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Last night, there had been a full moon. More importantly, however, there had been a massacre.
During full moons, sure, werewolves were a problem, but it was said that the fae feasted upon mortals underneath the full moon as well. But they didn't feast upon the mortals' flesh—they feasted upon their fear.
And last night, one of the strongest fae that lurked within the woods had feasted upon the villagers in this tiny town hidden by forest. A few people had died from injuries, and still more were in the overworked infirmary. And five or six people had died from pure terror.
The villagers were begging for a solution. The fae attack had torn the village apart, and if there was another on the next full moon, they would be done for.
So they called upon their strongest monster hunter. His name was Martin Blackwood, and he was practically worshipped due to his experience hunting down the things that threatened the tiny village. Vampires and werewolves he often dealed with, but rarely fae. And rarely a single fae that would cause this much destruction.
And yet, Martin Blackwood took his weapons and went out into the woods that very day. He wasn't called a monster hunter for no reason, after all.
—
Martin shivered as the sun went behind a cloud—it was spring, and yet it was chilly in the depths of the woods. He held his flaming torch tightly to illuminate the shadow-drenched environment around him.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Although he was rarely tasked to kill them, Martin knew quite a good amount about the fae. He knew they lurked in the shadows and barely interacted with mortals—except to feed. He wasn't sure what they did when they weren't feeding during full moons; they were mysterious creatures whose known lore could only fill one academy textbook.
Maybe that was part of the reason why Martin's hand holding the torch was trembling right now. Maybe it was due to the unknown nature of the fae.
But he had killed them before. Only a couple, and they were weak, but he shouldn't be scared. Martin was the strongest monster hunter around, he shouldn't be scared of some fairy.
And yet, he felt his muscles tense as he heard rustling in a nearby bush. With his free hand, he drew his sword. Carefully, he turned towards the bush, and he heard the sound again.
Martin then took a shaky step back as something started to rise out of the bush. He held out his sword and took more steps back as the form became more and more visible.
It was tall and lanky, with arms too long and fingers too thin. It seemed to be cloaked in shadow, and yet still had a clear silhouette, with antennae and large wings like that of a moth.
But by far the most noticeable thing about this creature were its eyes. It had far too many, peppering every part of its shadowy body and wings. They all glowed in various shades of green, and they were all staring at Martin.
Martin took a deep breath as the creature slowly approached him. He tried not to let fear cloud his mind, he was out here for a reason.
It occurred to him that this must be the fae that had caused the massacre in the village. The one that had preyed on the fear of so many innocents. On their secrets, on their hopes and dreams and traumas.
Martin knew he had to kill this thing—so why couldn't he? He could only stand there as it approached, and he noticed that two of its larger eyes were fixed on his torch.
Right. A moth to the light. Perhaps this fae wasn't coming towards Martin to kill him, but it was just attracted to his light within the darkness.
Martin grimaced and took a step towards the fae, holding his sword out. Even if this thing wasn't planning on killing him, he had to kill it. If he didn't, what would happen during the next full moon? Another horrific massacre, that was what.
He was just about to stab the thing in the chest when it suddenly spoke.
"Hello."
Martin blinked in surprise. This thing knew how to speak? It didn't have a mouth, and yet Martin could still hear its voice in his mind.
"Uh…hello?" Martin stammered, though he wasn't exactly planning on having a conversation with the fae.
"Pretty light."
"Yes. Yes indeed." Martin frowned. "But it's not for you."
Silence for a few seconds.
"You feasted on the village's fear, didn't you?"
What a stupid question to ask. Of course the fae did that! That was what they did, they feasted upon fear with no remorse!
"Yes. That was me."
Martin sighed. "Okay. Wonderful. I'm not going to let you do that again."
"Give me your light, and I will not feast there again."
Martin furrowed his eyebrows. Did this fae really want his torch that badly? It was just fire on a stick, nothing special.
He supposed he could give it up…he could probably find his way back without it.
If he was careful. And really lucky.
"Not your torch, foolish mortal."
"W-what?"
"Not your torch. Your light."
Martin waved the torch slightly. "This…this is my light. Do you…not know what a torch is? The light that you're talking about is—"
"You're the light, Martin. Give me your light."
Martin's eyes widened—and he could feel a blush on his face. Why the bloody hell was he blushing?! It wasn't like the fae was flirting with him! Fae probably didn't even have a concept of romance!
"Give me your light, and your village will be safe, Martin Blackwood."
It looked like Martin had a difficult decision to make. Sacrifice himself…or risk the village getting feasted upon again.
For whatever reason, it was a pretty easy decision for Martin to make.
Martin sheathed his sword, putting it back on his belt. He sighed, gripping his torch tighter.
"What do you want with me, fae?"
"You may call me the Archivist."
"Right."
"And I'm not going to kill you, Martin."
"I only want your light as my own."