Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - A Quiet Place - First Meetings
Vytal Era Year 68-69 (68-69VE)
When the Huntsman rode into the remote fishing village of Northmar, far to the north of Vale, the mayor initially decided he wasn’t all that impressive.
But he also knew they were lucky to have him. Northmar wasn’t exactly wealthy, nor thriving. It leaned toward the aging demographic, tough old fisherfolk and their families who held on despite the weather, sporadic Grimm attacks, and cold winters, more out of pure stubbornness than because it was a good place to live.
The fact that the Huntsman was a leopard faunus rather than a human didn’t mean much. The fact that he was working solo was more concerning to them. Then again, considering the paltry amount of lien they’d offered for a Huntsman contract in the first place, a solo wasn’t all that shocking either.
The mayor met him at his home, which doubled as his office. The former fisherman, no longer fit to work the boats, didn’t ask to see the Huntsman’s license, because it was obvious what the faunus was. Mid-twenties, dressed as if he didn’t care about the weather. A certain swagger about his movements. An expensive and complex weapon sheathed at his belt, some type of rapier with a complex grapple on the pommel, that probably cost more to have manufactured than anyone in Northmar made in a quarter.
“Huntsman, thank you for coming,” the mayor said
“Thank you, Mayor,” the Huntsman’s golden-brown eyes took in the office decor. “Cozy place you have here. Never been to Northmar before. It’s off the beaten track.” He held his hand out, “Huntsman Grae, licensed out of Haven.”
The mayor shook his hand with a “Please, have a seat,” and a gesture to a solid-looking wooden chair opposite his desk. The Huntsman sat down with the sound of creaking wood. “It’s off every track, Huntsman Grae,” the mayor said with a frown. “And it’s even farther if you’re from Mistral.”
The Huntsman’s tawny ears twitched for a moment, and he scowled. “I get around.”
“Apologies if I touched a nerve, Huntsman. We’re very appreciative that you bothered to come all the way out here. Especially considering what little lien we were able to scrape together for something that… well it’s not exactly life or death as far as I’m concerned.”
The leopard faunus nodded and shifted in the chair. “I tend to take the weirder contracts. You said this wasn’t a Grimm…”
“Don’t know what it is. Old Meg’s the only one who ever actually saw anything, and she claimed it wasn’t Grimm, nor human. Called it a haint.”
The faunus narrowed his eyes, rubbing his jaw. “But no one’s been attacked.”
“Not that we know about.” The old man shrugged, “I mean, accidents happen. Boats disappear sometimes. But I can’t say that we ever tied anything like that to that island.”
“Tell me more,” the Huntsman said, leaning forward.
. . .
Huntsman Garek Grae, graduate of Haven, listened intently as the Mayor told everything he knew.
Which turned out to be mostly rumor, secondhand tales, and fishermen’s lore.
Northmar actually did make its living off fishing. There were a series of shoals off the coast to the north where the cold, nutrient-rich waters of the northern seas were channeled toward the surface, welling upward and feeding abundant life. Lobsters, crabs, and several cold-loving schooling fish were plentiful there, and in demand in Vale and Atlas.
When the weather was bad, however, the more sheltered course that the ships took passed near an isolated island, about an hour outside of port. The boats would often shelter on its leeward side if things got really ugly at sea. The island even had an old dock, nearly falling apart, where they could tie up.
Until a few years prior, when an old fisherwoman named Meg had tied up to it, headed inland to forage for herbs, and had come back, white as a sheet, babbling about a ghost.
“And nobody’s checked it out since?”
The mayor gave him a careful look. “Fishermen are a superstitious lot, Huntsman. If someone as rock-solid as Old Meg takes a fright, the rest’ll be damned if they’ll tempt fate that way.”
Garek scratched at the base of a feline ear. “But you said nobody’s been attacked or anything, right? Seems like you’re throwing good money away for no reason, not that I’m complaining.”
The mayor tapped his desktop. “Old Meg never left port after coming back that day. She had some lien saved up and demanded in her will that we use it to hire someone. Died last month.” Garek frowned and started to speak. “And before you ask the question, nobody would risk her coming back from the grave and haunting them, for ignoring her last wish.” He gestured toward Garek. “So this is where we’re at.”
