Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hunter had never known peace.
From the moment he could comprehend his surroundings, everything had been a blur of fear, pain, and confusion. It was as though the world around him was built to crush whatever fragile semblance of self he tried to form. His earliest memories, hazy as they were, felt like a storm cloud hanging over his head—constant, unyielding, and suffocating.
He’d been raised to be the Emperor's perfect soldier—stoic, powerful, obedient—but the truth of it all was that no one had cared who Hunter really was. Not truly. No one had ever asked him what he felt, what he wanted, or who he was, and when he tried to show a glimpse of it, his world had narrowed to a single voice: You are mine.
The voice that he feared most of all was the one that belonged to his uncle, Philip Wittebane.

The first few years of Hunter's life had been relatively peaceful, but peace was a fragile thing in the Empire. His memories of those early days were full of his mother, a faint, comforting presence, them touch soft and loving. they would tuck him into bed, sing to him in a voice so gentle it made him feel safe in the world.
But that safety had shattered one night.
He could hear the door creak open in the darkness of his room, and then the soft shuffle of footsteps on the cold floor. Hunter’s small body tensed, his breath caught in his throat. His mother had never made a sound like that. No, it was always him.
"You're awake, little one?" His uncle’s voice was smooth and sinister, like silk sliding across broken glass. The tone was calm, but it always made Hunter’s heart race. He lay frozen under the thin covers, eyes wide in the darkness. Please don’t come closer.
Hunter had been taught to stay silent, to not speak unless spoken to. His uncle despised unnecessary noise.
Philip Wittebane had never been anything but cruel to him. The man had seized control of the Emperor’s Coven when Hunter was just a baby, and from that moment on, his life had been in the hands of a man who viewed him as nothing more than a tool, a weapon to mold and use for his own purposes.
"Let me see you, Hunter," his uncle demanded softly. "I’ve been waiting for you to show yourself."
Hunter wanted to curl into himself, to shrink away from the gaze that seemed to pierce through his very soul. But he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t listen. His hands, shaking, reached for the edges of the blanket, and he pulled it over his head, trembling beneath it.
He had heard whispers from the servants, and even some of the guards, speaking of how Philip had always wanted a son. The whispers had been almost kind compared to the hell he now lived in. But there had been no kindness for Hunter, not from his uncle. He had never been wanted.
The years after that were nothing but training, harsh discipline, and forced obedience. His uncle made sure Hunter knew that there was only one way to survive in the world—by being strong, unwavering, and always obedient. But even as Hunter followed his uncle’s orders, something felt...wrong.
There was a sense of discomfort that gnawed at him from the inside out. He was told to wear the uniform, to stand like a soldier, to be stoic, to be perfect. He complied with the rules, knowing the consequences of failure. But there was an ache within him that he couldn’t place, an itch in his chest that he couldn’t scratch.
He was a soldier, yes. A warrior. But that wasn’t what he wanted to be. He was told he should be proud of his position in the Emperor’s Coven, proud to serve the Emperor. But every time he looked in the mirror, something felt off. His reflection was… wrong.
Hunter didn’t know the word for what he felt, not at first. He didn’t understand why he hated the feeling of the uniform hugging his body, why the corset felt like a vice. Why his voice, when it cracked, made him feel ashamed. He didn’t understand why the simple act of looking at the mirror made him sick to his stomach.
He was supposed to be her. He was supposed to be a girl. That was what his uncle always told him. That was what the world seemed to demand of him.
You’re a girl, Hunter. His uncle’s voice echoed in his head, cold and cruel. Girls are weak. Don’t be weak.
But even as he struggled to meet his uncle’s expectations, something deep inside him screamed in protest.
The other children in the Empire’s training grounds—all of them were either from prominent families or had been forcibly adopted by his uncle. They had no time for him, and he didn’t care. It was easier to let them think he was a freak, to let them label him with their own cruel, ignorant words.
But one evening, at the age of seven, as he stood near the boiling sea with his uncle—watching the steam rise and the waves crash violently against the rocks—something inside of him snapped.
“Why am I so wrong?” Hunter asked himself, staring at his reflection in the waves. The water was dark, churning with shadows of unknown horrors, but it was the reflection he focused on. The girl’s face staring back at him seemed foreign, a stranger’s face wearing his own expression.
“Hunter,” Philip called sharply from behind him, his voice cold. “Get back here.”
He wanted to scream. Wanted to shout and say I’m not her, but instead, he simply obeyed. He turned away from the sea and marched back to his uncle’s side. The boiling sea would never let him escape.

The years wore on, and the weight of the Empire’s cruel training pressed harder and harder on his shoulders. By the time Hunter was ten, he had already learned how to fight, how to kill, how to serve without question. But he was still lost.
The world was filled with confusing signals. He saw men and women in the streets, walking hand in hand. He saw them laugh and smile with each other. He saw them live. But he could never seem to make sense of it. It was as though he didn’t belong in the world at all.
“Hunter!” his uncle snapped one day, breaking through his spiraling thoughts. “You’re daydreaming again. What is it this time? Another one of your weak thoughts?”
Hunter stiffened, standing up straight as Philip approached. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He had no idea how to explain this, how to explain this hollow feeling inside him. How to explain that he was broken, but not in the way his uncle thought.
“It’s nothing, Uncle,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.
Philip didn’t buy it. He never did.
With a single motion, his uncle grabbed him by the arm and yanked him forward. “You are mine,” Philip growled, his grip tightening. “You will never be weak. You will never question who you are.”
Hunter winced as his uncle dragged him through the hallways of the palace, his thoughts racing. Who am I? The question echoed in his mind. He wasn’t a girl, but that was all they ever told him to be. He wasn’t a boy either, not in the way they expected him to be. But he felt something in him that said he was more, something different. Something real.
But how could he be that when the whole world told him no?

It was during one of the rare moments when his uncle wasn’t around, a brief silence in the chaos of his life, that Hunter found the answer.
He had sneaked away from the training grounds and had wandered into one of the quieter corners of the castle, the hidden library his uncle had forbidden him to enter. He found an old book, its cover worn and faded. He ran his fingers over the title: The Art of Being Yourself.
Curious, he opened it. Inside were words that he didn’t fully understand, but they felt right. They felt like the first breath of air he had ever taken. It was a story about a person who had always been told they were something they weren’t, and how, in the end, they had discovered who they truly were.
Hunter’s eyes widened as he read. I am a man. I am a boy. The words whispered through him like a breath of fresh air, like the first taste of freedom he had ever known.
For the first time in his life, Hunter understood something about himself that had always been hidden in the dark corners of his heart.
He wasn’t a girl. He was never meant to be a girl.
And if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that he would never, ever let his uncle take this truth away from him.

Hunter had never known peace, not in the way others did.
But in that quiet corner of the palace, buried deep within the crumbling pages of an old book, he found something—hope.
Hope that one day, maybe, just maybe, he could be more than what his uncle had forced him to be. Hope that one day, he will be able to say the words out loud, to feel the weight of them in the world.
I am Hunter. And I am not a girl.
The days passed in the same mechanical rhythm, one blending into the next with little more than the oppressive weight of the Empire to anchor them. Hunter’s life had become a series of commands and obeying, training and survival, silence and repression. Yet despite it all, a small spark of something—something growing, something real—began to stir within him. He didn’t understand what it was, but it was there, deep in his chest.
The crushing weight of his uncle’s expectations never let up. The boiling sea still roared like an endless monster outside the palace, reminding him that he was trapped, just like the other soldiers under Philip Wittebane’s rule. But in the silence of his own mind, in the moments when his uncle’s voice wasn’t harshly cutting through him, Hunter wondered about who he was.
He had found that old book in the library, the one that had started to crack the dam of his understanding. The Art of Being Yourself. The words had comforted him, whispered truths that felt like a lifeline in an ocean of confusion. But that was the problem. He had learned nothing of what he was, except that everything about his existence had been wrong from the very beginning.
There were still so many things he couldn’t understand, so many questions left unanswered. What did it mean to be trans? Why did the world insist he was something he wasn’t?
And what about his voice?

The training grounds were silent except for the rhythmic sound of boots against the floor as the young recruits moved in time with their drillmaster’s orders. Hunter was always at the front, even the obedient soldier. His muscles had become used to the sharp commands, the drills that pushed him to the brink, his body sculpted into a weapon under the strict discipline of his uncle.
But even as he performed each move with precision, something felt off. It wasn’t the drills themselves, but the feeling that sat heavy in his chest—he could still feel it there, this thing, an undeniable discomfort with his own body.
And it wasn’t just the uniform anymore. It was his voice.
Hunter had always hated the sound of his own voice. Even as a child, he had felt the strange, hollow vibration in his chest every time he had to speak. But back then, it had been easier to ignore, easier to brush aside as just another thing that was wrong with him.
But now, at ten years old, his voice has started to change. The first crack had been subtle. A slight change, an unfamiliar roughness in the pitch, like his body was fighting against the words that came from his throat. And every time it happened, he felt that unease, that feeling of being pulled apart at the seams.
“Hunter! Pay attention!” His drill master's voice rang out, harsh and commanding. The sound of his name made Hunter flinch, just as it always did.
He snapped his posture back into place, locking his feet firmly in position. His voice betrayed him again as he stammered an apology.
“Sorry, sir.” His words came out softer than he intended, the edges of them catching in his throat. He hated it. His voice wasn’t right. It didn’t match the image of a perfect soldier, a warrior. The crack in his tone, the slight shift in pitch, made him feel exposed, vulnerable.
It wasn’t the voice of a soldier. It was the voice of something weak.
The other recruits didn’t seem to notice. Or if they did, they didn’t care. But to Hunter, it felt like the entire world had stopped, and all eyes were on him. Their voices, their laughter, their glances, all rang through him like a sharp sting, forcing him to remember that he wasn’t like them. He would never be like them.
"Get it together," the drillmaster snapped again, and Hunter forced his shoulders back, biting down on the sharp sting in his chest. The crack in his voice was a constant reminder, but it was something deeper that haunted him now. Something that had been gnawing at his gut for as long as he could remember.
His body had never felt right, not in the way it should. The uniform, the tight fit of the trousers, the fabric that hugged him too closely—it was all a constant reminder that he didn’t belong in the body he was in.
But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just his body.
It was the way people treated him. The way his uncle looked at him. His uncle had called him Hunter, but that didn’t matter. His uncle never saw him as a person. To Philip, he was just a tool to be used and discarded when the time came.
But the worst part was how his uncle always called him a girl.
"Come on, girl. Get it together." Philip’s words rang in his ears, that cold sneer that always followed. Girl. He had never been a girl. Not really. But Philip insisted, and the world seemed to follow suit.
It was like everyone was blind to what was in front of them, blind to the reality that he was not who they thought he was. He wasn’t a girl. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t this thing they tried to force him to be.
But what was he, then?
The question echoed in his mind, haunting him as he moved through his days. What was he? He didn’t have a name for it. He didn’t have a label, not in the way people expected. But the feeling—the feeling that something inside him wasn’t aligning with what everyone saw when they looked at him—it gnawed at him constantly.

Later that evening, Hunter stood in front of the cracked mirror in his small room. His reflection stared back at him with eyes that looked foreign. He was wearing his usual uniform, the tight-fitting trousers, the cloak draped across his shoulders. He looked like a soldier, but he didn’t feel like one.
You’re a girl. The words haunted him. His uncle’s voice, cutting through his mind like a blade.
He looked at his reflection, then down at his chest, the curve of it under the fabric. He pulled at the buttons of his shirt, tugging it down to cover himself, to hide that part of him that he couldn’t change. The skin, the softness—it didn’t belong to him. It didn’t feel like him.
A sob caught in his throat, and he gripped the edges of the mirror, his fingers digging into the glass. He stared at himself, willing it to change. I’m not a girl, he thought. I’m not. I’m not.
But the voice inside of him, the one that had been growing for months now, whispered a quiet truth. You’re not a girl, but you’re not sure what you are.
It wasn’t like the words from the book. It wasn’t the same kind of clarity. It wasn’t a sudden epiphany, a realization that set his world on fire.
It was just… a feeling. A knowing.
“I’m not a girl,” he whispered to the empty room, his voice cracking with the weight of the words. His reflection didn’t answer him. It never did.
The quiet of the room was suffocating, but it was the only thing that gave him space to breathe. Here, in this space, he could be anything he wanted, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.
But I’m not a girl, he repeated to himself. I’m not.
He wasn’t a soldier, not in the way they wanted him to be. He wasn’t a perfect weapon. He wasn’t her. He didn’t know what he was, but he knew he was something else, something more, something that existed beyond the walls of his uncle’s world.
But there was no room for him to do that. Not in the Empire. Not in the life his uncle had made for him.

The following day, Hunter was ordered to train with the others in the courtyard. His muscles were sore, his mind heavy with the weight of his own confusion. As always, his uncle stood at the far end, watching him with that cold, assessing gaze.
Hunter barely heard the drill master's voice, the commands coming out in a blur as his thoughts drowned in the murky waters of his mind. His voice, that crack in his tone, had returned again, and this time, it felt worse than before. It felt like a betrayal.
When he spoke, his voice cracked, the pitch of it dropping unnaturally. “Yes, sir.”
The drillmaster glanced at him, a flash of annoyance in his eyes. Hunter immediately braced for the punishment. You’re weak, the drillmaster’s eyes seemed to say.
