“Killing an animal isn’t so different from killing a person.”

  The man’s words, spoken as he adjusted a rifle’s scope, were clear and steady—heavy as a coffin filled with cement. He spoke with years of experience, if not decades.

  Only two figures stood on that snowy hill, surrounded by dark green pines coated in white like a cake smothered in icing. Gentle snowflakes drifted down, visible only in the muted sunlight that pushed through the dense clouds. The absence of the usual howling wind made this day perfect for both talk—and practice.

  His bare hands, unfazed by the cold, made the final adjustments. The bolt slid forward with a sharp click as a fresh round chambered. She heard it clearly.

  The girl did what she always did in moments like this: shut her mouth, and learn.

  The man didn’t look at the girl who shared his eye color. He only saw the weapon, preparing it with a casual efficiency. He checked the glass of the scope, the fit of the stock, the smoothness of the bolt.

  “When you shoot an animal,” he said, standing as he sighted down the barrel at their distant targets, “you aim for the head. But for now, your targets are the neck, the shoulders—the joints where the body bends. You wound it. Bleed it. Then follow the trail and finish the job.”

  The girl, perched on a rock in a heavy brown coat, eyes serious, dared to ask. It was necessary to ask—necessary to learn from the best, if she wanted to survive.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to always just aim for the head?”

  The man didn’t turn to her. He kept adjusting the scope, watching the deer graze on patches of green grass freed from the melting snow.

  “You’ll miss plenty if you start there. Begin with the neck. The joints.”

  He lowered the rifle at last and, without looking, handed it to her. She stood to take it.

  Her scarred fingers—lined with burns and cuts—felt the cold weight of the wood. She held it the way he’d taught her, so the recoil wouldn’t destroy her shoulder, so the scope wouldn’t smash her eye.

  She couldn’t stop her nerves from crawling through every fiber of her body. The rush of the hunt. Snowflakes settled into her short black hair. Her heart pounded. Her breath came sharp with effort. Her nose dripped from the frigid air.

  “Kneel,” he ordered. Still standing.

  She obeyed instantly, one knee sinking into the wet snow. She raised the rifle, the scope narrowing her vision to a mother deer grazing with her fawn. Her hands trembled. Her breath shook. She didn’t blink. Her brow furrowed, fighting to stay calm. Her finger touched the trigger.

  “Not yet. Breathe. Aim a little higher than you think.”

  From the pack they’d left by a tree, he pulled binoculars and watched with her.

  She inhaled, exhaled. Hunting animals. Inhale, exhale. We need to eat—it isn’t our fault. Inhale, exhale.

  That mother deer with her child looked so much like her and her own mother…

  Inhale, exhale…

  Mom… I miss you. I miss you so much.

  I have to kill to survive. I have to kill mothers. I have to take parents from their children so I can eat their flesh. If I don’t… I’ll die. I don’t want to die. I’m terrified of dying in pain. Terrified of starving.

  Her breathing steadied. Her hands stilled. The crosshairs settled. He saw it. He gave the order.

  “Now.”

  BANG!

  The last thing she saw before squeezing her eyes shut was the mother deer licking her fawn’s face clean. The rifle’s thunder scattered winter birds, sent squirrels racing through branches, filled her ears with static.

  The shot echoed across the hilltop, stopped her heart mid-beat—an infarct of guilt and pain. The pain of being forced into this life by the whims of chance, of bad luck.

  Seconds passed. She didn’t care whether she’d hit or missed. Only that it was over. She opened her eyes, gasping for breath. Cold sweat dripped onto the rifle now lying in the snow, streaking its wood. Tears ran freely, mixing into the white around her.

  “You hit,” the man said beside her, still upright, still peering through his binoculars. “Take the rifle. Follow the blood trail. You need to learn tracking on your own. I’ll set camp. Don’t be long.”

  Still kneeling, hands pressed to the ground, she closed her eyes one last time. Breathed deep. Picked up the rifle and rose. She knew crying would change nothing.