Garek thought it over. It seemed like an easy mission. The money wasn’t great, but it was enough to cover all of his expenses and have a quarter left over to save for… well the future, assuming he had one. “All right. So you want me to go to this island, scope it out, and report back on what I find.”
“That’s right.”
“How do I get there?”
The mayor, instead of answering, yelled toward the doorway to the hall. “May! Tell Tarlech I’ve got a passenger for him!”
From further down the hall, likely another room came the reply. “Tell him yourself, you old coot.”
“Dammit woman!”
“Fine!” the woman yelled back again, “But if the stew sticks and burns, t’isn’t my fault!”
0 0 0
When Old Tarlech arrived, he was even more worn and wiry looking than the mayor, but apparently hadn’t been broken yet by years of hard work. He peered at Garek suspiciously with yellowed eyes. “’Tis haunted lad. Not a safe place for man nor beast,” he warned.
Garek tried the obvious response, even though the mayor had already said otherwise. “You mean Grimm?”
“Nae. No Grimm that I’ve seen. But something. Old Meg saw something there. Wouldn’t say what, but ‘twas no Grimm, she swore. Left her shaking and landbound for weeks.”
“Told you,” the mayor affirmed.
0 0 0
Any normal, well-adjusted person would have gotten worried when Tarlech wouldn't stay dockside after dropping him off the next morning. Instead the fisherman promised to return daily, two hours before sunset, to check if Garek was ready to be picked up.
But Garek wasn’t normal, he was a Huntsman.
He wasn’t well-adjusted, either.
Standing just inshore, he eyed the heavily wooded island, with its rolling landscape and dense evergreens, and shook his head. Drawing Cats Paw, he began a slow circuit of the coastline.
Four hours of prowling the coastal woods with ears perked and twitching, making a full circuit of the shore, he ended up back at the dock where the only suitable landing spot lay. The western shore had been all cliffs, too steep to climb up or down. Along his route, he’d encountered nothing except small game and birds. No people tracks. No Grimm. And definitely no ghosts. He ate lunch and started a second circuit, a bit further inland.
Two hours later, he found a large clearing on the west side of the island, and an animal track of some sort, leading further inland.
Ears twitching and nerves alert, he followed that path.
He found a smaller clearing in a hollow, completely blocked from view from the coast, barely large enough for a few tents. There was a spot in the middle that had clearly been used repeatedly for a campfire, but not too recently, and some flattened areas where a tent or shelter might have been set up from time to time.
“What kind of ghost builds a campfire, Garek?” he muttered to himself, frowning and peering up at the setting sun. “None, that’s what kind. Ghosts don’t set campfires. Neither do Grimm.” He looked back toward the south. “No foot tracks or paths from the coast inland. That means…” He turned back to consider the larger clearing, off to the west. “Aerial transport?”
What does that mean, Garek?
It means somebody is or was using this place, but doesn’t want the town or the fishermen to know they’re here. They’re pretending to be a ghost, maybe, to keep the locals away.
And that means…
Pirates? Maybe. Smugglers. Bootleggers. Spies?
What the hell would be worth spying on out here?
He stared around at the campsite, then at the setting sun.
With a sigh, he unpacked his gear.
0 0 0
The first night, he didn’t sleep. Instead, he lit a campfire, left his bedroll stuffed into a cloak ‘seated’ in front of it, and climbed a tree a few yards outside the clearing. There he spent the night staring outward into the darkness, his faunus sight taking note of every animal that skittered in the darkness or fluttered through the trees.
By dawn he was cold, stiff, sleep deprived, and feeling stupid. He climbed down and stretched his aching limbs, and did a short circuit around the campsite, finding nothing. Then he spent an hour setting up a series of thin lines, which ran back to a spot in the thicker foliage a few yards away, and hung a small chime on that end.
Then he slung a hammock and settled in, passing out almost immediately.
He slept through the morning, then spent the afternoon completing a full survey of the island. Before the light failed he went over the path between the two clearings with a more detailed eye.
In the end, he decided he found maybe a single set of tracks. Definitely not a large group of people.
Stranger and stranger.
He decided that with the tripline alarm, he could safely sleep through the night.
