Three hundred years ago, the Earth split and the sky trembled. And then the monsters came.
The island of Lowynn is cursed. The Veil between worlds has torn, and now, monsters come with vengeance. They can only be placated by the blood of sorcerers...
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The Skaara was eight years old the first time he had gone hunting. He still remembered his freezing fingers shaking against the quiver. He was rubbing sleep from his eyes, squinting for the rabbits that would become their dinner.
But the entire village was ablaze. It was always like that in the autumn-- an ancient canvas of gold and red, trees overflowing with their treasures. The brightness of the world made it difficult to spot anything, but he didn't mind. Food was plentiful that time of year, and they rarely knew pinched stomachs. The rabbits were just an afterthought to the crispness of the morning, his father's presence beside him, and the knowledge that today was the day he finally got to hunt. To his eight-year-old mind, he was completely grown-up and wholly capable.
That all changed when he spotted the rabbit. He drew his bow just as he had been taught, and his father directed his aim. But, when the moment came, his fingers turned leaden. He took one look at the rabbit, little brown nose quivering, and shook his head.
He had turned towards his father expecting disappointment. But the man just smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's alright. We can try again next time."
The next time the Skaara hunted, it was for a draodih.
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The Skaara always remembered his first hunt, even as he hoped that each one would be his last. It had gotten rarer— the buzzing at the edge of his consciousness, the inexplicable pull to villages and towns where he had never been before. But with each passing year, the veil widened. If not draodih, he would find himself chasing after monsters, following their trail until he discovered the ruins they had left in their wake.
"Could you have done away with her sooner?" the King asked.
The Skaara flinched, startled from his thoughts. The plan had never even crossed his mind, and the idea of killing a girl at a ball, without a trial, made him grow pale. That is what you're made for. Hunting. Killing. What good is a dull blade?
"It all happened so quickly," he said. "By the time I realized who... what she was, they were pursuing me."
He wished he could glimpse the king's face. There would be disapproval there, a furrowed brow, hateful eyes. Those leeched into the king's voice easily enough. But being effectively blind always made the Skaara paranoid. He half expected to feel flames around him at every moment. The king could take his displeasure out before giving his Skaara a moment to raise his eyes, to prepare himself.