  With the strap over her shoulder, she started toward the field.

  “Good shot.”

  Her boots froze on the snow. Her father was a man of few words. Everything he did was to teach her survival. There wasn’t much room for tenderness. Not when escape didn’t exist. His words sounded firm, cold, but they carried fire.

  She walked again, without turning, without acknowledging them aloud.

  The memory ended with the silhouette of a young girl vanishing into trees and snow.

  …

  …

  …

  The same girl opened her eyes. No snow. No forest. No dead deer. No rifle in her hands. Only the ceiling of her new bedroom. She lay on a real bed, arms crossed behind her neck, beneath clean blankets. Clean. An unfamiliar luxury.

  Last night, she had cried herself to sleep in the bathtub, dagger clutched in hand. She’d woken an hour earlier than her mother, just to make sure she wouldn’t be found that way. To keep the illusion alive—that everything was fine. That she was fine.

  She hadn’t bothered unpacking her suitcase. There wasn’t much inside anyway, just borrowed or stolen clothes. Her belongings were all left behind in the south, buried in snow, ash, and gunpowder.

  The room was sterile, white. Just a bed, a nightstand, a desk propped up by a brick and a rotting tome—probably left by the house’s previous owner.

  She cracked her neck to both sides before standing barefoot and heading to the kitchen. She wore the same black hoodie from yesterday. And the day before. She’d only recently learned people actually changed clothes to sleep. Maybe, someday, she’d try pajamas again—like when she was small.

  She tucked her dagger into the back pocket of her dark jeans and found her mother making coffee. The smell comforted her. Memories stirred of drinking coffee from tin cups in improvised camps with her father, of bartering dried meat and animal hides for coffee beans from deserters.

  “Morning, my love. Did you sleep well?”

  Her mother. Her mother, alive. With her. Both safe. Sometimes Feralynn had to pinch her cheek just to believe it wasn’t a dream.

  “Morning…” she murmured, dark circles etched under her eyes, voice weak, forcing the ghost of a smile. “…yeah. I slept well.”

  Darina wore the same old apron from when Fer was little—blue flowers faded by time. She hummed while scrambling eggs with fried ham.

  Fer sat at the table, watching her mother cook with a serenity she hadn’t felt in years. Gratitude swelled, even if sadness clung to her ribs.

  A moment later, a plate was set before her: scrambled eggs seasoned lightly with oregano, fried ham, toast, and a cup of black coffee.

  Her mother’s hand caressed her cheek.

  “Eat,” she said, soft and affectionate. “You’re still growing.”

  Fer speared eggs and ham with her fork, ate, tasted, and almost smiled. She tried not to—but failed. She smiled at her plate.

  Her mother watched her, nostalgia glowing in her eyes as she sipped her own coffee.

  “I didn’t put sugar in it. I know you hate sweets.” She chuckled. “Though yesterday you came home with cookie crumbs.”

  Annya’s cookies… Yesterday afternoon, she had baked for the first time with her new neighbor. The memory was alive, warm. She wouldn’t forget it.

  “I just wanted to try them…” Fer muttered. “Didn’t want to make that annoying girl cry.” She feigned irritation, stabbing more ham with her fork.

  Her mother’s smile only grew. She knew her daughter was lying.

  “I think you two could be good friends. Why don’t you walk with her through town today? It’d be nice for you to know the city.”

  Feralynn stayed silent, eyes fixed on her plate. She didn’t see Annya as a friend. Not yet. She’d only known her for a day, and she had already learned the hard way not to grow attached to strangers too easily.

  “…And what about you? What will you do today?” she asked, fishing for a reason to avoid her neighbor.

  “Well…” her mother paused dramatically. “I got a job!”

  Fer blinked, faintly surprised.

  “So soon…?”

  Darina nodded proudly.

  “That’s right! I went out for bread this morning, and a flower shop was hiring. They couldn’t resist my mid-thirty’s charm.” She tossed her long straight hair with mock glamour.