The third morning he woke to the sound of birds, and realized something.
I haven’t seen a single Grimm on this island.
No people, either.
“If someone was using this as a base, they aren’t here very often. Hell they may not ever come back.”
He spent the rest of the day relaxing at the campsite, foraging for food, and listening to the sounds of nature while he kept an ear peeled for intruders.
By the end of the day, he was certain of only one thing.
This place is a gods-be-damned paradise.
0 0 0
When the fisherman met him at the decrepit dock the next day to extract him, the old man was wary.
“Hae you become bewitched?”
Garek laughed. “Don’t think so. Do I look bewitched?” Really, he felt relaxed. More relaxed than he had in years.
“Can’t be too careful, out here. Did ye see aught?”
Garek had spent the prior day thinking about how he would answer this question. On the one hand, there was still a lot that didn’t make sense. He’d agreed to investigate, and he felt like he had more questions than answers now. “Not sure,” he said carefully. “Didn’t see any ghosts. And like the old lady said, no Grimm. But I’m not sure if I can rule out anything yet.”
The fisherman grunted, and waved him aboard. “A fair answer. Suppose I’ll risk taking ye back to shore.”
The hell, was he gonna just leave me if I hadn’t answered right?
People fucking suck.
0 0 0
Back in Northmar, Garek met the mayor again, and relayed what he hadn’t found.
“Well, I suppose we got what we paid for,” the mayor said. “Maybe Meg won’t come to me in a dream pissed off about how I spent her last lien.” He held out the meager funds.
And Garek took half of the payment, and pushed the rest back across the table. “Way I see it, the job’s not done yet.”
The mayor’s wrinkled face wrinkled further. “You did what we asked.”
“Eh, my curiosity’s gotten the better of me,” Garek said, and grimaced as the mayor’s eyes flicked upward to his ears. Great. Yeah. Curiosity and cat faunus. Just great. “I’m thinking I’ll come back in a few months, check again. See if things have changed.”
The mayor shrugged, then pushed the money back toward Garek. “Come back. Or don’t. We pay our debts.”
“Aright.”
0 0 0
A couple months later, the Huntsman found he’d had his fill of people… again. Over the last few years, he’d increasingly been avoiding the larger cities. Mistral. Argus. Atlas. Mantle. Vale.
Now he was finding even the smaller towns and villages annoying.
People couldn’t be trusted. They expected things of a Huntsman. They asked questions you didn’t feel like answering. Or they muttered behind your back because you were a faunus.
Or worse. You had to watch your back around people.
The larger towns with CCT access caused another problem, because there were other people out there who wanted to know how he was doing and why he wasn’t calling or messaging.
The urge to just head out into the wilderness, alone, and be lost began to gnaw at him again.
That was a problem. Because a Huntsman, alone in the woods, had to sleep sometime. And despite the efforts he put into setting up tripwires and other precautions, he realized deep down that what he was really doing was playing Vacuan Roulette with his life. It was just a matter of time before his luck ran out, and he woke too late to bandits or Grimm tearing into him before he could get Aura up.
Or didn’t wake up at all.
Except… there was one place where he’d really felt at ease. A little island off the north Valean coast.
He turned his feet that direction.
0 0 0
The mayor greeted him more warmly than last time, though he was clearly surprised to see the Huntsman back again. With his blessing, Garek received another ride from Tarlech, the grouchy old fisherman, with instructions to pick him up in five days.
He examined the site carefully when he arrived, and didn’t find evidence anyone had been there since his last trip. He laid and lit a campfire again. Out of an abundance of caution, he set up his tent in the clearing, but still slept in his hammock in the thicket the first few nights.
After the third night, he shifted his triplines, and slept in the tent.
For the first time in years, Huntsman Garek Grae found himself completely at peace. Nobody to bother him. Nobody to betray him. No Grimm.
No dreams of blood.
. . .
He returned again, three months later. The fisherman still refused to spend any time on the shore, but gladly took his lien.
. . .
And again months later. January had been unseasonably warm. Seven days, he told the fisherman, who only shook his head sadly.
Seven days of bliss.
The second evening he sat on a log before the campfire under the light of the broken moon, his pack leaning against the log beside him, when his solitude was interrupted by a gentle chime, and his blood ran cold.