But Hunter didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care about their judgment. He didn’t care about their expectations. All that mattered was the truth he was holding onto, even if he couldn’t fully understand it.
I am not a girl.
The truth was terrifying, and he didn’t know how to face it. But it was his truth. He would hold onto it.
The Empire’s palace stood cold and unforgiving, its dark stone walls enclosing Hunter like a tomb. He had spent the last ten years of his life within these walls, training, being molded into the perfect soldier, the perfect tool for the Emperor’s use. But that was all it was. A life without warmth, without understanding, without care. His uncle—Emperor Belos—had never seen him as anything more than an asset, a weapon to be wielded for the Emperor’s goals.
Today was different.
Hunter had never felt a storm like the one inside of him before. His heart raced, each beat a thundurus in his chest. His hands trembled as he pulled on his uniform, the tight fabric a constant reminder of everything that wasn’t right. The collar felt too high, the sleeves too long, his body too small for the weight he had been forced to carry for so long.
I’m not a girl, he thought, gripping the fabric of his shirt. I’m not a girl. I’m not a girl.
It had been months since the first time the truth had begun to show itself to him. That moment in the mirror, when he had whispered to himself, I’m not a girl, had been a revelation—an understanding of who he was beneath the surface, a crack in the dam of his confusion. But now, standing here in his room, facing the weight of the moment, he knew it was time to speak those words aloud. He could no longer live a lie.
He wasn’t sure what his uncle would do. Belos had never been kind, never been gentle. Hunter had spent years under the Emperor’s rule, training his body to be the perfect soldier, to obey without question. He had never questioned the Emperor’s authority, never dared to stand up for himself. But he wasn’t a child anymore, and he couldn’t pretend any longer.
His reflection in the mirror was still the same—skin pale, hair messy, eyes dull—but today, something was different. Today, he had the courage to face the truth that had been gnawing at him for so long. He was a boy. And he wasn’t going to hide that anymore.
With a deep breath, he made his way through the dark halls of the palace. The oppressive silence was almost suffocating, and each step felt like an eternity. He knew what he had to do. He had to speak to Belos. He had to say the words that had been trapped in his throat for so long. But he didn’t know how to start.
As he reached the Emperor’s chambers, his heart began to race faster. His palms were clammy, his throat dry. What if Belos didn’t understand? What if he rejected him? The thought made him want to turn and run, but he forced his feet to stay rooted in place.
Hunter knocked twice on the heavy wooden door.
“Enter,” came Belle's voice, cold and commanding.
Hunter opened the door and stepped inside, his posture rigid, his heart pounding in his chest. Belos was seated at his desk, the dim light casting harsh shadows over his face, making him look even more imposing than usual. His eyes—cold and calculating—turned toward Hunter, waiting for him to speak.
Hunter swallowed hard, but the words wouldn’t come. He stood there, frozen, feeling smaller than he had ever felt in his life. Belos stared at him, unblinking, the silence between them heavy with expectation.
“Well? What is it, Hunter?” Belle's voice was sharp, impatient.
“I…” Hunter began, but his voice cracked in the way it always did now. He hated it, hated how it betrayed him, how it sounded like he wasn’t even in control of his own body. But he had to keep going. He couldn’t stop. “I need to talk to you, Uncle. It’s important.”
Belos’s brow furrowed. “Important? You are always important, Hunter. You know your place.”
Hunter flinched at the words, the sting of them hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. He had spent so long in the shadow of his uncle’s cruelty, so long being reminded that he was nothing more than a tool to be used. He wanted to scream, wanted to throw the world off his shoulders, but instead, he stood there, breathing in shallow breaths.
“I’m not…” Hunter struggled to find the words. “I’m not a girl.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and fragile. Belos didn’t respond immediately. His eyes narrowed, as if considering the implications of what Hunter had said. Hunter had no idea what he expected, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t this silence, this cold weight that settled between them.
“You’re not a girl?” Belos finally said, his voice low, dangerous. “What is this nonsense you speak of, Hunter?”
Hunter’s hands shook, his fists clenched at his sides. He could feel the weight of everything pressing down on him. “I’m a boy,” he said, more forcefully this time, the words coming out in a rush. “I’m a boy. I’m not a girl. I don’t… I don’t feel like this, like I’m supposed to be someone else. I’m not—I'm not who you think I am.”
Belos’s gaze darkened, and the room seemed to grow colder. “You’ve always been a girl, Hunter,” he said, his voice thick with disdain. “The heir to my empire, my blood, my tool. You will not change that.”
“No!” Hunter’s voice cracked again, and this time, it felt like the sound shattered something deep inside him. “I’m not a girl. I’m trans. I—I know I’m a boy. I just… I never knew what it was, not until now. But I’m not a girl. I’m a boy.”
The words hung in the air like a confession, like an admission of something forbidden. Hunter’s chest felt tight, as if the words had ripped something open inside of him, something he couldn’t put back together.
Belos stood up from his desk, his expression darkening further. “You are my heir. You are a Wittebane. You will never be anything else. This nonsense about being a boy… It's a foolish idea. You’ll put these delusions out of your head, Hunter, and you’ll serve your purpose.”
Hunter’s heart sank, the weight of Belos’s words crushing him. There was no understanding in his uncle’s eyes, no compassion. To Belos, Hunter was just a tool, just a thing to be molded and controlled. He wasn’t human to him. He was just an object, a thing that would do his bidding. His uncle had never seen him as a person, and he never would.
“I’m not a thing,” Hunter whispered, his voice trembling. He stepped back, away from Belos, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance. “I’m not your weapon. I’m not your girl.”
Belos took a step forward, his voice low and menacing. “You are my weapon, Hunter. You are my heir. And if you dare defy me, if you dare speak such lies again, I’ll ensure you learn your place.”
Hunter’s heart was pounding now, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He could feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not in front of the man who had ruined his life, who had made him believe he was nothing more than a tool, a thing to be used and discarded.
“I’m not your girl, and I’m not your heir,” Hunter repeated, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. “I’m a boy. And you’re never going to make me forget that again.”
Belos didn’t respond immediately. His eyes bore into Hunter like a cold blade, and for a moment, Hunter thought he saw something—something darker, something more dangerous—pass across his uncle’s face. The Emperor’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched at his sides.
“You think you can defy me?” Belle's voice was deadly calm now, his tone soft but laced with a venom that made Hunter’s skin crawl. “You are nothing, Hunter. Nothing without me. You are weak. And you will never be what you want to be. Do you understand?”
Hunter felt the tears burn behind his eyes, but he stood tall, refusing to back down. “I don’t care what you think,” he whispered. “I know who I am.”
Belos’s eyes narrowed, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. “You will learn your place, Hunter. You will learn to be the tool I need you to be. And if you refuse… then you’ll regret it.”
With that, he turned and walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing through the room.
Hunter stood there for a long time, his heart in his throat, his mind swirling with confusion and anger. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, this would be the moment where his uncle would understand, where his uncle would see him for who he truly was. But it wasn’t.
Belos would never understand. And Hunter would never be what his uncle wanted him to be.
But Hunter had said the words. He had claimed his truth. And even if Belos couldn’t hear him, even if the world couldn’t see him, Hunter knew one thing now.
He was a boy.
And he wasn’t going to let anyone—least of all Belos—take that from him.

Hunter’s hands shook as he stood before the mirror, his eyes locked on his reflection. The familiar face stared back at him—his pale skin, his messy golden hair that fell into his eyes. His breath was shallow as his fingers lightly brushed the strands, feeling the weight of them, the way they tangled in his hands. He hated it. He hated the way it made him feel trapped, like he was wearing someone else's skin.
The past week has been a whirlwind of emotions. After his confrontation with Belos, Hunter had been more aware than ever of how powerless he truly was in this world. His uncle’s words, like daggers, had sunk deep into his skin, the threat hanging over him, suffocating him. Hunter had never felt more alone, but also, in some twisted way, more sure of who he was.
The world around him had tried to shape him into something he was not—something he could never be. But what if he could carve out a little space for himself? A space where he could finally become the boy he knew he was inside? What if he could make his body match his soul?
Hunter didn’t have all the answers, but he knew one thing for certain. He couldn’t keep living this way. The quiet discomfort, the unbearable disconnect between who he was and how the world saw him, had become too much to bear. His reflection was a stranger to him, a reminder of how far removed he felt from himself.
So, he made a decision.
His gaze flicked to the small bottle on his desk—potions. Not just any potions, but the kind he had stolen from the Emperor’s private lab. Potions that, if they worked as he hoped, could help him make his body match the reality of who he truly was. They weren’t the same as the potions that turned witches into warriors or enhanced their abilities; these were different. These were his potions—designed to begin changing his body in ways no one could see. The potions weren’t the magic that could fix his soul, but they were a start.
Hunter had never talked to anyone about his dysphoria. No one knew. Not Willow, not Gus, not even Cami. The one person who might understand, the one person he thought he could turn to, was his uncle—and that was the last person he could trust. Belos would never, ever understand.
With trembling hands, he reached for the vial of potion. The thick liquid inside gleamed a faint golden color, the color of the sun on a cold winter morning—too warm, too inviting, too dangerous. But it was the only thing that felt like it could be the first step toward freedom.
His heart thundered as he uncorked the bottle and poured a drop onto his palm, watching as the liquid shimmered and melted into his skin. It stung for a moment, then faded, leaving only the faintest trace of warmth.
He stepped back from the mirror, his hands still shaking. The liquid had already begun to course through him, and as it did, a strange calm washed over him. It was as though the small act of making a choice, of taking that first step, had somehow made everything feel more real, more tangible. His reflection—his image—might not have changed in the slightest, but for the first time in his life, he could imagine a version of himself that could be right.
Hunter didn’t know what the future held, but for once, it didn’t feel like a question that was out of reach. His heart hammered in his chest as he considered what the next few days, weeks, and months might look like.
But for now, he had to focus on the immediate. The potion would take time. His body would change slowly—too slowly for anyone to notice right away, especially Belos. He had to keep it a secret, as much as he hated the idea of hiding parts of himself. His uncle couldn’t find out, not yet.
Hunter pulled out a pair of scissors from the drawer, gripping them tightly in his hand. His reflection still haunted him, but there was something he could do about it now. The long strands of golden hair that had always fallen in front of his face were too much. They had become a symbol of everything he wasn’t, everything he couldn’t be. With a deep breath, he raised the scissors to his hair.
The first cut was a relief.
The snip was almost too loud in the silence of the room, the sound of it slicing through the air sharp and final. His hands didn’t falter as he continued, cutting more and more, until strands of golden hair littered the floor like discarded evidence. Each cut felt like a small act of defiance, like a declaration that he was done pretending, done living a lie.
When he finished, he stood back, surveying the damage. His hair now fell in a messy, uneven crop around his face, short and wild. It wasn’t perfect, but that wasn’t the point. It felt like a physical representation of everything he’d wanted to say to the world, everything he’d wanted to do with his life. It felt like freedom.
Hunter stood there for a long moment, watching himself in the mirror. It was strange. The short hair felt right, but it didn’t feel like everything. Not yet. It was a small change—barely noticeable, really—but it was enough for now. He was starting to see himself.
He sighed, his fingers brushing his hair. It still felt foreign in a way, and his heart ached with the realization that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the fact that he was still stuck in this place, this life, this body. But something inside him had shifted. Maybe it wasn’t a lot. Maybe it wasn’t even enough. But it was a start.
A start.
The thought gave him hope—small, fragile, but hope nonetheless. He wasn’t entirely sure where this journey would take him, or how it would unfold. But he knew one thing for certain: He couldn’t keep living this way, pretending to be someone he wasn’t. The road ahead would be difficult, and there were risks in what he was doing. Belos would never approve. He would never understand.
Hunter turned away from the mirror, his heart heavy with the weight of the decision he had just made. He couldn’t tell anyone about this. Not yet. If anyone found out, he was certain Belos would have him punished. But there was something inside him that burned with the knowledge that he was doing the right thing. Even if the world couldn’t see it, even if it took years for his body to reflect who he really was, he knew he was making the right choice.
He stepped away from the mirror and tucked the scissors back into the drawer, his heart still pounding. He needed to move forward. The potions would take time to work, but for now, he had to focus on the next step.

Days passed slowly, like a stagnant river refusing to move. The potions worked in subtle ways, each drop transforming his body in a way that no one could see. He felt it, though—the changes were small, but they were real. His voice had started to deepen, a faint change that only he could hear. His skin felt different—tighter, firmer, like it was finally starting to settle into a body that belonged to him.
But with each change, the fear gnawed at him. What would happen if someone noticed? What would happen if Belos found out? Would he punish him? Would he make it worse?
Hunter felt like he was walking a tightrope, balancing precariously between the truth of who he was and the crushing weight of his uncle’s expectations. He had no choice but to keep this secret, at least for now. He couldn’t risk everything, not when he had no one to turn to for support.
The only time he felt some semblance of peace was when he was alone in his room, staring at the small vial of potion. It was the only thing that gave him hope—that, perhaps, just maybe, he could survive this.
But every time he looked at his reflection, the question gnawed at him again: When will the world see me for who I am?
He didn’t know. He didn’t have the answers.
But he was trying.
And sometimes, that was enough.
The sun hung low in the sky as Hunter made his way to the Emperor’s Coven boot camp. The harsh light of day was fading, leaving behind the cool shadow of night, but the weight of the camp loomed large, as did the pressure that had been building inside him for weeks. His steps echoed across the stone walkway, each sound a reminder of the path he was walking—a path that had already begun to shape the person he was becoming, a path that had very little room for anyone other than who he was told to be.