  Fer snorted faintly, just for a moment. “When do you start?”

  “Today.”

  “…Oh.”

  Damn. The plan to dodge the freckled menace next door had collapsed. No excuse left.

  “Exactly. Which is why, my dear young lady”—she pointed a finger at her—“I want you to go out, try making friends, especially with Miss Oak. She’s such a sweetheart…”

  Fer grimaced. “…and annoying,” she muttered, looking away.

  She sighed, gathering strength to accept the cruel fate that smelled of vanilla and cookie dough.

  “Fine… I’ll go out,” she said, rising after finishing her breakfast, “but don’t expect me to let her follow me everywhere.”

  Her last words were meant as a warning. Her mother only smiled, chuckling softly.

  “Alright, I don’t want to be locked inside anyway. We still haven’t managed to get the schoolbooks or the uniform. I’ve got nothing to do since Mom doesn’t want me working… There’s time before classes start—one week, I think. Whatever… I’ll see what the hell I can do today. Maybe I’ll throw fireballs at a rock or something. Sigh…”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  She thought as she brushed her teeth, washed her face, searched for her coat, and slipped on a pair of worn-out sneakers that didn’t belong to her. Not that the corpse hanging from that tree weeks ago was going to complain much about it…

  With her hand on the doorknob, she was stopped by the sudden grip of her mother’s embrace, wrapping her from behind.

  “Take care of yourself… I love you. Please don’t get into trouble… nobody here wants to hurt you…”

  Feralynn squeezed the cold metal of the knob. A small knot tightened in her throat.

  “I’ll be fine…” she said, her voice pathetically faking annoyance. “I’m just going for a walk.”

  Second by second her mother let go, placing one hand on her hip and extending the other with a couple of folded bills.

  “But, Mom—”

  “Shh. A small gift from your aunt. She came by yesterday to help us out with expenses. Take it, buy yourself something you like.”

  Fer swallowed, forcing down the knot, and with a touch of shame accepted the money.

  “…thanks.”

  Her mother winked, ruffling her messy black hair. Fer opened the door, stepping out into whatever the day had waiting.

  “Don’t come back too late,” her mother said, before the door shut.

  The grayish light stung her eyes. The breeze carried just enough force to make the orange leaves lift into a soft spiral.

  She glanced at the cloudy sky and closed her eyes, taking a long breath, savoring the fresh damp air after the rain. It reminded her she was still alive.

  A calm morning—around nine. The neighbors were either at work or on vacation, scattered across coastal cities where the cold weather didn’t reach. Barely a car passed through the street.

  With no plan in mind, hands shoved in her coat pockets, she began to walk. Anything to escape the torture of staring at her empty new room. Her old sneakers crunched over leaves along the sidewalk. Crows called from far away, and she caught the faintest bark of a dog, distant as a memory.

  For reasons she couldn’t quite explain—perhaps some unconscious slip—her path took her in front of the Oak property. She didn’t even look toward the house. She assumed its owner would be busy baking stupidly shaped cookies or whatever people like that did.

  She was about to keep walking when—

  “Feeeer!”

  Yep. That shrill voice, announcing the grave mistake of letting her guard down.

  “…shit.”

  Feigning deafness, she kept walking, but Annya called her name again and again. The girl had been crouched in a corner of her yard, dirt smeared on her knees from whatever she’d been investigating.

  “What do you want?” Feralynn’s brow was furrowed, fists clenched in her pockets.

  Annya laughed lightly, waving. “Hiiiii! How are you? How’d you sleep? I slept super, super well! The rain last night relaxed me so much.”

  Fer averted her eyes. “Okay. I’m fine. I slept fine. If that’s all, bye.”

  “…Eh?” Annya froze, stunned at how quickly she was trying to leave. “Owww, come on, wait! I wanna show you something. Pleeease, pleeease, pleeease!” She bounced lightly, gripping the white wooden fence.