He cast his eyes to the campfire. It was too late to douse it. That would just make it obvious to anyone arriving he’d been warned, and the steam and smoke would draw them here faster.
Tearing off his cloak, he prepared for unwelcome visitors.
Less than an hour later, a person, themselves cloaked and hooded against the cold, approached the clearing and campsite warily and quietly. They had not expected to find anything here, other than an empty clearing. They had left their own gear several meters back, as soon as they’d smelled the wood smoke of a campfire.
They paused at the treeline, hidden eyes scanning the clearing. Noting a single tent. A plate and mug. A figure sitting hunched against a log with its back to them before the campfire.
They held still for some minutes, waiting for the figure to move.
Then seemed to make a decision, shifting forward near silently, hand reaching out for the still figure before them.
Only to freeze when a strong hand gripped their shoulder and a sharp object bit into the middle of their back, just below their ribcage.
“Don’t move,” a rough voice hissed quietly, “unless you want to make it your last mistake in this life.”
Garek was amped up on adrenaline, senses sharp and hyperalert. He’d done his best to drape his cloak over the pack as if it was a man slouched in front of the fire, then used the grapple of Cats Paw to scale high into a tree at the edge of the clearing. There he had perched and waited, heart pounding and hands shaking.
The fact that he saw only a single person just fed his paranoia. What kind of idiot wanders around the wilds alone?
Someone with power and confidence, that’s who. Someone who’d approach an unknown campsite with no weapon drawn. Someone who had access to aerial transportation.
Someone playing Vacuan Roulette with their life because they fucked up a long time ago, a quiet voice whispered inside his head. He told that voice to shut the hell up.
He realized with a flash of frustration that this meant he’d just lost this place as a haven. The fact that it was still being used by someone else meant that it wasn’t his.
He’d never sleep easily here again, even after he dealt with whoever the hell this was.
As the intruder passed beneath him, creeping toward the rough mannequin he’d fashioned, he waited until they leaned forward, reaching out with one hand to grasp his distraction.
Garek activated Pounce, nearly instantaneously and silently moving himself from the high limb, to the ground just behind his target, Cats Paw in hand as he landed.
His right hand gripped the intruder’s shoulder roughly, even as his rapier pressed into the small of their back, angling upward to pierce into their vital organs. “Don’t move,” he hissed quietly, “unless you want to make it your last mistake in this life.”
The figure before him froze, and time slowed to a crawl. He heard them inhale sharply. “Don’t scream, either.”
There were a few heartbeats, and then a young female voice came from the cloaked figure before him. “Please. Do not hurt me. I… I meant no harm.”
Her tone was pleading.
Instinct warred against training. It could have been a trick. A similar one had cost him his partner’s life, years prior, and set him down the lonely path he’d taken since.
But while he was paranoid, he wasn’t a murderer. He could feel the shoulder beneath his right hand shaking. The woman’s pale hand was outstretched but frozen in place, trembling violently as well.
One heartbeat. Two heartbeats, while he considered his next move.
“How many are with you?” He demanded.
“Please, I beg of you…”
“How many?!” he hissed, his fingers digging into her shoulder as he shook her. She gasped, nearly buckling but for the threat of Cats Paw’s blade keeping her standing. It had already pierced her cloak and was pressed into skin.
That should have told him something.
“Alone,” she said quietly, “I am alone. Please do not hurt me.”
His eyes narrowed, scanning the area. Tawney ears perked, listening and hearing nothing but their own rapid breathing and the return of night sounds after her passing.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to loosen his grip. “Who are you? Why are you here? Tell me the truth…” he took a deep breath. “...and I won’t hurt you. You can lower your arm, but keep your hands away from your cloak.”
She did, slumping a bit. “I… I am… my name is Selene. This is my place. My quiet place. I did not… think to see another here. I was surprised and wished to see what you were. Please, let me go. I will leave.”
It made sense. He nodded to himself. “Well then, Selene. Looks like I’ve intruded. But my ride out doesn’t return for several days, and I can’t let you leave and come back with others, either.” He felt her begin to shake again, and she made a small sound in her throat.
