Chapter 31 #2
He didn’t respond, didn’t offer anything in return. But he stayed. Sat there in the silence with her, with the weight of what they’d both admitted hanging between them. Elara swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering like wings against her throat.
The Hunter cleared his throat, shifting his weight.
His eyes flicked back to the narrow passage ahead.
"We should move," he said, the familiar guardedness slipping back into his tone.
Without another word, he rose, crossing to a second ladder at the far edge of the roof.
He stopped at the top, his dark silhouette stark against the misty night, a quick glance cast over his shoulder before he gestured for her to go first.
Elara exhaled, rising to her feet, her limbs still heavy. But this time, the climb was easier. The gloves, worn soft from his hands, helped her grip the wet, slippery rungs with ease. It felt like only seconds before her feet hit the ground with a soft splash.
Before she could fully take in her surroundings, the Hunter landed beside her, silent as death. He jerked his head in that familiar, wordless way, motioning for her to follow.
Without a sound, they slipped into the market—a labyrinth of narrow alleys and clustered stalls.
The air was dense, saturated with the mingled scents of exotic spices, sizzling meats, and the underlying tang of damp earth.
Vendors hawked their wares with hoarse shouts—offering everything from dubious potions to tarnished trinkets—while eyes hidden beneath tattered hoods assessed passersby with predatory interest. Strings of faded prayer flags fluttered overhead, their once-vibrant colors now muted and frayed.
Elara kept her head down, the hood of her cloak pulled low to shadow her features.
Her skin prickled with unease, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold seeping into her bones.
But the Hunter moved without hesitation, his stride confident and unyielding.
His cloak billowed slightly with each step, revealing glimpses of the weapons concealed beneath. She stayed close, heart pounding.
Just as the claustrophobic press of the market threatened to overwhelm her, something caught her eye—a tent set apart from the rest, tucked into a quiet recess between leaning buildings. From within, a faint glint of metal flashed, a subtle sparkle that stood out against the drab surroundings.
Elara stopped, feet rooted to the spot as curiosity flickered to life within her. Taking a cautious step forward, she reached out and pushed the tent flap aside.
Inside, the dim light revealed a simple setup. The space was small, walls lined with tattered cloth that did little to keep out the cold. A single lantern hung from the center pole, casting a warm but flickering glow that danced over the objects laid out before her.
Rings. Elemental rings—dozens of them scattered across a stained velvet cloth draped over a makeshift table of stacked crates.
The way they were strewn about felt careless—tossed aside rather than displayed with the reverence they deserved.
Elara frowned, her steps slowing as she moved closer.
She reached out but hesitated, her fingertips hovering above a ring adorned with a teardrop-shaped amethyst. They must be fakes, she thought, a weak attempt by some charlatan to swindle the uninformed.
Yet, the level of detail was astounding—the weight of the metals, the precision of the engravings, the subtle glow that seemed to emanate from within the gemstones.
These were qualities not easily replicated.
Still, something about the setup made her uneasy.
A soft rustling from behind drew her attention. Elara turned to find the Hunter standing at the threshold. His hood was pulled low, obscuring his features, but not enough to hide the tight clench of his jaw.
His gaze dropped to the rings scattered across the grimy wooden crate, eyes narrowing beneath the shadowed brim.
Then it crashed into her—a jolt of rage that wasn't her own.
It tore through her veins like wildfire racing through a dry forest, consuming everything in its path. The sensation stole the air from her lungs; her chest tightened, the corset of her dress suddenly suffocating.
The Hunter's eyes flicked to hers, glinting like shards of obsidian.
The shape of the stone around her neck became more pronounced—a cold presence against her skin, humming faintly, and Elara saw a flicker of something in his gaze: vulnerability there and gone in an instant, like shutters slamming closed.
"Let's go," he muttered. He turned sharply, the dark fabric of his cloak swirling around him as he strode out of the tent.
Elara stood rooted for a beat longer, the phantom heat of his anger still pulsing beneath her skin, leaving a tingling trail that raised goosebumps along her arms. She pressed her lips together, frustration and curiosity warring within her.
But with a sigh, she relented. There would be another time, another place for questions.
She followed him out of the market, leaving behind the dwindling calls of vendors.
The transition from the bustling square to the deserted side street was abrupt—the noise faded into an eerie quiet, and the warm glow of lanterns gave way to the dim, uneven light cast by a sliver of moon peeking through the narrow gap between towering buildings.
They turned down a narrow side street. The alleyway was tight, barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast, the way ahead swallowed by darkness save for the faint glimmer of candlelight flickering through windows.
As they turned the corner, shadows shifted ahead, and before Elara could react, five Legionnaires stepped from doorways and alcoves, forming a solid wall across the narrow passage.
Elara cast a sidelong glance at the Hunter. His posture remained relaxed, but she didn't miss the subtle shift of his hand toward the fold of his cloak. She felt a pulse from the shard at her neck, a faint warmth that steadied her nerves.
The leader took a step forward, the sound of steel grating against iron as he rested a gauntleted hand on the hilt of his sword. "Hunter," he muttered, dipping his head in a show of respect. "What brings you skulking around these parts?"
The hint of mockery danced in his tone, but caution flickered in his gaze—like he knew poking a sleeping beast might get him bitten. The Hunter moved ever so slightly, positioning himself just a fraction more in front of her.
“Thought you were off chasing bigger, shinier fools than the scum around here,” another sneered, a cold chuckle rumbling in his chest. His gaze slid past the Hunter and locked onto Elara.