  Fer growled at the childish begging. “Ugh, fine! Just shut up already…”

  “Yay!” Annya cheered, pumping her fists skyward at her manipulation’s success. “Victory!”

  Through the little gate, Fer crouched to see what had Annya so excited.

  “Uuhh… are those…?”

  “Snails!”

  Two of them, sliding through damp earth and puddled grass. Fer raised a brow, baffled, as her neighbor admired them with a smile.

  “They need our help! There’s too much water, they could drown.”

  “…They’re snails,” Fer said flatly. “Who the fuck cares about snails?”

  “I do! Every form of life matters!” Annya lifted an instructive finger. “Besides, it’s practice for me.”

  “…Practice?”

  Annya dug into the deep pockets of her denim dungarees, pulling out a pair of dark leather gloves. Embedded in each palm was a white pearl. Fer’s eyes widened.

  No way… don’t tell me she’s also a…

  Annya inhaled, knelt before the struggling snails, and furrowed her brow. Gloves aimed toward them.

  “Careful…Careful…” she murmured to herself.

  The pearls began to glow faintly. And—

  The water floated.

  Clumsily, Annya lifted the puddle upward, careful not to sweep the snails into it. A lopsided bubble formed, trembling in the air as she forced her will into its shape. With shaky focus, she guided it into an empty bucket nearby. The water fell back into itself, reclaiming form.

  Breathless, she wiped her forehead, but her smile radiated pride.

  “Yay! Mission complete, snails rescued.” She tilted her head toward the creatures, now safe on moist soil. “Enjoy your damp little paradise, tiny ones.”

  Fer blinked, just slightly open-mouthed.

  “Hydromancy,” she muttered. “…you control water.”

  It was the first time she’d seen a mage of that element. In the South, there were plenty of ice-users—but water, rarely.

  Annya giggled softly. “Mhm, mhm! Well, I don’t know if I really count yet… I can only move small amounts. But I hope once I’m at the academy I’ll learn more than just bubbles. Wouldn’t it suck if my entire gift was just watering gardens? Hehe!”

  Great. She’s going to be at school too… fuck.

  The two girls stood. Annya brushed the mud from her knees and pocketed her gloves.

  “What do you want to do now?” she asked, hands clasped behind her back.

  Fer coughed sarcastically. “Pfft. Do we want to do? I never said I wanted to do anything else with you.”

  “Well, I want to keep doing things with you,” Annya smiled.

  “…Why? We just baked cookies yesterday. That was nothing.”

  “I had so much fun. If you ask me, we both need friends. Especially you. You look pretty bitter and sad.”

  “I’m not sad.” Fer’s somber face betrayed her.

  “Liiiar~”

  The sweetness made one of Fer’s eyebrows twitch. She looked away, unwilling to meet the freckled, blue-eyed threat smiling at her.

  “Yesterday you agreed to be my friend in exchange for discounts at my family’s bakery, and friends are supposed to take care of each other. Be nice to each other,” Annya teased. “Or… maybe you’re just really scared of me?”

  “Tch, I’m not afraid of a kid like you.”

  “Hey, you’re not an adult either. How old are you? I’m fourteen, but my birthday’s in two months.”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Oh my gods, you’re ancient!” Annya clutched her head in exaggerated horror. “No wonder you’re so grumpy! Hehe!”

  “Sigh…”

  Annya extended a hand.

  “Let’s make a deal: let me keep being your friend, and if you really feel I’m too annoying, tell me, and I’ll never speak to you again.”

  The hand—unscarred, clean, marked only with faint burns from cooking—stayed outstretched. Waiting.

  “…Never again?” Fer asked, hesitant.

  “Promise.” Annya nodded firmly, lips zipped shut in pantomime. “Not a single word.”

  Fer almost said no. Almost told her to leave her alone for this life and the next. But boredom, curiosity, or loneliness—one of them won. Maybe the three of them at the same time.

  Goddammit…

  “Fine… deal.”

  With a sigh of defeat, she took the hand. Warm, soft. A hand that had never hurt a snail. A hand that had never taken a life.