It had been two weeks since Hunter had cut his hair, since he had taken the first step toward becoming the boy he always knew he was, even though the rest of the world, including his uncle, still saw him as a girl. His voice had started to drop, his body slowly changing with the potions he’d taken in secret, but it wasn’t enough. He didn’t feel like enough. Not yet.
The boot camp was the next phase of his training—a test of strength, resilience, and obedience. Belos had made it clear that this was a non-negotiable part of his “education” as a member of the Emperor’s Coven. Hunter didn’t want to go, didn’t want to face another day of being pushed to his limits by his uncle’s unrelenting expectations, but there was no choice. The world didn’t offer him any.
Hunter paused at the entrance of the camp, his heart thumping in his chest. The barracks were simple—nothing fancy, just rows of hardened stone and iron, and drills designed to break the spirit of any recruit who wasn’t strong enough to survive. As much as he loathed it, this was the only place he could prove his worth to Belos, to himself.
He took a deep breath and stepped forward, his boots crunching against the gravel.
The instructor, a tall, imposing figure with a face scarred from years of service to the Emperor, stood waiting at the front of the training grounds. His eyes narrowed as Hunter approached, and the other recruits—young witches, all of them—fell into line behind him, staring at the new arrival with curiosity, suspicion, and some measure of disdain.
“Hunter, I presume?” The instructor’s voice was gruff, his eyes never leaving Hunter’s face as he looked him over. Hunter stiffened under the scrutiny. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been under the microscope before, but there was something about this moment that felt different, like he was being examined not just for his abilities, but for the person he was supposed to be.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, his voice cracking slightly despite his best efforts to steady it. The deepening pitch was both a relief and a reminder that the change wasn’t happening fast enough.
“Good. You’re here to become one of the best, or you’re here to fail,” the instructor said, crossing his arms. “This is the Emperor’s Coven, and we don’t have time for weaklings. If you can’t keep up, don’t bother showing up tomorrow.”
Hunter’s heart beat faster, the words sinking into him like cold stone. He didn’t know what he expected—perhaps a little more encouragement, or at least some recognition for the effort it had taken to get here—but it wasn’t a surprise. Belos had raised him to be a tool, a weapon, and he would be trained as one. There was no space for softness, for hesitation, for anything that wasn’t pure efficiency.
The instructor gestured to the other recruits. “We’re starting with endurance drills. Fall in line, and let’s see what you’re made of.”
Hunter moved into position, trying to ignore the way his stomach twisted with anxiety. His chest tightened with the weight of the expectations he was carrying, but he couldn’t afford to let it show. He had to be strong—stronger than everyone else, even if that meant pretending to be something he wasn’t.
The instructor began barking orders, sending them sprinting up and down the gravel path, pushing them to run faster, longer. Hunter’s breath came in short bursts, his legs burning with the effort. He could hear the others around him, the sound of feet pounding the earth, the sound of grunts and groans, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than his own body. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat a reminder that he was doing this for a purpose—for a future that felt increasingly uncertain.
As the drills continued, Hunter’s thoughts began to drift. He thought about the potions, how the changes were so subtle, so slow. His body still didn’t feel like it belonged to him. His skin still felt like it was someone else’s, his voice still didn’t fit the way he felt inside, and the weight of his hair was still there, heavy on his head.
And then there was the fear that clawed at him from the inside—what if Belos found out? What if someone saw through his carefully constructed facade and realized he wasn’t the obedient, perfect soldier they thought he was? The fear made him slow, made him hesitate, and as he sprinted to the next checkpoint, the instructor’s voice boomed in his ear.
“Hunter! What are you doing? Pick up the pace!”
Hunter’s face flushed with embarrassment, his legs like lead as he pushed himself forward. The instructor was right. He needed to keep up. He had to keep up.
The next drill was combat training, and as Hunter stepped into the ring, his body felt like it was moving of its own accord. His heart pounded as he squared off against his opponent, a taller, stronger recruit with a look of arrogance in his eyes. Hunter had faced opponents like him before, but this time felt different. His body didn’t feel like it belonged to him, and with each move he made, he felt a strange disconnect—like he was acting as someone else.
The fight began with a flurry of strikes, Hunter dodging and weaving to avoid the heavy blows. His opponent was fast, too fast, and Hunter was having trouble keeping up. His breath came in gasps, the heat of the battle pushing him to his limits. He tried to focus, tried to clear his mind, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the way he felt, the way his body didn’t align with who he knew he was.
The next strike landed hard across his ribs, sending him crashing to the ground. Pain shot through him, and he gasped for air, struggling to recover. The instructor’s voice was harsh above him.
“Get up, Hunter! You don’t have time to lie down!”
Hunter pushed himself to his feet, shaking with pain. His ribs feel bruised, but he didn’t have time to acknowledge it. The moment he hesitated, the moment he showed weakness, it would be over. His opponent advanced, his eyes gleaming with the knowledge that he had the upper hand.
Hunter’s heart was racing now, his body trembling. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to live a life that wasn’t his. But there was no other choice. This was all he knew.
The opponent lunged at him, and Hunter barely managed to sidestep the strike, his heart thumping in his chest as the force of the blow tore through the air beside him. He didn’t have the energy to keep dodging, didn’t have the strength to keep running. His body felt like it was failing him, like it wasn’t capable of doing the things he needed it to do.
But then, something inside him shifted. He remembered why he was here, why he had to keep going. He remembered the feeling of the potion in his veins, the hope that had bloomed in him. He remembered the way the short hair felt against his neck, how it had symbolized a change—a small rebellion.
Hunter found his strength. With a grunt, he sprang forward, dodging another blow, and with a surge of energy, he took down his opponent in a move that left the other recruit on the ground, gasping for air.
The instructor watched in silence, his expression unreadable. Hunter stood above his opponent, breathing heavily, his heart still racing in his chest.
“Good,” the instructor finally said, his voice cold. “But don’t get too cocky. This is just the beginning. You’ll need to push yourself further if you want to make it through.”
Hunter nodded, his hands still shaking from the adrenaline. His body ached, his ribs protested with each breath, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He had to keep going. He had to prove himself.
As the day wore on and the drills continued, Hunter found himself slipping deeper into the exhaustion. The pain in his body, the confusion in his heart, the constant battle to maintain control—it all felt like too much. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
The fear of failure was too great. And deep down, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind: If you stop, if you show weakness, everything will fall apart. You can’t let anyone see the real you.

That night, after the drills had ended, Hunter returned to his quarters, his body sore and covered in bruises. He could hear the sounds of other recruits still laughing and talking in the distance, but it didn’t matter. He was alone in this—alone with his thoughts, with the fear that consumed him.
He collapsed onto his cot, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. He felt like he was caught in an endless cycle, each day another round of pain and fear. But in the quiet, when the world was still, he let himself imagine a different future—a future where he didn’t have to hide, where he didn’t have to fight against his own body.
The harsh clang of metal on stone echoed in the dimly lit training hall as Hunter stood at the center of the room, gripping the golden staff in his hands. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the dirt and blood that stained his clothes, but he didn’t care. Pain had become a constant companion, an old friend. It was the price he paid for progress.
His muscles burned with the effort of another training exercise—one that would eventually make him the perfect soldier, the perfect warrior, the perfect Golden Guard. There was no room for weakness. Not here. Not with the Emperor’s Coven.
Hunter took a deep breath, adjusting his grip, before he swung the staff again, the golden weapon slicing through the air in a clean arc. He could feel the muscles in his arms tremble under the strain, but he pushed through it, determined to meet the expectations of his uncle, Belos.
He had to be perfect.
“You’re slacking off, Hunter.” The voice that cut through the silence belonged to one of the higher-ranking soldiers in the coven, a man named Praxeus. He was tall, lean, and had the kind of aura that commanded attention. His eyes, though, were sharp—always analyzing, always waiting for an opening.
“I’m fine,” Hunter said, gritting his teeth. He wasn’t fine, but he couldn’t afford to admit it.
The training hall had become his prison. Every swing of the staff, every drill, was a reminder of what he had to do to survive. And yet, it didn’t feel like survival anymore. It felt like a constant battle with his own body, his own mind. There was a gnawing emptiness inside him, one that couldn’t be filled with anything—least of all the golden guard title.
“You’re not,” Praxis snapped. “If you can’t keep up, you’ll be useless out there.”
Hunter’s heart squeezed, the weight of the words sinking into his skin like needles. His breath faltered, but he quickly recovered, ignoring the burn in his lungs.
“I can do it,” he muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on the staff.
But the doubt lingered in his chest, the feeling that he would never be good enough. Not for Belos. Not for the Emperor’s Coven. Not for anyone. His body still felt like it didn’t belong to him—his voice still wasn’t right, too light, too thin. The potion he had been taking slowly made its mark, but it wasn’t enough to silence the inner turmoil, the dysphoria that roiled like a storm inside him. It wasn’t enough to make him feel like the boy he knew he was.
Praxis raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not convinced. “Prove it.”
Hunter clenched his jaw, the challenge lashing at his pride. Without another word, he swung the staff again, this time with more force, more speed. But the moment his feet shifted, there was a sharp pain in his ribs, where the bruises from yesterday’s training had yet to heal.
His legs faltered, and before he could regain his balance, Praxis was there, stepping into his path. With a swift motion, the older soldier swiped the staff from his hands, sending it skidding across the floor.
Hunter’s heart sank as he met Praxis' cold, calculating gaze.
“You’ll need to do better than that, Golden Guard,” Praxeus said, voice dripping with disdain. “If you’re weak now, you’ll never make it.”
Hunter’s breath caught in his throat. Weak. The word felt like a punch to the stomach, a cruel reminder of how little room there was for failure. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to stay composed.
“I said, I’m fine,” Hunter growled, though his voice wavered, betraying the frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
Praxis took a step back, but the mocking look in his eyes remained. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
The older man turned and walked off, leaving Hunter alone in the silence of the training hall.
Hunter stood there, hands trembling at his sides. His heart pounded as he fought to control the surge of emotion threatening to break through. The pressure, the fear, the exhaustion—it was all too much. He couldn’t take it. Not anymore.
He needed to leave. He needed to get away from this place, from the suffocating weight of expectations that hung over him. Just for a moment, he needed to breathe, to exist as something other than the Golden Guard.
Without thinking, he grabbed his staff and stumbled out of the training hall, not caring who saw him, not caring if Praxeus or anyone else noticed his retreat. The world felt like it was closing in around him, the weight of the coven’s demands too much to bear.
The hallway outside the training room was dim, lit only by the flickering torchlight on the walls. He didn’t have a destination, didn’t know where he was going. He just needed to escape. To be alone.
His steps were hurried, his breath ragged as he made his way down the empty corridor. The cold stone walls seemed to press in on him, a constant reminder of the prison he had built for himself. This was his life now. This was all he had.
His thoughts drifted to the changes that were happening within him—slow, gradual changes. The HRT potions weren’t a cure-all, not by any means. His voice was still too high, his body too feminine, and even the feeling of his own skin was foreign. There were days when he felt like he was stuck between two versions of himself: the boy he longed to be and the girl everyone saw. The dysphoria gnawed at him, day and night, a constant ache in his chest that he couldn’t escape.
Hunter paused in the hallway, his chest tight, his heart racing. He rested a hand on the stone wall, trying to steady himself. He had to breathe, had to focus, or he might break under the weight of it all. The fear, the pressure, the pain—it all came crashing down on him at once.
“Hunter?”
The voice cut through the storm of his thoughts, and Hunter looked up, startled. Standing in the doorway to one of the side rooms was Cami,themeyes wide with concern. they had found him. Of course, they had.
Hunter forced a smile, but it was shaky at best. “I’m fine.”
Raine didn’t buy it. they stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her, and moved toward him with that familiar, unyielding warmth inthemgaze.
“No, you’re not,” they said softly. “What happened?”
Hunter felt his throat tighten. He didn’t want to talk about it—not now, not when he was so raw, so broken. He didn’t want to admit that the weight of everything was too much, that he was failing in every possible way.
But Raine was there, standing beside him, looking at him with understanding inthemeyes. They weren't like the others. they didn’t expect him to be perfect. they didn’t expect him to be the Golden Guard. they just wanted him to be himself.
“It’s just…” Hunter trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t find the words to explain the suffocating pressure, the constant feeling of being caught between two worlds—one where he was expected to be a perfect soldier, a weapon, and another where he could be just Hunter. Just a boy. But the boy was so buried under layers of expectations and confusion, he wasn’t sure how to find him anymore.
Raine reached out, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Hey, you don’t have to carry it all by yourself, you know?”
Hunter blinked, surprised at how much the words affected him. The weight in his chest seemed to loosen, just a little. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the kindness in Cami’s voice, but the barriers he had built for so long seemed to crack.
“I don’t… I don’t know if I can do this,” Hunter admitted, his voice trembling. “I’m not like them. I don’t know how to be what they want me to be. I can’t be the Golden Guard, not when I can’t even be me.”
Raine’s expression softened, and they stepped closer,themhand still resting on his shoulder. “Hunter, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be the Golden Guard. Just be you. You’ve already shown how strong you are. You’ve made it this far. I know you can keep going.”
Hunter swallowed hard, his throat thick with emotion. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that the boy he was—weak, broken, imperfect—was enough. But it felt like such a distant dream, one that was out of his reach.
