be the leathers. They're tighter than I'm used to."

Eliana snorted. "You're imagining things. Come on. Father's waiting."

She started walking again, and I followed. But my eyes stayed on the dark stone until the statue was behind me, and even then, I felt the ghost of that vibration in my chest, like a question I hadn't learned how to hear.

I shook my head and let it go.

We crossed the rest of the village center, past the grand bonfire pit where the elders sometimes gathered, past the open-sided shelter where the evening meals were served. The council meeting space was on the far side, a long wooden building with an open front and a roof of thick thatch. Their father, talking to two men, stood near the entrance, their voices low and serious.

I knew him by his back first—broad, straight, the same posture he'd had my whole life. His hair was the same blond as mine, though flecked with grey at the temples, and he wore the same tanned leathers that marked him as the village chief. No crown. No ornament. Just the leathers and the staff he carried, the same ash wood he'd given me years ago.

He was listening to one of the council members, an older man named Herron whose beard reached his chest. Herron was talking with his hands, his voice clipped and worried.

"—can't just ignore it, Torvin. The signs are there. The animals have been restless; the water in the eastern stream ran low for three days last week. And the younger ones, they've been having bad dreams."

Father didn't answer immediately. He stood with his weight on one foot, his head slightly tilted, the way he did when he was processing something before speaking. He saw us approaching and raised a hand—a small gesture, but it stopped Herron mid-sentence.

"We'll talk more tonight," Father said.

Herron looked at us, then back at Father. His mouth tightened, but he nodded. "Tonight, then." He walked away with the other two council members, their heads bent together, their voices too low to catch.

Father turned to face us. His eyes moved over us slowly, taking in the new leathers, the weapons, the way we stood. Then something softened in his face. Not a smile, exactly. Something quieter.

"You found Agna."

"She found us," Eliana said. She drew one of her swords and held it up. "Look. Twin blades. She said she matched them to my reach."

Father took the sword carefully, turning it over in his hands. He tested the edge with his thumb, then handed it back. "She knows her work. Take care of those."

"I will." Eliana sheathed the blade, but her hand lingered on the hilt.

Father's gaze shifted to me. To the staff in my hand. He didn't say anything, but his eyes stayed on the staff for a long moment.

"Loa-loa," Father said. "She said it took her a season to find a piece straight enough. I asked her to find it."

I blinked. "You—"

"You outgrew the ash staff two winters ago, Almerus. You've been making do. I saw it. Agna saw it." He met my eyes. “A weapon should match the person carrying it.”

I looked down at the staff. The pale wood seemed to hold the morning light, warm and steady in my hands. I thought of the old ash staff, worn and familiar, leaning against the wall of the hut. I wouldn't use it again. This was my new weapon now.

No one here grows up without learning to hunt and use a weapon. I’ve held a staff since I was a kid. Learning to flow and know the right moments to strike always felt right to me.

"Thank you," I said. The words felt small, but they were all I had.

Father clasped my shoulder, the same way Agna had. His grip was heavier. "You earned it. Both of you." He looked between us. "The hunt is tonight. You know the land—the eastern ridge, where the deer trail meets the stream. You've run it a hundred times."

"With guidance," Eliana said.

"Tonight, it's real. All you have to do is bring one animal each, brought down clean. That's all that's asked of you." He paused. "You bring back a kill, you're adults in the eyes of the village. You may sit at the fire and may speak in the council. You choose your paths and lives from this moment forward."

I felt the weight of it settle on my shoulders. One clean kill. A lifetime of practice, compressed into a single arrow, a single moment. The better the creature, the better the honor, so a deer would be what would be expected.

"We'll be ready," I said.

Father studied me for a moment, then nodded. "I know you will." He turned to Eliana. "You have your swords. You have your bow. You've trained harder than most twice your age. Trust your instincts, and they will guide you."

"I will," Eliana said. There was no hesitation in her voice. No doubt. She had always been sure of herself in ways I envied.

"Then go. Rest. Eat. The hunt starts at sundown." Father looked at the sky, where the sun was climbing toward its peak. "You have a few hours. Don't waste them."