  “I imagine you already have some new torture in mind for me, right?”

  “Hehe, now that you mention it… we could go downtown! Oh! Maybe if we’re lucky, the artisan fair will open later. Wait here, don’t move!”

  Before Fer could answer, Annya sprinted inside. A yowl erupted—some cat yelping in pain—followed by her muffled voice: “Ahh, Mittens, I stepped on your tail, sorry!” and the crash of pots and pans.

  In less than a minute she reappeared, grinning. Wearing a rosy borg jacket and carrying a pastel-yellow purse with a sunflower stitched in the center.

  “I’m ready. How do I look? This coat’s new—I really like it. It’s so soft.”

  Fer raised an unimpressed brow.

  “…You look like a pink sheep.”

  “Thanks, hehe!” she laughed softly, brushing off the flat tone with which her friend had commented on her outfit. Then, without asking for permission, she eagerly took Feralynn’s hand so they could walk together. “Come on, the day won’t wait!”

  “Gah…!”

  Where the hell did she suddenly get so much strength?! Fer thought, practically dragged along.

  Humming a simple tune, Annya led her through the neighborhood. Orange leaves drifted gently under the gray sky. Feralynn was uncomfortable, though she didn’t complain. Not yet. She only stared at her back. The girl was slightly shorter than her, and she smelled faintly of vanilla and caramel—what seemed to be her default scent.

  Accustomed to smoke and gunpowder, that freckled threat’s fragrance was…intriguing. It invaded her nose with gentleness, leaving her wanting more. She didn’t want to admit it, but this girl was catching her attention.

  Why is she so…like that?

  Fer couldn’t pin down a single adjective to sum her up. She tuned out Annya’s stories about her childhood adventures in the neighborhood—the time she climbed a tree and panicked about coming down, forcing herself to jump into a grumpy neighbor’s flower garden; or the bike race where she skinned her knee; or the afternoons spent building snowmen during winter.

  All of them were told with innocent normalcy, without knowing that the only snowmen the girl holding her hand had ever built were corpses.

  Fer felt her hand squeezed tightly in Annya’s, as if walking together like this was the most ordinary thing in the world. The warmth began knocking on the door of her chest, and that was enough to make her pull away.

  “Hm?” Annya turned, puzzled at why she’d let go. “What’s wrong, are you okay?”

  Slightly flushed, Fer looked away. “I can walk on my own. I don’t need you to drag me.” Her voice wasn’t harsh, though.

  For a moment Annya looked at her, worried she’d invaded too much of her privacy. She figured the best thing to do was adapt—her new friend wasn’t like the others, wasn’t like anyone she’d ever known. So she smiled softly and nodded.

  “Okay, no problem,” she said gently. “But if something scares you, you can hold my hand again.” She laughed as she said it.

  “Tch…shut up…”

  The houses faded away as they neared the city center, giving way to shops and local buildings. People of all kinds began to appear, though mostly humans. The Kingdom of Larion, like the Republic of Soleria and the Velkaris Empire, was ruled by humans. The difference was that Larion was the most prosperous of the three, drawing the highest flow of migrants and offering the best opportunities.

  Civilians…so many.

  Fer didn’t see the people in the streets as “people.” No. To her they were “unarmed civilians.” She didn’t want to remember the old orders about dealing with them. Not now. No. Don’t remember. Don’t remember the screams. Don’t—no! Stay in the present. Stay in the present.

  Stay in the—

  “We’re here!”

  Annya’s voice snapped her back. The screams fled from her head, bringing a faint relief. They’d reached the city center.

  Cars, buildings, cafés, shops, unarmed civilians strolling. People leaving or heading to part-time jobs. The first place Annya took her was a wide plaza.

  “This is the plaza!” Annya stretched her arms wide to exaggerate the moment. “Not as big as the capital’s, but it’s beautiful, right?”

  “...”