“You don’t get it,” he whispered. “I’m not like everyone else. I’m not a real boy.”
Raine gave him a steady, unwavering look. “You’re real,” they said firmly. “And whatever anyone else thinks, that’s all that matters. You don’t need anyone’s permission to be who you are.”
Hunter’s eyes welled up, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed the tears to come. He didn’t know how long they stood there, but Raine didn’t let go, didn’t pull away. They were there, a constant source of warmth and understanding in a world that had never been kind to him.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the weight ofthemwords sinking in. Maybe he didn’t need to be the Golden Guard. Maybe he could just be Hunter—no titles, no expectations. Just himself.
“Thanks,” he whispered, his voice rough.
Raine smiled,themeyes soft with affection. “Anytime, Hunter. You’re not alone in this. We’ve got you.”
Hunter stood at the threshold of the Emperor’s private chambers, his hand resting lightly on the cold doorframe. The heavy scent of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the faintest trace of something more oppressive—something darker. His uncle’s presence filled the space, as it always did, like an insidious storm cloud on the edge of his every breath.
"Enter."
The command was a low growl, and Hunter obeyed without hesitation, stepping into the dimly lit room. It was a ritual, a performance. His very existence had become one—obedient, silent, subservient. He was a tool, an instrument, and nothing more.
Belos sat behind his desk, the soft light from a singular candle casting eerie shadows across his face. His icy gaze met Hunter’s for a fleeting moment before he turned his attention back to the papers scattered in front of him.
"Golden Guard," Belle's voice held the faintest trace of condescension, "come here."
Hunter’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t falter. This was his duty now. His purpose. He approached the desk, every step measured, controlled.
"Do you know why I’ve summoned you?" Belos asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Hunter shook his head. "No, uncle."
Belos regarded him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He had always been like this—an ocean of emotion so still, so calculating that it was impossible to discern what he truly wanted, or what he truly felt.
"I have a task for you," Belos continued. "The Empire needs new scouts. And, as the Golden Guard, you’re the perfect candidate. We need eyes on the field. Information. The Empire cannot function without order and knowledge."
Hunter nodded, his stomach lurching. This was his life now—missions, tasks, duties, all in service of an empire built on lies and control. But this was his role, the one that had been carved out for him by Belos. The one he couldn’t escape.
A part of him—small, fragile—wondered if there was a way to escape it all. A way to disappear. But that part was buried, locked away deep within him. It had been since he was a child, when he’d first understood that there was no real escape from Belos’s clutches.
"Do you understand?" Belle's voice pulled Hunter from his thoughts, cold and demanding.
"I understand," Hunter replied quietly, his voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling inside him.
“Good,” Belos said, his voice laced with approval. “You will accompany me on this assignment. You’ll be my shadow—my eyes and ears. I expect nothing less than perfection.”
Hunter’s heart clenched. He had been his uncle’s shadow for as long as he could remember. But now… now it is different. The weight of his uncle’s expectations pressed on him more than ever, suffocating him until there was nothing left of the boy he’d once been. Only the Golden Guard remained, a hollow shell.
"I won’t fail you, uncle," Hunter whispered, his words an automatic response. They had become ingrained in him, a mantra he repeated for the sake of survival.
Belos gave a small, satisfied nod and stood from his desk, his long fingers brushing against the edges of the papers. "I know you won’t. Now go prepare yourself. We leave at dawn."
The weight of the conversation, the tension, the expectations—it lingered like a storm cloud above him, pressing down until he felt as though he could barely breathe. But he couldn’t afford to show it. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, not when he was so close to his goal. He was the Golden Guard. The perfect weapon.
The door clicked shut behind him as he made his way back to his quarters. The familiar silence settled over him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to breathe.
His quarters were sparse—barely more than a cot, a small desk, and a shelf with a few belongings that had once held sentimental value. Now, they were just things. Things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
As he collapsed onto his bed, exhaustion hit him like a freight train. His body ached, his mind swirled with the unrelenting thoughts of the Empire, of Belos, of the endless cycles of violence and control. His muscles were tight, his chest tight with a familiar, gnawing sense of unease.
He didn’t know who he was anymore—just a weapon. A tool. The Golden Guard. That was it. That was his purpose. He wasn’t allowed to be anything else.
The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning. He wasn’t allowed to be a boy. Not like the ones he saw outside—those who could laugh freely, who could exist without the weight of expectations suffocating them. He was trapped in a cage of his uncle’s making, a cage that only grew tighter with each passing day.
Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of weakness. Not when he was so close to fulfilling his purpose.
As the night drew on, Hunter’s thoughts lingered on his true self—the boy he longed to be, the boy who had never been allowed to live. He wanted so desperately to break free from the chains that bound him. But he knew, deep down, that it wasn’t that simple. Not with Belos looming over him like a dark shadow, watching, waiting for any sign of weakness.
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of his quarters, dragging him from the restless slumber he had fallen into. He barely slept these days—too many nightmares, too many haunting memories of his uncle’s cruelty, of the way his body had betrayed him. But there was no time to dwell on those things.
The mission. He had a mission to complete.
Hunter quickly dressed in his uniform—the black and gold that symbolized his place within the Empire. He buckled his weapons to his side and made his way to the meeting place, where Belos was already waiting.
His uncle stood by a large map, a finger tracing over the lines of the Empire’s territories, his expression unreadable. When Hunter arrived, Belos looked up, his cold gaze sweeping over him with little more than a passing glance.
"Ready?" Belos asked, his voice devoid of warmth.
Hunter nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. "Ready."
"Good," Belos said, turning away and heading toward the door. "Follow me."
The journey to the designated scouting post was a blur of motion, the world rushing past as they traveled. The vastness of the Empire stretched before them—endless and imposing. It was a reminder of the power that Belos held, a power that Hunter was forced to serve, no matter the cost.
The scouting post was an abandoned outpost, tucked away in a desolate part of the Empire’s territory. The air was thick with dust, and the walls were covered in grime and decay. It felt wrong, like a place forgotten by time, yet somehow, still part of Belos’s ever-growing empire.
Hunter stood silently behind his uncle, his eyes scanning the surrounding area with practiced precision. His mind was constantly alert, always searching for threats. His uncle relied on him—he needed him. There was no room for error.
The sound of footsteps broke the stillness, and Hunter stiffened, his eyes darting toward the source of the noise. But it was only one of Belos’s subordinates, a scout who had been sent ahead to gather information.
"You’re late," Belos said, his voice laced with venom.
The scout flinched but quickly straightened, his eyes lowering in submission. "Apologies, sir. The terrain was more difficult to navigate than expected."
Belos didn’t say anything for a long moment. He simply stared at the scout, his icy gaze filled with disdain. Finally, he spoke.
"You know what happens to those who fail me."
The scout’s face went pale, and he quickly nodded. "Yes, sir. I understand."
Hunter’s heart clenched, the familiar feeling of dread creeping up his spine. He had seen it before—the way Belos punished those who disappointed him. The way the Empire chewed up its own and spat them out without a second thought.
Without warning, Belos raised his hand, and the scout flinched, expecting the worst. Hunter felt a surge of panic, his pulse quickening. But this time, Belos merely looked at him, his eyes cold and calculating.
"Make yourself useful, Hunter," Belos said. "Help him with the mission. You’re my Golden Guard, after all."
Hunter nodded silently, stepping forward. He would do as ordered, as always. He would be the perfect soldier. The perfect weapon. That was his role. His purpose.
But deep inside, a part of him longed for something more—something he couldn’t have. Something he would never be allowed.
As the mission continued, Hunter stayed by his uncle’s side, never leaving his presence. He was the perfect shadow, the perfect guard, the perfect chew toy—his uncle’s words lingered in his mind like a poison. He had become nothing more than a tool for Belos to use at will.
And in the silence of his mind, the question remained. Was there ever a chance for him to be free? To be himself? Or was he forever bound to the Empire—trapped in a cage of gold?

Hunter stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection as if it were someone else. The golden armor of the Golden Guard glinted under the dim light of his quarters. The insignia on his chest—a symbol of power, control, and fear—shone brightly against the black and gold of his uniform. But to him, it felt like nothing more than chains wrapped around his body, forcing him to stand straight and meet the expectations of a man who would never be pleased with anything short of perfection.
His stomach twisted, a storm brewing within him. Today was the day. The day he would officially be the Golden Guard. The day he would take his first mission, and prove—once again—his worth to Belos.
A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he swallowed hard. His hands trembled as they adjusted the straps of his armor. The weight of it was overwhelming, both physically and emotionally. He couldn’t help but remember the first time he’d put on the uniform—how it had felt too big, too imposing, like it was swallowing him whole. Now, it fit him as if it had been molded to his form. But that didn’t make it feel any less suffocating.
The knock at his door was soft but firm, the signal that the moment had arrived.
“Hunter,” Belle's voice called from the other side of the door, “it’s time.”
Hunter took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. He turned toward the door, his heart pounding in his chest. The ache in his chest had become all too familiar over the years—a constant reminder of everything he had lost and everything he would never be. But this was the next step. This was what he had trained for, what he had sacrificed so much for.
He opened the door, standing tall as Belos entered the room. The Emperor’s presence filled the space, suffocating the air with his cold authority. His eyes lingered on Hunter for a moment, inspecting him with an almost unsettling precision.
“You look the part,” Belos said, his voice smooth and cold. “But remember, looking the part is the easy part. It’s what you do that matters.”
Hunter nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yes, Uncle.”
“Good.” Belos smiled, a thin, calculated thing. “You’ve been prepared for this moment your whole life. Now, show me that you are worthy of the title.”
Hunter’s jaw clenched, and he fought the impulse to step back from his uncle’s gaze. He didn’t want to fail. He couldn’t afford to fail. Not now.
“Ready yourself,” Belos continued. “We depart for the mission shortly.”
Hunter’s heart skipped a beat. This would be his first mission as the Golden Guard. His first true test.
The journey to the mission site was silent, the tension in the air thick and heavy. Hunter’s thoughts raced, his mind a swirl of doubt and fear. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking in someone else’s footsteps—that the Golden Guard, the person he was supposed to be, wasn’t really him at all. It was just a mask. Just something to hide the truth of who he was.
As they traveled, Belos gave no indication of whether he noticed the turmoil inside his nephew. The Emperor was always so calm, so poised, as though nothing in the world could shake him. It was a skill Hunter had learned to mimic, though it always felt unnatural, like a mask he had to wear just to survive.
When they reached the mission site—a small, isolated village on the outskirts of the Empire—Hunter’s nerves were at their peak. The villagers had been accused of harboring traitors to the Empire. Belos wanted them eliminated.
“Stay focused,” Belos ordered as they approached the village. “Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment. This is a test of loyalty. Do not forget that.”
Hunter nodded, forcing himself to breathe in slow, steady breaths. He could do this. He had to do this. For the Empire. For Belos.
The village was quiet when they arrived, the air thick with fear. The people stared at them from their windows and doorways, their eyes wide with terror. Hunter could see it in their eyes—how they recognized him. The Golden Guard. The harbinger of death.
It wasn’t the first time Hunter had been recognized for his title, but each time, it felt like a knife to his chest. The weight of it—the way people cowered at the sight of him—was suffocating. He wasn’t a person to them. He wasn’t a boy. He was just a weapon. A tool to be used.
Belos led the way into the village, his steps sure and unwavering. Hunter followed closely behind, his eyes scanning the surroundings, searching for any sign of resistance.
"These people will learn what happens when they defy the Empire," Belos murmured, his voice cold and detached. "Their lives are forfeit."
Hunter didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The words felt like lead in his throat. The people in this village—they weren’t just traitors. They were people. They had lives, families, hopes and dreams. They didn’t deserve to die. But he couldn’t say that. Not to Belos. Not now.
The first house they entered was dark and quiet. A family of three huddled together in the corner, their faces pale with fear. The father tried to stand, but his legs trembled, and he fell to his knees. His eyes locked on Hunter, pleading silently for mercy. But Hunter could offer none.
“Please,” the father whispered, “we haven’t done anything wrong. We just want to live in peace. We swear—”
“Enough,” Belos cut him off, his voice ice-cold. “Your fate has been sealed.”
The father’s face fell, and he bowed his head in resignation. Hunter felt a pang in his chest, but he didn’t let it show. His mask, his role, was all that mattered now.
“Take them,” Belos commanded.
Hunter stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. He had trained for this. He had been prepared for this moment. He had no choice but to follow orders. To execute the mission.
As he raised his staff, ready to subdue the family, his mind screamed. This isn’t right. This isn’t what I was meant to be. But the thought was drowned out by the voice in his head, the one that belonged to his uncle. The voice that told him what to do, that told him who he was. You are the Golden Guard. You are a weapon. Do not forget it.
He hesitated, just for a moment. The father’s eyes were still locked on him, full of fear and confusion, but there was something else in them, too—something Hunter couldn’t name. A plea for mercy. A plea for a future.
Hunter’s grip on his staff tightened, his pulse quickening. He could feel the weight of the decision bearing down on him. Could he do it? Could he carry out the order?
“Hunter,” Belle's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “I said, take them.”
Hunter’s eyes flickered to Belos, and then to the family. The fear, the desperation in their eyes—it gnawed at him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to fight back, to refuse, to show them all that he wasn’t just a tool. That he wasn’t just the Golden Guard. But the fear of his uncle’s wrath, of the consequences that would follow, kept him silent.