Shit! She thinks I’m gonna kill her! “Easy! Like I said, I’m not gonna hurt you. But you’ll have to stay here, until it’s time for me to leave.” He considered. “Unless you have a way we could both leave earlier.”
He felt her shaking stop, and she tensed “I do not. Not that you could use, and I cannot take you where you would wish to go.”
“That’s what I was worried about. Where are your weapons?”
“I have none with me.”
He paused, surprised by the statement. “What if something attacked you?”
“What would attack me here? I did not believe it needful,” she said mournfully. “And had I been armed, I believe it would have cost me my life. I am no fighter.” She took in a shuddering breath. “May I know the name of my captor?”
“Garek.” The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and he found himself reevaluating the situation. Instead of a trained Huntsman addressing a threat, he was starting to feel more like a ruffian taking someone hostage. “I’m sorry, Selene, I’ve got reasons to be paranoid.” He took a deep breath. Released it. “I’m going to take my hand off your shoulder and check you for weapons. Don’t move.”
The hood nodded, and he used the back of his hand to check under her arms, around her waist and ankles for any sheathes or holsters, and found none.
“Dammit.” A sick feeling began to pool in his stomach. “I’m going to remove my weapon. Don’t try to run. Sit next to my decoy there… please.” He added at the end, to try to soften his commands.
The cloak nodded again, and he eased Cat’s Paw away from her back, pushing his own Aura forward in case she spun around and used some Semblance to…
Wait.
Why hadn’t she relied on Aura to protect her?
The ugly feeling intensified. This was no Huntress. More likely it was a bandit without Aura, but even that seemed unlikely. She didn’t have the reflexes or the feel of a bandit, and they traveled in groups, not alone.
He watched carefully as she slowly made shaking limbs move, stepping over and then lowering herself on to the log, carefully avoiding looking back at him. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.
“I have done as you demanded,” she said softly, voice quavering.
“Thank you.” He moved around slightly behind and to her right and perched on a stump. Inhaling and exhaling once deeply, he took another moment to collect his wits. “And again, I’m sorry for all this. I’m kinda paranoid for good reasons. I’ve seen men killed before because they weren’t suspicious enough.” Gotten them killed, that damned voice reminded him. “And again, I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.” He paused. “You said this was your place?”
The hood bowed. “Yes,” she sadly whispered. “It was.”
Ugh. “Dammit.” He shook his head. “It was mine too, though I’m figuring it was yours first.”
She turned sharply toward him, and he saw a faint reflection of the reddish firelight within the hood. “Ah.” She laughed bitterly. “Then it seems we have ruined it for each other.”
“Yeah. Life screwing me over again.”
There was a long silence as her hands played with the hem of her cloak and the fire crackled. She broke it hesitantly. “Where are you from? What do you do here?”
He hummed. It couldn’t hurt. “A small town in Mistral you’ve probably never heard of. Found this place doing a contract. I started coming here when I needed to get away from people.”
“A… contract?”
That’s right, she probably hadn’t gotten a good look at me. “I’m a Huntsman. I mostly do contracts for frontier villages across Mistral and Vale.”
“So, it is your… work?”
“Right.”
She seemed to consider. “And these… contracts are for?”
“Well lately it’s been running off bandits mostly, though I avoid taking on larger tribes. Last month it was protecting a faunus village from a vigilante group.”
“Faunus?” she seemed to roll the word over as she repeated it. “What is this?”
He paused. “What do you mean?”
“What I say. What is a faunus?”
Garek blinked and raised a hand, pointing to the two tawny ears on top of his head. “Faunus.” There were also small spots that featured heavily on his neck and faded out as they approached his face, but those were actually tattoos. He’d long since decided that if the ears were going to make his heritage obvious, then he was going to lean into it.
The hood turned slightly more. “Oh… I… I had thought you human. My apologies.”
“It’s fine. I can imagine you had other things on your mind.”
Garek paused. He felt like things were going… oddly. The fading of adrenaline was leaving him feeling a little numb and jittery, and it gave him a sense of unreality. But she kept probing.
“So, you… travel and protect against bandits and… people who hate your kind?”
“Yeah. And attacks by Grimm of course.”
He saw her tense, which wasn’t surprising. Grimm were a scary subject for normies, after all. “Oh.” She whispered.
