Land Without Hope

Chapter 2 - The Hunt

Six years had passed since the Yokai attack that nearly claimed Daglan's life, but it was far from the last. Graybarrow lived in a constant cycle of destruction and rebuilding, with major assaults occurring every few months. This latest period of relative calm had stretched to nearly fourteen weeks, leaving the townspeople both grateful and anxious, knowing another attack was inevitably approaching.

The town bore the scars of these frequent battles - hastily repaired walls, patchwork buildings, and the haunted eyes of its inhabitants. Yet, with each resurgence, Graybarrow demonstrated a resilience that bordered on the miraculous.

Koshu and the hunters had abandoned their weekly schedule. Now, they ventured beyond the walls daily, driven by the endless need for resources. Wood and stone were required to mend the physical damage from each attack, while food was crucial to sustain the populace through the grueling repairs.

In these harsh times, Daglan and Rozeree, now fourteen years old, had found their roles. Daglan had become an integral part of the smithy. His days were filled with the constant clangor of hammers and the searing heat of the forges, working tirelessly to repair weapons and tools damaged in each hunt. The once scrawny boy was now as strong as many adults, his young muscles developed by the relentless labor. Yet, beneath his growing strength, the scars on his back served as a permanent reminder of the cost of vulnerability.

Rozeree, much to her chagrin, was stationed atop the town's walls. She was forced to scan the horizon for hours before and during hunts, searching for threats and resources. She had developed an uncanny ability to sense approaching danger, often detecting Yokai long before they became visible.

While Daglan had found his place within this harsh reality, approaching his work in the smithy with determination, and finding purpose in his growing strength and skill. Rozeree felt increasingly trapped. Each day on the wall was a bitter reminder of her confined existence, her dreams of adventure and freedom seeming more distant with each passing hour. The respect she had earned from the adults felt hollow, a poor substitute for the future she longed for beyond Graybarrow's suffocating walls.

As another day dawned, Daglan and Rozeree prepared for their assigned duties with contrasting attitudes. The aroma of sizzling meat and eggs wafted through the cottage, a siren call that stirred Daglan from his slumber. He bounded out of bed, a whirlwind of energy despite the early hour. In stark contrast, Rozeree lay motionless, staring at the ceiling with hollow eyes. The enticing smell of breakfast couldn't penetrate the fog of melancholy that shrouded her.

Daglan's voice rang out, echoing down the hallway. "Rise and shine, Rozeree! Silvas is cooking up a storm!"

A muffled groan was the only response from Rozeree's room.

In the kitchen, Daglan burst through the door, his gray eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Morning, Silvas! What's for breakfast?" He plopped into a chair, drumming his fingers on the table in eager anticipation.

Silvas quirked an eyebrow at Daglan's exuberance. "The usual," she said flatly. "Eggs, meat, and greens. Eat up and don't waste it."

"Sounds perfect!" Daglan exclaimed, already reaching for a plate.

The floorboards creaked, announcing Rozeree's arrival. She shuffled into the kitchen, her bright blue eyes dulled by dark circles. Her arm hung limply in a sling, a remnant of yesterday's grueling training session. Silvas's eyes narrowed, taking in the girl's sullen demeanor and injured arm. Her voice remained gruff, but there was an undercurrent of concern.

"Arm still bothering you? We'll work on your blocking later." Rozeree shrugged her good shoulder, slumping into a chair.

"Fine," she mumbled, barely audible. Daglan, mouth full of eggs, turned to his sister.