Slowly, he lowered his staff. His hands were shaking. He couldn’t do it. Not this. Not anymore.
"I… I can’t," Hunter whispered, his voice barely audible.
Belos turned toward him with a cold smile, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "You will."
But Hunter had already made up his mind. "No," he said firmly. "I won’t."
There was a moment of stunned silence, as if the world itself had stopped moving. Hunter’s heart raced, and the blood rushed in his ears. He was trembling now, but he didn’t back down. He had made his choice.
Belos’s face twisted into a snarl. "You think you can defy me?" he hissed. "You think you can defy the Empire?"
"I am not just a weapon," Hunter said, his voice shaking but resolute. "I am not just the Golden Guard. I am more than that."
For a long moment, Belos simply stared at him, his fury palpable. Hunter could feel it, like a crackling storm in the air, ready to burst.
Finally, Belos spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "You have made a grave mistake, Hunter. But I will show you what happens to those who defy me. You will regret this."
Hunter's footsteps echoed against the cold stone hallway as he walked through the darkened corridors of the Emperor's castle. The mission had been a disaster from the start. It was supposed to be a simple assignment—track down a rogue witch who had defied the Emperor's orders—but it had spiraled into something far worse.
The mission had gone sideways quickly. The rogue witch had been more powerful than they had expected. Hunter had barely escaped with his life, his armor battered and scorched from the magical blasts. He had fought hard, but the rogue had been too fast, too cunning. His powers weren’t enough. Nothing ever seemed to be enough.
And now, he was back in the castle, walking the same hallways that always felt too cold, too empty. His armor felt heavy on his body, the gold gleaming under the flickering torchlight, but it was just a reminder of the title that had been thrust upon him—the title he never wanted. The Golden Guard. The weapon. The tool.
His chest tightened as he walked, each step dragging him deeper into a pit of despair. His head throbbed, a dull ache that had become a constant companion. It was all too much—the pressure, the expectations, the never-ending weight of being someone’s weapon.
You're just a tool, he reminded himself, the words echoing in his mind. Just a tool for the Emperor’s use. That’s all you are. That's all you’ll ever be.
The door to his quarters loomed ahead, and as he pushed it open, he was met with the quiet of the room. The dim light from the single candle flickered, casting long shadows across the floor. Hunter stood at the threshold for a moment, staring at the familiar surroundings. The bed. The desk. The mirror. It all felt so hollow, so empty.
He closed the door behind him with a soft thud, locking it for good measure. He wasn’t in the mood for anyone to barge in. Not now. Not after what had happened.
The mission had been a failure. He had failed.
His fingers trembled as he removed his armor, the metal clanging softly as it hit the floor. He felt exposed without it, like a shell that had been cracked open, revealing the fragile, trembling mess inside. His body ached, bruises and burns marking his skin, but it was the pain inside that hurt the most. The guilt. The shame. The feeling that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.
He collapsed onto the bed, his legs giving out beneath him as he let out a strangled breath. His head spun as he curled into himself, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He wanted to scream. To cry. To break something. Anything to make the hurt go away.
But he couldn’t. He had been taught that emotions were a weakness. Those feelings were dangerous. To survive in the Empire, he had to bury them deep inside and never let anyone see the cracks.
You have to be perfect, he reminded himself. You have to be the Golden Guard. You can’t show weakness. Not to Belos. Not to anyone.
But it was hard. So hard.
He closed his eyes, but the images from the mission flooded his mind. The rogue witch’s smirk, the powerful magic that had slammed into his shield, the moment when he had barely dodged the fatal blow. He had felt the heat of the blast, felt the crackling energy close enough to singe his skin.
And yet, he had failed. He couldn’t protect the people he was supposed to. He couldn’t even protect himself.
Hunter’s breath quickened, his chest tightening as the panic began to set in. His fingers dug into his forearms, nails digging into the skin as he tried to ground himself. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough.
He was just a failure. A broken weapon.
What’s the point? The thought came out of nowhere, a whisper in his mind that felt like a relief. What’s the point of trying?
His hand reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing the edge of his desk. His gaze fell to the sharp objects scattered across it—a blade here, a vial of potion there. He stared at them for a long moment, the desire to end it all creeping in, sinking into his mind like a poison.
You’re not worth anything, the voice in his head sneered. You’re just a tool. Just a weapon. No one cares about you.
Hunter’s throat constricted, and he forced himself to sit up. His heart was pounding in his chest as his hands trembled. He could feel the cold, sharp edge of the blade calling to him, offering an escape, a release from the pain that seemed to suffocate him every moment of every day.
You can’t keep doing this, he thought, the words catching in his throat. You can’t keep pretending to be strong. You’re not strong. You’re weak. You’re useless.
But no matter how hard he tried to fight it, the dark thoughts kept clawing at him. He was tired. I'm so tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of being perfect. Tired of being the Golden Guard.
He felt the tears sting at his eyes, but he blinked them away. He wouldn’t let himself cry. He couldn’t. Not again. Not like this.
But the pain—the ache deep in his chest—was overwhelming. He felt like he was suffocating, like the weight of the world was pressing down on him from all sides.
His fingers hovered over the sharp edge of the blade, the cold metal reflecting the dim light. For a moment, he thought about it. Just a small cut. Just a little bit of relief from the crushing weight that felt like it would break him in two.
But as he reached for it, his hand froze. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, the silence thick around him. And then, without warning, the door to his quarters swung open.
Hunter jerked back, his hand snapping away from the blade as his heart leapt in his chest.
Raine stood there, wide-eyed,themhair messy as if they had been running.themeyes flicked from him to the blade, then back to him again,themface pale with concern.
“Hunter…” they said softly,themvoice laced with worry.
He swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he tried to pull himself together. “Cami… what are you doing here?”
“I… I was worried about you,” they said quietly, stepping inside,themgaze never leaving him. “I heard what happened on the mission. You— you didn’t come back when you were supposed to. I—I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.”
Hunter bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. He hated how weak he felt. Hated how broken he was. And yet, here they were, standing in front of him, caring for him in a way he didn’t deserve.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, his voice low. “I’m fine. I just… I just need to be alone.”
But Raine wasn’t having it. they stepped closer,themexpression soft but firm. “Hunter, you don’t have to do this alone. Whatever happened out there—it doesn’t change who you are. You’re not alone, okay?”
The sincerity inthemvoice cracked something inside him, and before he could stop it, the dam broke. The tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over, and he let out a shaky breath.
“I’m not strong enough,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m not good enough. I keep failing. I just want to be… I just want to have enough.”
Raine didn’t hesitate. They crossed the room in an instant, kneeling in front of him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hunter, listen to me,” they said gently. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to carry all this on your own. You’re allowed to be scared, to be hurt. You’re allowed to not be okay.”
Hunter’s breath hitched as he looked up at her, his vision blurry from the tears. “But I’m supposed to be strong,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I’m supposed to protect people, be this perfect weapon. But all I do is fail.”
Raine shookthemhead,themgrip on his shoulder tightening. “You’re not a weapon, Hunter. You’re a person. And you’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to ask for help. And you’re not a failure.”
“But… what if I’m too broken?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“No one is too broken to be helped,” Raine said,themvoice firm but kind. “Not you. Not anyone. You’re not alone, Hunter. And you don’t have to carry this weight by yourself.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, Hunter let himself lean into her, the weight of everything he had been holding onto crashing down all at once. The fear, the guilt, the shame—it all flooded out in the form of tears he had never let himself shed. He was exhausted. So exhausted.
And in that moment, for the first time in so long, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as broken as he thought.
Hunter had never been one to believe in fate.
He believed in order, in discipline, in the cold logic of the Emperor’s will. There was no room for destiny or cosmic forces in his world. It was a place where the only thing that mattered was success. Failure meant punishment. That was how it had always been.
But today… Today, Hunter couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting in the air. Something beyond the usual cold weight of the Emperor's demands. The mission he was on—tracking down a group of rebels in the human realm—wasn’t supposed to be special. It was just another task, another duty. Nothing more.
And yet, as his boots hit the uneven ground of the unfamiliar forest, something about this place felt different. The trees were taller here, their leaves rustling in the breeze, and there was a quiet hum in the air—almost as if the world itself was waiting for something.
Hunter had learned long ago to trust his instincts, even if they often made him feel uneasy. His hand hovered near the hilt of his blade as he stepped deeper into the forest, his mind running through the mission details. He was alone—at least, that’s what he told himself. His uncle, Emperor Belos, had sent him here, and the instructions were clear: track the rebels, apprehend them, and report back.
Easy, right?
But even as he told himself that, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It wasn’t just the odd energy in the air or the way the trees seemed to whisper around him. No, it was something else—something more personal.
He hadn’t been himself lately. The weight of his golden guard armor, the endless missions, the crushing pressure to always be perfect—it was all starting to suffocate him. It felt like he was drowning in a sea of expectations that didn’t fit who he was anymore. But even worse, it felt like he had no way to escape.
No way to escape from the weight of being a Hunter. The Golden Guard. The weapon of the Empire.
Hunter stopped for a moment, pressing his hand against the bark of a tree to steady himself. His thoughts were racing, his breathing uneven. He had never been good at these moments of reflection—these rare instances where he let himself think. It was easier to focus on the mission, to push away the doubts and the fears. But today, he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he could keep pretending. How much longer could he keep wearing this mask?
The rustling of leaves broke him from his thoughts, and his body tensed. Someone—or something—was approaching.
He crouched low, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade as he moved into position. His heart raced. His instincts kicked in. And then, as the figure emerged from the trees, Hunter’s breath caught in his throat.
It was a girl. A human girl. they appeared to be about his age, with wild, curly hair and a confident, determined expression.themclothes were simple—worn jeans and a t-shirt with a picture of a purple cat—but it wasthemeyes that captured his attention. Bright, full of life, yet tinged with something deeper. Something that mirrored the quiet pain Hunter had been carrying for so long.
they didn’t notice him at first,themattention fixed on something in the distance. But Hunter didn’t take the opportunity to strike. Instead, he found himself frozen, watching her. There was something aboutthemthat made him hesitate. Something about the way they moved—free, unburdened, as though they weren't constantly trying to hide a part of herself. It made him feel… small, in a way he didn’t quite understand.
The girl’s gaze shifted, and their eyes met.
Hunter’s heart stuttered for a moment before his training kicked in, and he pulled his hood low, trying to hide his face. He couldn’t letthemsee him—not like this. Not as the Golden Guard.
But the girl wasn’t intimidated. Instead, they grinned,themexpression more curious than fearful. “You’re a weird one, aren’t you?”
Hunter blinked, unsure of what to make of her.themtone was light, teasing even, but there was an edge to it, a quiet understanding that made him feel exposed. “I’m not here for you,” he said, his voice cold as he tried to push the feeling of being seen away.
they shrugged, not backing down. “Well, that’s good, because I wasn’t looking for trouble either.” they paused, eyes narrowing as they studied him. “But if you’re not here for me, then what are you doing out here?”
Hunter hesitated. Part of him wanted to lie, to say something to get out of this, but another part of him—the part he didn’t recognize—wanted to tellthemthe truth. Wanted to askthemwhy they weren't afraid of him.
“I’m on a mission,” he muttered, his gaze shifting to the ground. “It’s none of your business.”
they raised an eyebrow. “A mission, huh?” they looked him over again,themgaze lingering on his armor. “Looks like you’re trying a little too hard to blend in. You’re not exactly the subtle type, are you?”
Hunter’s breath caught in his chest atthemwords. It was as if they had seen right through him—seen all the parts he was desperately trying to hide. He forced himself to stand tall, pulling his shoulders back, but it didn’t feel like enough. The girl didn’t look scared. they didn’t look impressed. they just looked… interested.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” he said, trying to sound confident, even though the words tasted hollow in his mouth. “You should leave. Now.”
they tiltedthemhead, unfazed by his warning. “And what are you going to do if I don’t? Is your Emperor going to come after me?”themvoice was sharp, but there was something else there, too. Something… gentle? No, that couldn’t be right. This was just another rebel, trying to get under his skin.
But something inthemtone made him pause again. Something that made him wonder if they had experienced some of the same things he had.
The moment stretched out in silence. Hunter could feel the tension hanging in the air like a thick fog. It wasn’t just the mission anymore. It was something more. Something personal.
Finally, they spoke again,themvoice softer now. “You don’t have to keep hiding, you know.”
Hunter’s eyes shot to hers. The words hit him harder than he expected, a surge of something unfamiliar rising up in his chest. He had spent so long pretending—pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Pretending to be what the Emperor wanted.
“I’m not hiding,” he said, but his voice wavered, and he hated it. He hated the way they made him feel like his walls were crumbling.
Her expression softened as they stepped closer. “You are. And it’s okay to let people in. You don’t have to do everything alone.”
Hunter opened his mouth to protest, but the words got stuck. How could he explain the weight of what he carried? How could he tellthemthat his entire life had been about not letting anyone in? That if they saw him, they would see the monster he had become—the Golden Guard, the tool of Belos.
“I… I can’t just… be someone else,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how.”
The girl’s gaze softened even further, and for a brief moment, he saw something—something real—inthemeyes. It was understanding. It was empathy.
“You don’t have to be anyone else,” they said gently,themvoice like a balm on the raw wound that had been festering inside him. “You just have to be you.”