  Feralynn stood silent, staring at the orange-and-gold canopies of the trees. The gray-green grass. Families strolling, couples pushing baby carriages, people walking dogs, groups of friends sipping coffee. At the plaza’s heart, a great fountain, where a graceful angel stood with head bowed. Magnificent wings unfurled from its back, and it raised a wide bowl in both hands, water cascading down into the basin to feed the cycle again.

  It was the precious sight of a peaceful urban life she’d never had. Her new friend smiled at her, patiently waiting for a reaction. And Fer realized the orange of the autumn leaves was identical to her hair…

  “…Pretty…” she murmured, eyes on her friend. A faint blush touched her cheeks, and she coughed on purpose, forcing her usual flat tone. “Yeah, it’s…pretty. I guess.”

  Annya beamed, delighted her friend had finally said something nice. She looked at the tall clock tower of an old church.

  “It’s still early. Let’s walk a bit more.”

  Fer said nothing, her eyes scanning every movement around them. Unconsciously, she didn’t blink. Her shoulders never loosened. She just let her friend chatter on.

  “In the afternoon, artisans set up tents here to sell their crafts. Look, last time I bought this keychain!” She showed Fer a hand-carved wooden cat—quality craftsmanship, no doubt. “It’s so cute! Reminds me of my Mittens. Do you have a keychain?”

  “...No.”

  “Then our new mission is to get you one! You’ll love the shops here. I’d love to set up a tent to sell my cookies, but Mom won’t let me. Says I’m too young, and my brothers aren’t home to help…”

  “Uh…yeah…”

  Ugh. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I don’t know how these conversations work. Guess I’ll just let her talk until she burns out…

  Annya didn’t stop, spilling out story after story—memories of the plaza, meals with her friends after school, endless chatter. It was like she’d bottled up a thousand words and finally found someone to uncork them to. Maybe having such a quiet listener like Fer gave her the space to do it.

  At some point, Fer’s responses fell into automatic monosyllables. Annya hardly noticed, practically arguing with her own memories, gesturing wildly as she spoke, like a girl talking to herself.

  Fer breathed deep, trying to relax.

  No danger. Calm down.

  Her inner voice gave orders she knew well. Stay calm. Breathe. Instructions for camouflage, for hiding, for killing silently. Repurposed for this new battlefield.

  But just as her shoulders began to loosen, Annya screamed.

  “Kyaaaahhh!!!”

  A sharp, piercing shriek. Fer’s blood boiled in an instant. Her eyes widened like saucers, pupils sharpening. One hand went for her knife, the other braced to summon fire—to burn, to destroy. She clenched her teeth, breath held tight. Her mind went blank. Kill. Kill them. Don’t leave survivors. Complete the mission. Kill them. Her heart thundered. Her eyes scanned wildly. She blinked once, and she was no longer in the plaza—she was back in the snow.

  Targets. Find the targets. Destroy them. Don’t let them breathe. Kill them. Finish them. A target left alive is a bullet that comes back.

  “I can’t believe it—they opened a Brilliant Scarlet store here!”

  Fer blinked hard again, snapping back. Her chest heaved, sweat trickled cold down her forehead, her jaw clenched tight.

  “Huh…?”

  She saw Annya, thrilled, pointing across the plaza at a shop.

  “How awesome, I can get more cute clothes! That’s where I got this coat. Come on, you’ll love it!” She turned to her, worry flickering in her eyes. “Hey…are you okay? You look nervous. What’s in your pocket?” she asked, tilting her head, oblivious to the defense mechanisms she had just triggered.

  Realizing she was nearly in a combat stance, Fer shoved the knife into her back pocket. “I’m fine,” she snapped, fast and curt. “Let’s go.”

  “Hmmm…okay! But if you’re feeling sick we can head back home.”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  “Great! Then let’s go—I’m sure we’ll find something pretty for you to try on.”

  Annya led the way again, though the curiosity about what just happened lingered inside.

  That was too close… Damn lunatic, don’t scream like that. You’ll scare me to death.

  ...

  ...

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