Page 123 of The Huntmaster

Toren

It had been four months since the beam tore its jagged path through the deep crusts and pierced the heavens. Four months since the universe answered us. Four months since my huntmaster held his dead mate in his arms... only for the Alu'un to return her to the light. The rift left behind by that searing light sat in total, unbroken silence—it hadn't grown, nor had it spat out any sky-metal invaders. It just hung there, a pale scar against the indigo, watching over a world that was quietly healing.

Below, the nest was coming back to life. The freed Vakra, once so pale and sickly, were slowly regaining their natural, deep mahogany hues. It wasn't easy, but the Alu'un was accepting them, sharing the communal hearths and the leaf-thatched dwellings. Children who once hid from them now ran laughing between their legs. Even Mara had been working relentlessly to mend what was broken. She carried bundles of healing herbs from dawn until dusk, her head bowed in quiet humility as she slowly earned her trust back after everything that happened.

My sister, Sora, had found her peace too. She had stepped into the role of nursery mother, her warm skin glowing soft and steady as she spent her suns surrounded by the orphaned younglings, teaching them the songs of the Great Tree.

And then there was young Sky.

Since Kaelen and Lyra had taken the boy in as their own, he had thrived under their roof. In just four short months, he'd already grown a few inches, walking taller every single day. The little runt even liked to think he could take me—the greatest Vanguard in the tribe—in a duel. Little did he know, I was the one who let him win our playful spars.

I decided to search for Tyler.

The other human had been staying in the lower quarters near the forge, and even though we bickered constantly, I hadn't seen his scowling face all morning. But before I could drop down to the secondary bridge, heavy footsteps echoed behind me.

"Looking for me, sólnyshka?"

I turned to find Tyler leaning against the trunk of the Great Tree, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

The word snagged on something in my chest before I could stop it. It wasn't the first time he'd used it—he'd dropped it on me maybe half a dozen times now, always tossed out sideways, like it cost him nothing. I still had no idea what it meant. I'd turned it over in my head more times than I'd ever admit, trying to find the shape of it in his human tongue, and I'd come up with nothing.

"What does that word mean, human?" I asked, my tail flicking with irritation I didn't entirely feel. "You say it like it is an insult, but you do not say it like an insult."

Tyler's smirk didn't waver. If anything, it deepened. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"I am asking. That is generally how one comes to know things, is it not?"

"Yeah, well." He shrugged, infuriatingly casual, already pushing off the trunk. "Some things are better left a mystery, big guy."

"That is not an answer." I huffed in annoyance.

"Nope." He didn't even look back at me, already walking. "Guess you'll just have to keep guessing."

I caught myself staring for a second. The pale, broken human who'd crawled out of darkness four months ago was gone. His frame had filled out significantly—his shoulders broader, his muscles lean and hard from hauling iron-bark timber, and his skin had taken on a rich, sun-kissed tan.

Because his sleeves were rolled high up his biceps, I noticed something else for the very first time: strange, dark ink markings swirling around his forearms. They weren't glowing like our copper skin-fractals, but they were detailed and dark, etched into his skin forever. I made a mental note to question him—and mock him—about what those strange black lines meant another time.

Even with his back still up from time to time, he'd definitely come out of his shell.

"I wasn't looking for you," I snarled playfully, my ears flattening in mock aggression. "I was making sure you hadn't fallen off the platform and broken the woven wood."

"Ha-ha. Hilarious, Toren," Tyler rolled his eyes, though the light in his gaze was bright. He stepped closer, reaching into a heavy leather pouch slung across his shoulder. "Actually, I have something for you. Hold still."

He pulled out an object that made my breath catch in my throat.

It was shaped like part of an arm and hand—almost symmetrical to the chunk of flesh and bone I'd lost months ago when I threw myself between him and a wild Vakra blade. But it wasn't made of meat. It was constructed from polished pieces of old sky-metal, woven together with strange, intricate joint-gears and materials I had no name for.

I stared at it, my tail freezing mid-sway. "What... what is this sky-magic?"

"It's a pro-sthet-ic," Tyler said, enunciating the human word carefully.

"A... a pr-pros-thet... a pos-tic?" I fumbled over the jagged syllables, my tongue tangling in my mouth.

Tyler snorted a small laugh.

The sound hit me right in the chest. It was the first genuine sound of true, unburdened happiness I had ever heard from him, and I found myself actually liking the sound of it, even if he was still an annoying, broody human.

"Just shut up and let me attach it," Tyler said, stepping directly into my space.