Hunter flinched at the words, the simplicity of them both comforting and terrifying. How could he be himself? He didn’t know who that was anymore. He had been molded, shaped by Belos, by the Empire. His entire identity was wrapped up in being the Golden Guard, in following orders, in serving the Emperor.
But something inside him—a tiny flicker of defiance—began to stir. Maybe… maybe there was another way. Maybe he could be more than just a tool.
“I don’t… I don’t even know who I am,” he admitted, his voice cracking.
The girl smiled gently, stepping even closer. “You will. You just have to keep going.”
For the first time in a long while, Hunter felt a small spark of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Maybe there was a way out of this. Maybe he didn’t have to keep pretending forever.
And as he looked intothemeyes, he realized—this wasn’t just a mission. This was something more. Something that would change everything.
And he wasn’t sure if he was ready, but for the first time, he was willing to find out.
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The girl’s grin widened, a twinkle inthemeye. “Luz Noceda. And I think you’re about to make a lot of changes in your life.”
Hunter’s heart pounded as he sprinted through the crumbling ruins of the human realm, his breath ragged in his chest, the weight of his golden guard armor threatening to pull him down with each desperate step. The sounds of crackling energy echoed through the stone walls, a reminder of the disaster that had just unfolded—an attack gone wrong, a mission turned into a near-death experience. But that was nothing new.
Nothing ever went as planned when you were the Golden Guard.
His skin burned from the blast, his limbs heavy with exhaustion, and the taste of blood lingered in his mouth. He could feel the sting of his injuries deep in his bones, but it wasn’t the pain that consumed him now. No. It was the crushing weight of Belos’s disappointment—the way his uncle’s cold gaze had followed him after the mission had gone awry.
He had failed. Again.
“Hunter!”
His pulse skipped a beat at the sound of his uncle’s voice, a voice that never carried any warmth, only harsh command and disdain. Belos was close—he was always close, lurking in the shadows, ready to pass judgment. Hunter’s stomach twisted at the thought of facing him again. His uncle had never been one to hold back when it came to failure.
Hunter’s legs ached, and his vision blurred as he pushed himself forward, fighting through the pain and fear, driven by the single, desperate hope that he could make it back to the castle before his uncle caught up with him. He didn’t dare look back. He couldn’t afford to.
His heart thudded in his chest, the sound deafening in his ears. Every time he tried to push himself harder, the weight of his armor seemed to increase, the straps pulling at his chest, as though Belos himself were tightening his grip around him, holding him down.
You’re a failure, his uncle’s voice echoed in his mind, the words a constant refrain, a mantra of condemnation. You’ll never be good enough. Never.
Hunter’s breath hitched, his body trembling with a mixture of fatigue and dread. He had always been careful to avoid his uncle’s wrath, but every time he made a mistake, it felt like the walls were closing in. Every time he failed, his uncle’s cold gaze grew sharper, more unforgiving.
A sudden explosion of magic behind him sent him tumbling forward, his body hitting the ground hard. Pain shot through his ribs, and he gasped for air, his vision spinning. He pushed himself up, desperate to keep moving, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. His breath came in sharp gasps, his body screaming in protest.
You’re weak, his uncle’s voice whispered, cutting through the storm of pain in his mind. You’ll never be strong enough to serve the Empire. You’re not even worthy of being my heir.
Hunter’s hands shook as he tried to push himself upright, his fingers slipping on the wet stone beneath him. The ground trembled as another blast of magic erupted from behind him, and Hunter was thrown forward once more, his head slamming against the stone floor. His vision blurred, and for a moment, the world seemed to spin in slow motion.
But then, through the haze of pain, he heard the footsteps—the unmistakable, deliberate sound of Belos’s boots on the ground. His heart dropped into his stomach. His uncle was closing in, his presence suffocating, like a shadow that threatened to swallow him whole.
Hunter dragged himself toward the edge of the ruins, his fingers clawing at the stone for purchase, his chest tightening with each ragged breath. He couldn’t let Belos catch him. He couldn’t face him like this, weak and broken. Not after everything he had sacrificed to be the Golden Guard.
“Hunter!” Belle's voice was closer now, cutting through the chaos with its icy edge. “Get up. You’re not done yet.”
The command was more than just words—it was an order, a decree. And failure wasn’t an option. Not when you were the Emperor’s prized possession. Not when you were supposed to be the perfect soldier, the perfect weapon.
Hunter’s vision swam as he tried to stand, his legs trembling beneath him, his arms weak from the effort. He was so tired—so, so tired—and yet the weight of Belos’s expectations pressed down on him like a mountain. He couldn’t let his uncle see him like this. He couldn’t.
But it didn’t matter.
Before he could fully push himself to his feet, a heavy hand gripped his shoulder, forcing him back to the ground. Hunter’s breath caught in his throat as his uncle’s presence loomed over him, cold and unyielding.
“I told you,” Belos hissed, his voice venomous, “that failure is not tolerated. You disgrace the Empire with your weakness.”
Hunter’s vision blurred again, his body trembling in his uncle’s grip. The words cut deeper than any physical wound ever could, a reminder that nothing he did would ever be enough. Not for Belos. Not for the Empire.
His uncle crouched beside him, his cold fingers curling under Hunter’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. The weight of those eyes—those accusing, hateful eyes—suffocated him. The very sight of his uncle made him feel like he was drowning, like he was less than nothing.
“You will never be enough,” Belos muttered, his voice low and cruel. “You’ll never be the Golden Guard I wanted. You’re not even worthy of that title.”
Hunter’s chest constricted with a mixture of fear and anger. He wanted to scream, to fight back, to tell his uncle everything that had been gnawing at him for so long. He wanted to tell him that he wasn’t just the Golden Guard. He wasn’t just a weapon, a tool to be used. He was Hunter—and he wasn’t going to let his uncle break him anymore.
But the words wouldn’t come. They were stuck in his throat, swallowed by the years of conditioning that had taught him to keep his mouth shut, to accept his fate, to bow down to Belos’s will.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of his failure.
Belos’s hand tightened on his chin, forcing his head back. “Sorry doesn’t mean anything. Not to me. Not anymore.”
Hunter’s heart raced as his uncle’s grip on him tightened, the pressure unbearable. His lungs burned, and his vision grew hazy as the pain in his chest intensified. The world seemed to slow down, every second stretching out into eternity.
For a brief moment, Hunter’s thoughts drifted away from the crushing weight of his uncle’s hands, and he found himself remembering the words that Luz had said to him. “You don’t have to keep hiding. You just have to be you.”
It felt like a distant memory now, one that slipped through his fingers as easily as sand. He had wanted to be something more, something better, but that was a dream that seemed impossible. The harsh reality of his life—his duty to Belos, his place as the Golden Guard—was all-consuming. There was no room for weakness. No room for him.
And yet, even as his uncle’s grip on his throat tightened, a tiny spark of defiance flickered deep within him. He couldn’t let this be the end. He couldn’t let Belos win.
With what little strength he had left, Hunter pushed back against his uncle’s grip, his body trembling with effort. He tried to stand, tried to break free from the suffocating weight of Belos’s presence, but his limbs betrayed him, and he fell back to the ground, gasping for air.
“Pathetic,” Belos spat, his voice dripping with disgust. “You’re nothing.”
But even as the world around him spun and blurred, something inside Hunter refused to break. There was a fire burning deep within him, a fire that wasn’t going to be extinguished so easily. It wasn’t just the fear of death, the fear of failure—it was the knowledge that he couldn’t let his uncle destroy him. Not anymore.
You’re not weak, he thought, his mind racing. You’re not weak.
And for the first time in a long while, he believed it.
His uncle’s hand loosened slightly, and Hunter seized the opportunity, using every ounce of strength he had left to shove Belos away. He stumbled backward, gasping for breath, his vision still swimming, but he didn’t care. He had to keep moving. He had to survive.
“You’ll regret this, Hunter,” Belos sneered, his voice full of venom. “You’ll regret defying me.”
Hunter didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His body was still trembling from the encounter, but he was standing now. He was alive.
And that was enough for now.
As Belos disappeared into the shadows, Hunter collapsed to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the adrenaline starting to wear off. His body ached, his mind spun with the echoes of his uncle’s words, but one thought remained at the forefront of his mind.
I’m still here.

The cold stone of the Emperor’s castle felt like ice beneath Hunter’s feet as he trudged down the dimly lit corridor. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, every step an effort as he forced himself to move. His body ached, every muscle protesting the motion, his ribs throbbing in a steady rhythm. But the pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache inside his chest, the unbearable weight that pressed down on his lungs every time he remembered the look in Belos’s eyes.
Disappointment.
The Emperor was never angry. Anger was a loud, volatile emotion. Belos was cold, indifferent, and relentless. Disappointment, though—it cut deeper. It lingered. It festered.
Hunter winced, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the tender bruise on the side of his head where Belos had struck him. It was still a dull ache, but the sting in his chest was far worse. The echoes of his uncle’s words reverberated in his mind.
Pathetic.
Weak.
You will never be good enough.
Every word, every accusation, felt like a blade, cutting deeper into the fragile shell of self-worth that he had left. How many times had he been told those words? How many times had he tried to prove himself, only to fall short?
Hunter had never felt smaller than he did now.
The castle’s hallway stretched out before him, an endless maze of stone, each turn a reminder of how trapped he was. How far he had fallen. How far he had gone to try to please Belos, to become the perfect soldier, the perfect heir—the Golden Guard.
But what had it gotten him?
A few scraps of praise and a lifetime of torment.
His heart thundered in his chest as he approached the door to the Emperor’s chambers. He had no choice but to return. No matter how badly he wanted to escape, to run away and never look back, he knew it was impossible. There was no escaping Belos. Not now, not ever.
Hunter’s fingers curled into fists at his sides as he reached for the door. His hands shook as he grasped the cold brass handle, but he forced himself to open it. He couldn’t delay the inevitable.
Inside, the chamber was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of magical candles scattered around the room. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if even the atmosphere itself was charged with the oppressive weight of Belos’s presence.
Hunter didn’t look up as he entered. He couldn’t. He was too afraid of what he might see.
“You’re late,” Belle's voice was low and controlled, but there was a sharp edge to it. “I was expecting you sooner.”
Hunter stood in the doorway, frozen in place. His heart hammered in his chest, and his mouth felt dry, as if the very air had been sucked out of the room.
“Sorry, Uncle,” Hunter muttered, his voice barely audible. He kept his eyes cast downward, afraid to meet Belos’s gaze. He didn’t want to see the contempt that was sure to be there, didn’t want to see the disappointment reflected back at him.
But it didn’t matter. Belos’s gaze was already on him, sharp and piercing, the weight of it making Hunter feel smaller and smaller by the second.
“Sorry?” Belos repeated, his voice cold. “Is that all you have to say? After failing me again?”
Hunter flinched, the words hitting him like a physical blow. His chest tightened, the old familiar pressure building inside him. He hated this. He hated how powerless he felt, how small, how insignificant. It didn’t matter how hard he tried. It didn’t matter how much he sacrificed. To Belos, he would always be the failure, the disappointment, the tool that could never measure up.
“I… I’ll do better,” Hunter whispered, his throat tight with shame. He didn’t know if it was for Belos’s benefit or for his own, but it was the only thing he could say. It was the only thing that made any sense.
Belos took a step closer, his presence looming over Hunter, suffocating him. The Emperor’s voice was like ice as he spoke again.
“You better. Because if you fail me again, Hunter, you won’t be able to hide from the consequences.”
Hunter’s heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his throat. The last time he had heard those words, it had ended with a slap to the face so hard that his vision had blurred and his body had crumpled to the ground. But this time… this time, Hunter wasn’t sure he could take it. He wasn’t sure how much more he could endure before it broke him entirely.
But there was no escape. There never was.
The words hung in the air, thick and heavy. They weren’t just threats. They were promises. Promises of pain, of torment, of a life bound by chains too tight to break. And no matter how much Hunter wanted to escape, to flee and never look back, he knew he couldn’t.
He owed his life to Belos. He owed his body, his soul—everything—to the Emperor. What else was there for him to live for?
Hunter swallowed, trying to push down the lump in his throat. He could feel the tears threatening to spill, but he refused to let them show. He couldn’t let Belos see that weakness. That vulnerability.
“I’ll do better,” Hunter repeated, his voice quieter this time, more resigned. He wasn’t even sure if he was convincing himself or Belos.
Belos studied him for a moment, his gaze cold and calculating. Then, without warning, his hand shot out, grabbing Hunter by the neck and slamming him back against the wall with such force that the air was knocked out of his lungs. Pain exploded through Hunter’s skull as his head cracked against the stone, his vision spinning.
“You’ll do better,” Belos hissed, his grip tightening around Hunter’s throat. “You don’t get to fail me. Not again. Do you understand?”
Hunter gasped, his hands clawing weakly at Belos’s wrist, but it was no use. The pressure was too much, his vision narrowing as his lungs screamed for air. The world around him seemed to slow, fading in and out like a distant memory.
But through the fog, one thought remained: He was going to die here.
It was a thought that had plagued Hunter’s mind countless times. He had long since stopped hoping for anything more than survival. He had stopped dreaming of freedom, of escape, of something better. The only thing that mattered now was enduring—surviving just long enough to fulfill his duty, just long enough to satisfy Belos’s demands.
And then… then it would all be over.
But as his body grew weaker, as the darkness crept in around the edges of his vision, something deep inside him refused to submit. Maybe it was the small flicker of defiance that still burned within him, the small voice in the back of his mind that told him he wasn’t just this—he wasn’t just the Golden Guard, he wasn’t just a tool. Maybe it was the thought that he deserved better than this. Maybe it was the memory of Luz’s words—You don’t have to keep hiding. You just have to be you.