The moment stretched, unbearable, as his eyes raked over her.
The smug smile faltered—suspicion flickering, then snapping into realization.
“Wait. Is that her?”
A spike of fear shot through Elara, the lump in her throat refusing to budge. The Hunter's stance shifted again, this time completely blocking their view of her. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the coiled tension ready to spring.
"By the gods," the leader breathed, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "It is her. The Hallowed." His hand twitched toward his weapon—or perhaps reaching for her—excitement igniting in his eyes. "Let me get a taste. Just a small one. I've heard what her blood can do..."
A shiver traced down Elara's spine, her pulse pounding in her ears. She inched closer to the Hunter, the rough fabric of his cloak brushing against her fingers.
"Touch her," he said softly, "and you'll lose more than just your hand."
Their faces darkened, any pretense of respect dissolving into something uglier.
“You gonna keep her all to yourself, then?
" The leader snarled, spitting on the ground near the Hunter's boots.
"While we're out here scraping by? Dealing with shortages, shaking from the damned withdrawals?
And you won't share a bloody drop?" He stepped closer, desperation edging into his rough voice.
"I'm not talking about maiming her—just need a bit of her blood, that's all I—"
His hand darted forward, grimy fingers stretching toward Elara, hunger gleaming in his eyes.
It happened so fast she barely registered it.
One heartbeat, his filthy nails hovered inches from her skin; the next, a metallic crack split the air as the Hunter’s hand snapped to his side.
A slide-shaft glaive extended—gleaming steel slicing forward with a lethal whisper.
The blade met flesh. The Legionnaire’s arm severed cleanly at the elbow, the limb striking the cobblestones with a nauseating thud.
Before the second guard could gasp, the glaive whirled back, slicing through flesh, and bone as if they were air. The man's head toppled from his shoulders, eyes still wide with unspoken shock as it rolled to a stop against the alley wall.
Elara stood frozen, breath caught in her throat, the world narrowing to the metallic scent of blood and the phantom whisper of the glaive retracting back into the Hunter's cloak.
His hood slipped back, eyes dark and deadly, strands of raven hair falling across his forehead.
Blood spattered his cloak and face, but his breathing remained steady—as if dispatching his comrades hadn't fazed him in the slightest.
The man who’d lost his arm crumpled, mouth open in a silent scream, but no sound came.
Elara’s heart pounded, breath caught in her throat, her mind racing to catch up.
And then she felt it. The shift as the Hunter seized the wind, drawing it in and wrenching it tight, choking off the Legionnaires’ scream before it could escape.
And not just him. All of them. The wind was being drained from the alley, siphoned from their lungs.
The remaining guards staggered, eyes wide with panic, clawing at their throats as they fought for breath that wouldn't come. Their faces flushed, veins standing out starkly against their skin as terror contorted their features.
They couldn't breathe. No one could. Except for her.
"Hunter," Elara whispered, her voice barely more than a rasp. He didn't respond. His gaze was distant, fixed on some point beyond the physical, lost in the tempest of his own making. "Hunter!" she called again, louder, the word tearing from her throat. Still nothing.
Elara reached out, her fingers trembling as they pressed against the stubble of his jaw, turning his face toward her. “Ivan,” she whispered, the name slipping from her lips like a confession.
The effect was immediate. His eyes snapped into focus, the inky darkness receding as clarity flooded back. He stared at her, startled as the oppressive air eased, a gust of wind rushing back into the alley.
Around them, the Legionnaires collapsed to the ground, gulping in ragged breaths, the color returning to their faces. The sounds of the alley filtered back in—the distant clatter of a falling crate, a dog's bark carrying somewhere far off.
Elara didn't move, her hand still cradling his face, their gazes locked. She could see the conflict swirling in his eyes—uncertainty, fear, something deeper she couldn't name.
He blinked, swallowing hard, and her hand fell away.
The clatter of soldiers scrambling to their feet echoed dimly, their panicked footsteps fading as they vanished down the alley.
But Elara couldn't tear her gaze from him.
Her heart thundered—not just her own heartbeat but his as well, two rhythms merging into one steady drum.
It pulsed in her throat, and as she drew a shaky breath, she felt him do the same.
The sensation spun her world off its axis, dizzying and intimate. She pressed a hand to her chest, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the necklace resting against her skin. The shard he’d given her. That had to be it. The reason everything felt so unbearably intense.
He’d killed those men—had cut them down without a second thought, crushed the breath from their lungs. For her.
No. Her mind pushed back, rationalizing against the swirl of emotions. It wasn’t for her. It was for him. For whatever mission he was on. She was just a complication he had to protect.
“They saw me,” Elara whispered, stating the obvious. Her eyes drifted back to the alley, where shadows cloaked the still bodies left behind. Blood pooled around them, dark and glistening like spilled ink seeping into the cracks of the cobblestones. A chill brushed over her skin.
"I'll handle it," the Hunter said. He didn't spare a glance backward. "Come on. We're almost there."
Without another word, he started walking, his pace fast, too fast for the tension still coiled in her muscles. She had to jog to catch up. “What were they talking about?” she asked, breathless. “The shortages, withdrawals—”
The Hunter didn’t answer immediately, his footsteps stopping in front of a dilapidated wooden door. He turned to her then, eyes flicking to the necklace around her neck, the faint glow of the stone resting against her skin.
“Ask me later.”
Elara opened her mouth to argue, a dozen questions bubbling up. But before she could utter a single word, he raised his fist and knocked.