Chapter 4: The Ceremonial Hunt Begins

The wind howled through the canyon, sharp and biting, carrying the scent of sagebrush and something darker—fear. Kael stood at the edge of the clearing, his spear gripped tightly in his hand, the cold metal biting into his palm. Around him, the warriors from the other tribes gathered in loose clusters, their voices low but charged with anticipation. The twin moons cast silvery light over the rocky terrain, stretching their shadows long and jagged against the canyon walls.

They were young, like him. Some barely sixteen, others nearing twenty—every one of them standing on the brink of adulthood, with everything to prove.

This was no ordinary hunt.

Kael's heart pounded as he scanned the group. Each face told its own story of nerves, ambition, or poorly masked arrogance. Some warriors shifted restlessly, their hands gripping weapons, while others stood like statues, their expressions set in stone. All of them were waiting—for him.

The shardbeast will test you, but it will also show the tribes the kind of leader you can be.

His father's words from the night before echoed in his mind, but instead of clarity, they only deepened the knot of doubt in his chest. He had spent his whole life preparing for moments like this, yet as he stood there, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him, he felt like an imposter.

"Well, this should be fun," a voice drawled, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Kael's eyes snapped toward the speaker: Ryn, a warrior from the Ember Tribe, his smirk as sharp as the axe slung across his back. Ryn was tall, broad-shouldered, and quick with his tongue, his confidence often mistaken for charm. Kael had seen him during other gatherings—always loud, always looking for a fight.

"I can't wait to see what reckless brilliance our fearless leader has planned this time," Ryn added, his tone dripping with mockery.

A ripple of laughter followed, low but cutting.

Kael's grip on his spear tightened, the metal digging into his calloused palm.

"Careful, Ryn," another voice chimed in. Jek, a wiry warrior from the Dust Walkers, leaned lazily against a rock, his knife flipping between his fingers in a blur of motion. His pale eyes gleamed with amusement, his voice soft but sharp enough to slice through the group. "You know how Kael's hunts usually go. One wrong step, and we'll all be shardbeast food before the moons set."

The laughter grew louder, emboldened now.

Kael clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. He had expected this. His failures—especially the sandcrawler raid—hadn't been forgotten. The tribes had long memories, and the stories of Kael's mistakes had only grown sharper in the retelling.

"He's going to get us all killed," Ryn added, louder this time, his voice carrying across the clearing. "Might as well dig our graves now and save the shardbeast the trouble."

"That's enough," Tayo said, his voice cutting through the noise like a crack of thunder.

The laughter faltered, and all eyes turned to him.

Tayo stepped forward, his expression calm, though Kael could see the quiet fury burning in his friend's dark eyes. Where Kael was all coiled tension, Tayo exuded a steady confidence that had always made him a natural ally. His braids were tied back with copper rings that glinted in the moonlight, a mark of his standing among the Sun Tribe's smiths.

"Say what you want about Kael," Tayo continued, his voice steady and even, "but at least he's willing to lead. What about you, Ryn? Or you, Jek? You're quick with your mouths, but I don't see either of you volunteering to take charge."

Ryn's smirk faded, his scowl deepening, but he didn't respond.

"And for the record," Tayo added, his gaze sweeping across the group, "Kael's mistakes don't define him. None of ours do. We've all failed at something. The difference is whether you get back up and try again."

Kael's eyes flicked to Lirien, a girl from the Bone Tribe standing just behind Jek. She was short but wiry, with braided silver hair that gleamed in the moonlight and a sharp gaze that missed nothing. Lirien hadn't laughed with the others, but she hadn't defended him either. Her silence was cutting in its own way, a silent reminder that she was still weighing his worth.

"Enough," Kael said, his voice louder now, more certain.

The warriors turned back to him, their smirks fading as Kael stepped forward, his spear resting lightly in his hand.

"If any of you think you can do better," he said, his tone sharp, "say so now. But I'll warn you—this isn't a game. The shardbeast is fast, strong, and deadly. It will kill us all if we don't work together. So if you're here to mock or bicker, leave now."

Silence fell over the clearing. The wind whistled through the canyon, tugging at the warriors' cloaks and ruffling the dry brush.

Kael's gaze swept over the group. Ryn stared at him, his jaw tight but his mouth shut. Jek tilted his head, his knife still spinning between his fingers. Lirien crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. Tayo stood just behind him, his quiet confidence an anchor against the tension.

"No one?" Kael asked. "Then let's move."

Kael turned toward the canyon path, his boots crunching against the rocky ground. The warriors followed, their footsteps echoing in the stillness. He could feel their eyes on him, a mixture of doubt, resentment, and grudging respect.

The shardbeast's lair lay deep within the canyon, hidden in the shadows where the moons' light couldn't reach. The path was narrow and treacherous, the walls rising steeply on either side like jagged teeth. Kael kept his spear ready, his senses straining for any sign of movement.

As they moved deeper into the canyon, the air grew colder, heavier. The warriors' footsteps slowed, their earlier bravado fading into quiet unease.

Kael glanced at Frenna, a stout girl from the Stone Breakers who carried a hammer nearly as big as she was. Her wide shoulders and quiet strength had always impressed Kael, but even she seemed tense, her knuckles white as they gripped the hammer's shaft.

"You've got this," Tayo murmured beside him, his voice low enough that only Kael could hear.

Kael didn't respond, but he gave a slight nod. He didn't trust himself to speak.

A faint sound broke the silence: a low, rumbling growl, so deep it seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath their feet.

Kael froze, his heart hammering in his chest. The warriors behind him tensed, their weapons raised.

The growl came again, louder this time, closer. Kael's breath caught as he scanned the shadows, his eyes searching for movement.

Then, without warning, it struck.

A blur of shadow and claws erupted from the darkness, the shardbeast moving faster than Kael's eyes could follow. Its growl became a deafening roar as it lunged at the group, its massive form scattering the warriors like dry leaves in the wind.

Kael raised his spear, the blade catching the light of the moons as the shardbeast's claws raked the air just inches from his face.

"Fall back!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The warriors scrambled to regroup, their faces pale with fear. Kael tightened his grip on his spear, his pulse racing.

The shardbeast growled, low and menacing, its glowing eyes locking onto him.

"This is it," Kael whispered to himself, planting his feet.

The beast lunged.