No.
The word came like a quiet whisper in his mind, but it was enough. Enough to push him through the fog. Enough to make his body fight back, to push against Belos’s grip, to claw at his hand until it loosened, just enough to let him take a shallow breath.
Belos’s eyes flickered with annoyance, but there was something else there, too. Something darker.
“You think you’re stronger than me?” Belos growled, tightening his grip again. “You think you have any power here?”
Hunter’s vision was fading fast, but the fire inside him—however small, however faint—was enough to keep him fighting. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on, but he refused to give up. He refused to give Belos the satisfaction of knowing he had broken him.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Belos released him with a disgusted sneer, letting Hunter slump to the ground, gasping for air. His head spun, his heart pounding in his chest, and every part of his body screamed in pain.
But he was alive.
He was still alive.
“Don’t forget your place,” Belos spat, his voice like ice. “You belong to me. And if you ever think you can escape me… you’ll see just how far you can fall.”
Hunter didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His body refused to obey him, and his mind was too clouded with the aftermath of the beating. All he could do was stare at the stone floor beneath him, his breath ragged, his hands shaking.
He should have been afraid. He should have been terrified. But all he could feel was numb.
Because, deep down, he knew that this was his life. It always had been. And no matter how much he wanted to run, to escape, to break free, there was nowhere for him to go. Not when his life was owed to Belos. Not when he had already given everything he had to the Emperor.
Hunter closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his uncle’s words press down on him like a vice.
You belong to me.
Hunter had never imagined that something as small as a sliver of light could change so much. But that was exactly what happened.
He had always lived in darkness, in the shadow of his uncle’s oppressive presence. The world outside the Emperor’s castle was a distant dream—a dream he didn’t believe in anymore. His life had become a routine, a never-ending cycle of obedience, punishment, and survival. Each day bled into the next, the oppressive weight of his existence weighing him down until he could barely breathe. It wasn’t just physical pain that threatened to crush him; it was the emotional isolation, the suffocating silence, and the constant reminder that he was nothing more than a tool for Belos’s ambition.
But that night—something changed. It was a simple mission, one that should have been routine. Hunter had been assigned to scout a section of the Boiling Isles for any signs of rebellion, to eliminate any potential threats. He had done this a hundred times before, and each time, it felt like he was merely going through the motions, numb to the horrors he had witnessed, numb to the weight of his actions.
But something about this mission felt different. Maybe it was the strange energy in the air. Maybe it was the odd sensation in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake, like something was calling to him, urging him to stop—just for a moment.
As Hunter moved deeper into the forest, his thoughts drifted, his sharp senses dulled by exhaustion. He wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings when he heard the soft rustling of leaves behind him. Instinctively, he spun around, summoning his palisman, a familiar bird-shaped figure that rested on his shoulder. His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the shadows, his senses alert. But what he saw froze him in place.
Two figures emerged from the darkness, small and unassuming. At first, Hunter thought they were just a couple of wandering rebels, but the more he looked at them, the more he realized they were... different. They didn’t look like the usual threats he faced. One was a boy with dark skin and a wide grin, his bright eyes filled with curiosity. The other was a girl, taller than the boy, with bright red hair tied in a messy ponytail. Both were dressed in simple clothes, nothing that screamed rebellion or danger.
“Hey! Are you… um, okay?” the boy called out, his voice high-pitched but friendly. He took a step forward, clearly not intimidated by the Golden Guard in front of him. The girl beside him looked just as curious, but there was a hesitation in her posture.
Hunter blinked, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. It wasn’t fear that had caused him to do so—no, it was instinct. He had been taught to strike first, ask questions later, especially when it came to anyone who didn’t belong in the Emperor’s world. But these two... they weren’t like anyone he had encountered before. They weren’t like the rebels who’d attacked him or the coven soldiers who had tried to bring him down.
They were... different.
“Who are you?” Hunter’s voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken to another person in years. His heart was racing, but there was something else, too. Something in the pit of his stomach that made him hesitate, made him lower his weapon just slightly.
“I’m Gus!” the boy said with enthusiasm. “And this is Willow. We’re from Hexside. You know, the school? We were just out here trying to figure out what was going on with the magic fluctuations. But then we saw you and, uh, didn’t really know what to make of it.”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed as he processed the information. Hexside. He had heard of it, of course. A school for magical training. He had even seen a few students passing through the castle gates before, but he had never spoken to any of them. He had never thought that he would find himself standing in front of two students, talking like this.
Willow smiled warmly at him, though there was still some uncertainty in her gaze. “You don’t look like you’re here to cause trouble. Are you, uh, lost or something?”
Hunter’s breath hitched at the suggestion. Lost? No. He wasn’t lost. He knew exactly where he was. He just wasn’t sure why he was here anymore. He had followed orders, moved through life like a machine, always with the looming shadow of his uncle above him, making sure he didn’t stray too far. But in this moment, with these two unfamiliar faces looking at him with genuine curiosity, he felt something stir within him—something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Something that felt like... hope.
“No,” Hunter finally said, his voice quieter this time. “I’m not lost.”
The words felt strange on his tongue, but it was the truth. He wasn’t lost. He knew exactly where he was, even if he wasn’t sure where he was going.
Gus raised an eyebrow, noticing the way Hunter’s shoulders sagged slightly, the tightness around his eyes. “You sure about that? You don’t look too good, man.”
Hunter opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. His throat felt tight, and he suddenly felt more exposed than he had in years. He wasn’t sure why. He had faced enemies, battles, and missions where his life was on the line. But standing here, in front of two strangers who had no reason to care about him, he felt more vulnerable than he ever had before.
“I… I’m fine,” Hunter managed to say, forcing a tight smile. “I’m just—just doing my job.”
Willow’s expression softened. “Well, your job doesn’t seem to be going too well if you look like you’ve been through the ringer.”
Hunter’s gaze flickered to the ground. He couldn’t meet her eyes. It felt like too much. She was right, of course. He wasn’t fine. His body ached, his mind felt like it was unraveling, and the guilt—oh, the guilt gnawed at him, making it impossible to breathe sometimes. But he couldn’t let them see that. He couldn’t show weakness.
Gus stepped closer, his voice laced with concern. “Hey, look. We’re just trying to help. You don’t have to—”
Before he could finish, Hunter’s palisman let out a soft chirp, its little wings fluttering anxiously. Hunter froze, his heart skipping a beat. It was instinct again—this overwhelming, gut-wrenching need to protect himself. They’re trying to get close. They don’t know what you are. They don’t know who you serve.
“You should leave,” Hunter muttered, his voice rough, almost desperate. “It’s not safe here.”
Willow frowned, her brow furrowing with confusion. “What do you mean? It’s just us.”
“No,” Hunter insisted, shaking his head. His heart raced again, faster now, the pulse in his throat pounding. “You don’t understand. You need to leave. Now.”
There was a moment of silence. Then, to his surprise, Gus chuckled softly. “Okay, okay, man. We get it. You’re not much for company. But, like… if you ever want to talk, we’ll be around. You don’t have to be alone, y’know?”
Hunter looked up sharply at Gus’s words, but before he could respond, Willow spoke up.
“We’re not here to hurt you,” she said gently, her voice soft, but firm. “You don’t have to keep everything bottled up, you know. People care. I… I care.”
Hunter’s breath caught in his throat, and for the briefest moment, his heart clenched painfully. He hadn’t heard anyone say something like that in years. Not since the last time he tried to talk to someone—and even then, it had been fleeting, gone before he could even grasp it.
Gus and Willow weren’t part of his world. They didn’t know who he was, what he had done. They didn’t know what he had become. Yet, somehow, they were offering something—something Hunter had forgotten could exist. Care.
He took a slow, shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t know how to let people care,” he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. It was the truth. He didn’t know how to let anyone in anymore. He was too broken, too damaged. No one could care for someone like him.
Willow’s expression softened even further, and she stepped closer, offering him a tentative smile. “Maybe you don’t have to know how, yet. Maybe you just need a little push.”
Hunter blinked, a little taken aback. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was suffocating.
“I don’t… I don’t deserve help,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.
“Everyone deserves help,” Gus said, his voice serious now. “Even you, Hunter.”
Hunter’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. How did they know his name? How did they know him?
But instead of feeling alarmed, Hunter felt a strange warmth spreading in his chest. It was a foreign feeling, one he wasn’t sure he could trust. But for the first time in a long time, he wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something better waiting for him outside the walls of the castle. Something beyond the darkness, beyond Belos, beyond the endless cycle of pain.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, in the middle of the woods, staring at the two students who had somehow found their way into his broken world.
The days after Hunter’s encounter with Gus and Willow felt like a fog had lifted, but he didn’t know how to navigate through the clearer air. It was as though something had shifted inside him, a faint warmth where there used to be only ice. But that warmth came with a new, uncomfortable feeling—something he didn’t know how to handle.
It was almost laughable. He, Hunter, Golden Guard of the Emperor’s Coven, who was trained to strike fear into the hearts of the people, to destroy, to break, was suddenly dealing with feelings he didn’t understand. And those feelings were all centered on Willow.
He hated it. He hated how his heart would race whenever he saw her. He hated how his thoughts would wander to her without his permission, like she was some kind of magnet pulling at him, drawing him in despite his best efforts to resist. He had never allowed himself to care about anyone, especially not like this. Not with the depth that made him feel exposed, raw. Vulnerable.
But every time she smiled at him, every time she looked at him with that soft, understanding gaze, it was like his heart twisted in his chest. And he hated it. He hated how he would freeze up, his stomach flipping in ways he didn’t know were even possible.
Willow. It was such an innocuous name, one that should have meant nothing, but in his mind, it had become a symbol of everything he wasn’t allowed to have. A soft, gentle girl with a strength that Hunter could never have, no matter how hard he tried.
He told himself it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He didn’t deserve her affection, didn’t deserve anyone's affection. There was no room for love in a life like his. His existence was tied to his uncle’s orders, to his place in the Empire. Anything outside of that was a luxury, and luxuries were for other people, not him.
Yet, as days passed and the shadows of his world closed in tighter, he found himself seeking out her company. It wasn’t intentional. He didn’t go out of his way to spend time with her. But somehow, when she was around, it felt like the weight on his chest lightened just a little.
One day, they found themselves in the woods again, with Gus and Willow wandering around, exploring the woods as they usually did. Hunter had reluctantly joined them on this trip, his mind clouded by the pressure of his thoughts, trying to make sense of what was happening inside of him. It was just supposed to be another mission—just another task, something he could do without thinking.
But then Willow was there, laughing about something Gus had said, her hair falling over her face as she brushed it away. Hunter couldn’t help but watch her. She looked so carefree, so sure of herself, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. And maybe she didn’t. Maybe she could afford to be free.
Hunter couldn’t help but wonder if she saw him as something more than just a tool. He wasn’t sure why that thought struck him so hard. Maybe it was because he had spent so much of his life being a weapon, something that could only be used, nothing more, nothing less. He had always been a “means to an end,” in his uncle’s eyes. But when Willow looked at him, there was no judgment in her eyes. There was only warmth, curiosity, and kindness.
And that was terrifying.
He hated how she made him feel. It wasn’t just that his heart would race in her presence—it was how it made him want something he couldn’t have. It made him long for things that he was sure were beyond his reach.
The thought that she might look at him differently—look at him as someone she could trust, someone she could care about—was almost unbearable. He wasn’t sure if he could handle that. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to handle that.
“Hunter?”
Willow’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, and he snapped back to attention, blinking in confusion. He hadn’t even realized how deeply lost in his mind he had become.
“Yeah?” he responded, trying to sound casual, though his voice cracked under the weight of his own emotions.
She tilted her head, a small, concerned frown tugging at her lips. “Are you okay? You’ve been kind of quiet for a while.”
Hunter quickly looked away, his breath catching in his throat. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He didn’t want her to see the turmoil inside of him. He didn’t want anyone to see how vulnerable he had become just from standing next to her.
Willow’s eyes softened, but she didn’t push him. Instead, she gave him a small smile, the same one that made his heart stutter in his chest. “Alright, if you say so. But, you know, you don’t have to be alone all the time, right?”
He stiffened at her words. They felt like a lifeline, but they also felt like something he wasn’t ready to grasp. He didn’t deserve to be saved. He didn’t deserve the warmth of her smile, the kindness in her voice.
“You’re not alone, Hunter,” she added, her voice quiet, almost like a whisper. “You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”
Hunter’s stomach churned, and his heart twisted painfully in his chest. She didn’t understand. How could she? She was a student at Hexside, free to be herself, free to explore her world, her feelings. He wasn’t free. He was bound to his uncle’s will. He had no choice but to be a puppet in Belos’s grand scheme.
And yet, here she was, trying to offer him a comfort he didn’t know how to accept. A comfort that felt too much like hope, and Hunter wasn’t sure he could ever allow himself to hope again.
“I don’t need anyone,” he muttered, his voice sharp despite the hollow ache in his chest.
Willow’s expression softened, but there was something almost sorrowful in her eyes. “I don’t believe that, Hunter. We all need someone. Even you.”
The words hit him harder than he expected, and his breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Everything inside him felt like it was coming apart, unraveling in slow motion. He wanted to shout at her, tell her she was wrong, that she didn’t know him, didn’t know what he had done, what he had become. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to destroy her fragile hope, the kind of hope that had begun to grow inside him like a seed.