“It’s okay. It’s what we train for. Frankly it’s usually safer than facing bandits or bigots.”
“Yes. I… I see. And you… defend against attacks… by Grimm.”
“Right.”
She was silent for a second. “But what if… what if the Grimm were not attacking… but were merely passing by.”
Garek frowned. That was a weird question. “Well… they don’t, I mean other than small Nevermore chicks. When a Grimm of any serious size sees a person, it attacks. It’s kinda their thing.”
“Truly?”
“I’ve never heard anyone say otherwise.”
Selene made a small sound, like a swallowing noise or a gulp. “But… but what if it did. What if… what if you found a Grimm,” She gestured, hands framing something the size of a dog, “and it was merely sitting, harming nothing.”
Garek scratched the base of an ear with his free hand. “I… I dunno. I’d have to think about that. It would-”
“But you would think, yes?” She interrupted. “You would not just attack it?” She asked, her tone intent.
“I… sure. Yeah, I guess that would be weird enough to make me stop and think about it. It might be a threat to someone else later, though. I’d have to weigh that, too.”
The hooded figure turned back toward the campfire and he heard her take a deep breath. “And if… if one were to be sitting on a log, in front of a warm fire…” her voice shook as she continued, “asking you questions? If they promised not to hurt anyone?”
Garek’s brain vapor-locked as his pulse slowed to a crawl. The words went round and round in his head. Individually, they all made sense. Combined, they were meaningless. Fantastical. Impossible. His lungs were hurting, so he exhaled and sucked in another lungful of air.
Selene had not moved. Nor had she laughed.
He felt dizzy, but he could see she was waiting for an answer. He coughed. “That… that would be impossible.”
“But if it were not?” She insisted.
“Then I’d… definitely have to think… carefully… about that.”
“Even…” she took another breath. He saw her hands clench on her knees, “even if you had already promised you would not harm them?”
His stomach flipped several times. He realized his knuckles were white with how hard he was gripping Cat’s Paw, its point still buried in the ground before him. He cleared his throat. “Selene. I... need you to remove your hood.”
She was still for a few long seconds.
“I am afraid,” she whispered, and his gut wrenched with how much she sounded it. She was terrified. Of him.
Or she’s acting. This is a trap.
What kind of trap could it fucking be, though? She hadn’t used Aura when he could have killed her earlier.
Nothing here made sense.
She was implying that she was Grimm.
But Grimm don’t talk. Grimm don’t shake in fear. Grimm don’t just sit on a log in front of a fire with their back to a Huntsman with their weapon out.
They don’t have names.
I really need the world to make sense right now.
“Look... I swear I won’t attack you. I just need to… understand who I’m talking to.”
There were several moments where she seemed to consider his words. Then the hood dipped, and both her hands raised toward her face. He noticed, for the first time, that her hands were pale. Paler than the moonlight. They grasped the hem of her hood on either side, and slowly pulled it back as she faced away from him, revealing pure white hair streaked with black, running straight and shoulder-length. One incredibly pale ear peeked out from the right side. She sat still, head bowed as she returned her hands to her knees.
Then she slowly turned her head toward him.
He felt his eyes widen and mouth go slack as she revealed her face to him. Pale complexion, bone-white. Black eyebrows framed features that really drew his attention.
Her eyes had ordinary black pupils, but they were framed by Grimm-red, narrow scarlet irises. Irises bordered by black sclera instead of white.
Everything he’d ever experienced in his life... everything he’d ever trained for, told him that what he was seeing was something unnatural. Something evil and dangerous.
“What are you?” He croaked.
“I am Selene,” she said. Her lips tried to smile, but they were trembling, and those unnatural eyes started to go glassy with tears as her gaze fell.
He followed that gaze, to find he had lifted his rapier, angled toward her.
Grimm don’t talk.
You’ve been tricked before.
She’s scared spitless.
It could be a trap.
What the hell are you going to do, make yourself a liar? Can you live with yourself if you do?
He swallowed thickly and forced his hand down, burying the point back in the dirt of the campsite. He heard her choke and inhale as he did so.
“Thank you, Garek,” she finished.
"Garek Meets Selene" by Seraphina Brooks. (@SeraBrooks on X)