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Hunter’s fingers twitched at his sides, the urge to escape overwhelming him. He wanted to leave, wanted to run far away from her, from this ache that was gnawing at his chest. But something held him there, anchored to the spot, and he couldn’t understand it. He was afraid of her, afraid of how she made him feel. But at the same time, he felt a desperate need to stay close to her, to feel the warmth of her presence.
Finally, Gus’s voice broke the silence, his usual upbeat tone cutting through the tension. “Okay, okay! You two are seriously going to be the death of me. Just talk it out already.”
Hunter turned to look at Gus, but his eyes were still locked on Willow. She wasn’t looking at him now, but he could see the faint blush creeping up her neck, the way she shifted her weight nervously. Hunter’s heart skipped a beat, and for a brief moment, he wanted to pull away, to hide from everything that had been building up inside of him. He wanted to retreat into himself, to stop feeling.
But then, against all his better judgment, he took a small step forward. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to express what was happening inside of him. But somehow, in this moment, with Gus’s teasing and Willow’s gentle silence, he felt like he could—just a little.
“I…” Hunter started, but his voice faltered. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Willow’s eyes snapped back to him, and her expression softened even more. “Do what?”
“This,” he gestured vaguely between them, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to let people in. I don’t know how to let myself... care.”
Willow’s face was still kind, but now there was an understanding in her gaze, a soft empathy that made Hunter want to fall apart. “You don’t have to know how right away. We can figure it out together.”
Hunter couldn’t speak. His chest felt tight, like something was about to crack open, but he couldn’t bring himself to let it. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
The world around Hunter was a blur of bright colors and shifting shapes. It felt like he was caught in a dream, but there was no warmth in it—only a suffocating cold that gnawed at his soul. He couldn’t tell how he had gotten here or why, but the sickening, spiraling sensation that enveloped him left him dizzy and disoriented. His head was pounding, his body weak and trembling. He couldn’t even remember the last moment when he had felt solid ground beneath his feet.
“Hunter?” Luz’s voice broke through the chaos around them, startling him.
Hunter’s eyes snapped open, and he found himself standing beside Luz, the world around them an unsettling blend of swirling memories and distorted images. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and everything—everything—seemed familiar in a way that made his skin crawl.
“We’re in his mind,” Hunter muttered, his voice low and strained. “Belos’s mind.”
Luz’s gaze shifted nervously around them, her expression tinged with a mix of confusion and dread. “Yeah, I think so. But how did we—how did we get here?”
“I don’t know,” Hunter replied, his throat tight. He looked around, his heart racing. This place felt wrong, so wrong. It was as though the very fabric of reality had been twisted, leaving behind something alien, something horrifying. And yet, there was a sickening familiarity to it.
The memories were strange here, flickering like broken glass. They weren’t his memories, but they were... close. They were fragments of a life that didn’t belong to him, pieces of something darker, something that filled him with a deep, primal fear. As if they weren’t just memories—they were lies.
“What is this place?” Luz whispered, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and uncertainty.
Hunter’s hand clenched at his side. He didn’t want to admit it to her, not out loud, not even to himself, but the answer was already forming in his mind. This place—it was Belos’s mind. The Emperor’s mind. The very essence of the twisted figure who had raised him, who had molded him into something broken. He had thought of Belos as a monster, yes—but now, standing in the heart of his psyche, it felt like there was something deeper, something that ran even colder than the surface hatred.
Luz’s voice was a stark contrast to the oppressive silence surrounding them, her voice breaking through the gloom. “Hunter, do you think—”
“No.” Hunter’s reply was automatic, cold. His eyes hardened, instinctively scanning their surroundings. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the rush of adrenaline heightening his awareness. He didn’t want to hear her say it, didn’t want to entertain the possibility that this nightmare might be true.
“You’re gonna tell me what I think you’re gonna say, right?” Luz pressed, her voice barely above a whisper, and for the first time since meeting her, Hunter could hear the tremor of fear in it.
“No,” he repeated firmly, his jaw clenched, teeth grinding in frustration. He refused to let her voice it. He refused to acknowledge the dark, terrible truth creeping into the back of his mind. “We’re in his mind. We just need to get out. Get back to reality.”
But deep down, he knew. He knew.
He didn’t need to say it. He didn’t need to hear it. Belos wasn’t who he thought he was. He wasn’t just a tyrant, a cruel ruler. He was something far worse.
Hunter looked around again, trying to find an escape, but the deeper he searched, the more he realized that there was no way out. This wasn’t like a normal mindscape—it was a prison. His uncle’s prison. His uncle’s sickening little world of lies and manipulation. And Hunter, as much as he hated to admit it, had been trapped inside of it since the moment he had been born.
“Hunter…” Luz’s voice was soft, but it cut through the stillness like a blade. “I don’t think this is just his mind.”
Hunter froze. The words hit him like a slap across the face, and his chest tightened as he slowly turned to face her. Luz was looking at him with something he couldn’t name—something that reflected the same fear and confusion Hunter felt deep inside. And yet, there was something else there, too. Something more than just fear. Concern.
Luz continued, her voice barely a whisper. “I think… I think it’s also yours.”
Hunter’s breath hitched. “No,” he said again, his voice growing strained. He shook his head violently, as if shaking the thought loose. “I don’t know what you mean. This is Belos. It’s—”
“No, Hunter,” Luz interrupted softly, “this isn’t just Belos’s mind. I think—I think this is yours too.”
The words landed with a sickening weight, crushing the air from his lungs. Hunter took a step back, his vision spinning. His mind reeled as the truth sank in—this place… it was a part of him. Everything about it was suffocatingly familiar, like fragments of his past, his confusion, his years of endless pain and doubt had been grafted into the very walls of Belos’s twisted soul. The distorted, broken reflections of his life, warped by his uncle’s influence.
Hunter didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to think it was true. But the longer he stood there, the more the pieces fell into place. The twisted labyrinth of Belos’s mind was as much Hunter’s as it was his uncle’s. A sickening blend of pain, betrayal, and dark, painful truths.
He could feel the anger building inside him—the rage that came with this realization. He didn’t want to be connected to this place. He didn’t want to be part of Belos’s madness. He didn’t deserve it.
“Hunter…” Luz said quietly, her hand resting on his shoulder, grounding him. “What if this is where everything starts? What if this is where you—where we find the truth?”
Hunter’s eyes shot up to meet hers, his breathing erratic. “The truth?” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “You want the truth, Luz?”
He turned away from her, pacing wildly, his heart slamming against his ribs. “The truth is—I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what I am. My uncle—he’s not just some power-hungry emperor. He’s twisted my life. He’s twisted me into something I can’t even recognize.”
Luz’s voice was soft but insistent. “Hunter, we’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to keep carrying it all by yourself.”
Hunter’s breath hitched, a hollow, bitter laugh escaping him. “You don’t get it, Luz. You don’t get it,” he spat. “I—I was made for this. I was made to be a weapon. A tool for Belos’s sick little game. Everything in me—every piece of who I am—was twisted by him from the moment I was born.”
His eyes flashed with pain. “And now, I’m nothing. I’m a walking, breathing lie.”
Luz’s voice wavered with sympathy, but she refused to back down. “You’re not a lie, Hunter. You’re a person. And that—” She took a deep breath, stepping closer to him, her eyes never leaving his. “That’s what matters.”
Hunter’s heart raced, but it wasn’t the fear he had felt moments ago. It was something else. It was the deep, aching truth that he had been denying for so long. That he wasn’t just Belos’s tool, his puppet. That he wasn’t just the Golden Guard.
That he was a person.
But as those words echoed in his mind, something shifted. The ground beneath him rumbled, the space around them distorting further. The walls of Belos’s mind pulsed with a sickening energy. It wasn’t just his uncle’s rage that was making the space twist. No, it was something more. Something far worse.
It was Hunter’s own feelings. His confusion, his pain, his fear.
And then, the realization hit him. Harder than anything he had ever felt in his life.
“I’m… I’m not just a tool for him,” Hunter whispered to himself, his voice trembling. “I’m a Grimewalker. A creation of Belos. He—he’s been using me all this time.”
Luz’s eyes widened in shock. “Hunter, what are you—”
And then it all hit him in a blinding rush. He had always known something was wrong. He had always known deep down that his life, his existence, was something unnatural. But this—this—was far worse than he had ever imagined.
Hunter was not just the Golden Guard. He was not just a weapon in Belos’s war for domination. He was not just some innocent child twisted by his uncle’s cruelty.
Hunter was a Grimewalker. A creation of Belos’s madness. The truth of it hit him like a slap in the face. A cold, brutal truth that shattered him to his core.
“I—I’m nothing,” Hunter breathed, his voice cracking. He staggered backward, his legs buckling beneath him. “I’m nothing but—but a monster.”
Luz’s hand reached out to him, but it was too late. The words had already cut him so deep he couldn’t breathe. Everything had come crashing down all at once.
The full weight of Belos’s evil—his uncle’s complete and utter darkness—was unbearable.
Hunter’s world cracked wide open.
And with that break, his worst fear was realized.
His uncle would kill him—and everyone he loved.
He was just another pawn to be discarded in Belos’s quest for power.
Hunter ran.
Through woods lit only by the pale breath of moonlight. Through the cold, choking dark that clung to his clothes like guilt. Every step tore at his lungs, but still he ran, cloak snapping behind him like wings made of smoke and ash.
He had nothing but the clothes on his back and the broken pieces of himself he hadn’t buried deep enough.
The last thing he remembered was the look in Belos's eyes—not the fury, not the rage. No, it was disappointment that had sunk its claws the deepest. And then the backhand. The force of it had knocked him to the ground like a discarded puppet. It wasn’t the pain that had stunned him. It was the confirmation of what he’d always feared.
He was never loved. Only used.
He had stared up at his uncle, blood trickling from his mouth, the taste metallic and warm.
"You're broken," Belos had sneered, voice full of contempt. "A failure."
That had been enough.
So now he ran, heart burning with the echo of that word.
Failure.
His boots skidded through damp leaves and broken twigs, every branch grabbing at him like they too wanted him to turn back. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Hexside.
The name had bloomed in his mind like a single defiant spark. A place he had been taught to despise. A place he now saw as his only hope.
He didn't know what he'd do when he got there. He didn't even know if they'd let him through the gates. All he knew was that he couldn't go back. Not to the Emperor's Coven. Not to the man who had built him from lies and turned him into a weapon.
His legs trembled as the edges of exhaustion crept in. But stopping wasn't an option.
You don't deserve rest, his thoughts whispered. You don't deserve peace.
The wind howled through the trees, cold and mournful. Like the Boiling Isles themselves were grieving for him.

He reached Hexside just as the sun began to edge its way up over the horizon, casting gold and crimson across the sky. It looked like blood and fire smeared across blue.
Hunter collapsed at the gates.
The guards shouted, voices muffled by the fog in his head. He barely registered the warmth of hands lifting him, the rush of motion, the blurred faces leaning over him.
"Is that—?" someone said. "That's the Golden Guard!"
Panic. Footsteps.
Then, everything went black.

When Hunter woke, he was in an infirmary bed. Clean linen. A soft blanket. The scent of healing herbs and disinfectant clung to the air.
He jolted up, disoriented, only to have firm but gentle hands push him back down.
“Whoa, hey—easy,” said a voice. Familiar. Steady.
Gus.
And next to him, Willow. Her eyes were wide with worry, arms crossed in that way she did when she was trying not to cry.
“You’re safe now,” Willow said softly.
Hunter blinked at them. The ceiling above him was smooth stone. No sigils. No golden banners. No throne.
Just light.
He shook his head. “I—I shouldn’t be here.”
“You almost died, Hunter,” Gus said. “You showed up at the gates covered in bruises and—gods, you looked like you hadn’t eaten in days.”
“I didn’t come here for help,” Hunter rasped. “I came to disappear.”
“Well, you’re terrible at it,” Willow said, trying to smile. It didn’t reach her eyes.
Silence settled like dust.
Hunter stared at his hands. They didn’t feel like his anymore. The gloves were gone. His arms looked too thin, too human. No armor. No mask.
The quiet shattered when he whispered, “He tried to kill me.”
Neither Gus nor Willow asked who. They didn’t have to.
Willow moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. “And we’re not going to let him try again.”
Hunter flinched at her certainty.
“How?” he asked, eyes hollow. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“We don’t have to,” Gus said. “We just have to know what you need.”
That word.
Need.
He didn’t even know anymore. Food? Sleep? Safety? None of it felt real. Not after what he had left behind. Not after years of being trained to live like a ghost in service of a nightmare.
He was a soldier with no war. A weapon with no master.
“A place to sleep,” he finally said. “Until I figure out what I’m supposed to be now.”
Willow’s hand rested over his. “You don’t have to be anything but a kid, Hunter. Just… be.”
His breath hitched.
Because no one had ever told him that before. Not Darius, not the scouts. Not even Flapjack—who had done his best, but couldn’t speak the language of human softness.
Be a kid.
That felt more terrifying than any battlefield.
He lay back down, the tears stinging before they spilled. No mask to hide them. No armor to harden them. Just him, in this tiny sliver of safety.
“I’m scared,” he whispered.
Willow tightened her grip. “That’s okay. We’ve got you.”
For the first time in years, Hunter believed it.
Not completely. But enough to close his eyes.