On the morning of the first day of the twelfth month, 2033, the sky was clear, tinted with a pale blue, as if nothing extraordinary were about to happen.
The cold breeze from the mountains slipped through the stone walls, bringing the illusion of an ordinary day.
But, for those who lived inside Blackthorn Orphanage, there were no ordinary days.
In the inner courtyard, the sound of quick steps and heavy breathing broke the silence of the morning.
The orphans moved in pairs.
Tense bodies.
Alert eyes.
Short, precise movements.
Blows were not driven by brute force, but by technique and control.
Quick evasions.
Arm twists.
Quick throws against the stone floor.
Systema.
A combat art where each movement could mean the difference between remaining on your feet or falling.
A boy advanced.
Tried to grab his opponent's shoulder.
The other rotated his body.
Shifted the center of balance.
A simple movement.
The first boy was thrown against the ground.
The impact echoed through the courtyard.
Around them, other pairs fought in the same way.
No shouting.
No hesitation.
Only the dry sound of bodies moving.
Watching everything in silence, Telvaris remained standing at the edge of the courtyard.
Hands behind his back.
A cold gaze passed over each fight.
Behind him, a few veterans watched attentively.
Classifying.
Memorizing.
Waiting for mistakes.
Then the bell rang.
A single toll.
The metallic sound sliced through the courtyard like an order.
The movements ceased almost immediately.
Some orphans were still on the ground.
Others still held their opponent pinned.
All of them looked toward Telvaris.
He stepped forward.
His voice came out firm.
Direct.
"Stop!"
The orphans separated immediately.
Telvaris watched the group gather in front of him.
Heavy breathing.
Bodies still trembling after the training.
He did not raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
"The bell marks zero nine hours."
A short pause.
"Training concluded."
No one moved.
Then Telvaris continued.
"Eat well."
A few looks lifted.
It was the first time he had said something beyond a simple order.
Then he concluded:
"At nightfall…"
A brief pause.
"The Mountain Hunt begins."
The silence seemed to weigh upon the courtyard.
"Dismissed."
No one answered.
No one hesitated.
The orphans moved immediately toward the main building.
Some were still breathing with difficulty.
Others wiped blood from the corner of their mouths.
Minutes later, a single toll echoed through the main corridor as the last of them crossed the doors of the refectory.
The smell of stale bread and thin soup spread through the air.
The great hall waited in silence.
Long wooden tables were fixed to the floor, aligned with almost military precision.
Benches equally attached to the stone prevented any unnecessary movement.
On each table, metal trays had already been placed.
Exact portions.
No space for excess.
One of the orphans lifted his gaze.
Fixed to the stone wall above the tables was a simple sign.
SILENCE IN THE REFECTORY.
No one said a word.
The morning moved on heavily.
The news of the Mountain Hunt seemed to have spread like a silent shadow through the orphanage.
The bell rang three times.
Telvaris, who was walking along the outer corridor, stopped.
His eyes turned toward the empty courtyard.
The stone floor was still marked.
Scratches.
Dry stains.
Signs of the morning's training.
At his side, Number One also observed the courtyard for a few seconds.
"Sir. The bell rang three times. Thirteen hours."
Telvaris remained looking at the courtyard.
Silence.
Then he spoke:
"Perhaps I am not suitable for this position."
Number One turned his face toward him.
He remained silent for a moment.
"I disagree, sir."
Telvaris did not react.
The veteran continued:
"The wards' performance has improved."
"Considerably."
They resumed walking.
The sound of boots echoed through the corridor.
"At the beginning, many couldn't complete even half of the training."
"Now, most maintain the pace."
Telvaris listened in silence.
"Some have even surpassed expectations."
A pause.
"Number two hundred, sir."
"Compared to the first day, he showed the greatest evolution."
"Direct result of the training."
Telvaris did not respond immediately.
He kept walking.
The narrow corridor ended before a heavy steel door.
Telvaris stopped for a moment.
His hand rested on the cold metal.
"We'll see."
"The Mountain always reveals the truth."
He pushed the door.
The door opened with a heavy sound.
Inside the training hall, the orphans were already lined up.
Motionless bodies.
Worn tatamis covered the floor.
Wooden dummies waited for the exercises.
Training weapons rested on racks fixed to the walls.
The white lighting made the environment even colder.
When Telvaris entered, no one moved.
Contained breathing.
Eyes fixed forward.
He walked to the center of the room.
Two hundred bodies remained still before him.
Then Telvaris spoke.
"Attention."
The sound of his voice seemed to cut the cold air of the room.
"Four hours remain until the beginning of the Mountain Hunt."
A short pause.
"Initially, one hundred and eighty of you would participate."
"The twenty newcomers were meant to serve only as pressure."
His gaze passed over the formation.
Cold.
Calculated.
"But the plans have changed."
"All two hundred will enter the mountain."
Some muscles tightened in the rows.
No one spoke.
Telvaris continued.
"The fact that you are still here is already something worthy of note."
"Many before you did not get this far."
His gaze swept across the faces like a blade.
Then he concluded:
"I will not waste words."
"I have only one order."
A heavy pause fell over the room.
"Survive."
The silence became even denser.
At that moment, Telvaris's intense golden eyes swept across the formation again.
Then they stopped.
Amber eyes.
Number two hundred.
They burned like fire trapped beneath ancient wood.
Telvaris held the gaze for a brief moment.
Then continued.
"Those who reach the summit alive will receive a name."
"And will enter a world that few of you can even imagine."
A pause.
"But understand something from this moment."
His voice hardened.
"The fear of death will be the smallest of the problems you will encounter out there."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"So do what you must do."
"Bury your feelings."
"Kill your comrades if necessary."
"Hesitation is death."
The gazes of the orphans changed.
The fear was still there.
But now there was something else.
Instinct.
Telvaris raised his voice one last time.
"Equip yourselves."
"Ten minutes."
"After that…"
A short pause.
"we march to the mountain."
He watched the rows in silence for a moment.
Then continued:
"Know the terrain."
"Burn every stone into your memory."
"Every trail."
"Every place where you might die."
Some muscles tightened in the formation.
Then Telvaris spoke, his voice firm:
"When the bell rings at eighteen hours…"
"the Hunt begins."
A brief pause.
"And remember something."
A faint smile curved his lips.
"The God of Death will walk beside you."
His eyes passed over the formation.
Then he asked:
"What do you say to the God of Death?"
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, like thunder tearing through the room, the two hundred answered in unison:
"Not today!"
Telvaris nodded slightly.
"Dismissed."
The formation broke immediately.
The orphans dispersed through the hall, taking weapons and equipment.
Outside, dusk was slowly beginning to approach.
Telvaris waited at the entrance of the main courtyard.
Motionless.
Hands behind his back.
A few minutes later, footsteps echoed through the stone corridor.
The director appeared.
His silver hair was dense and unruly.
A short beard covered part of his marked face.
Silver-gray eyes observed everything with absolute coldness.
A black blazer covered his shoulders.
Between his fingers, a cigar burned slowly, releasing thick smoke.
Telvaris remained still.
The director passed him without stopping.
The smoke spread through the air.
"Report."
The voice came out low.
Without emotion.
Telvaris answered immediately.
"Two hundred wards ready for the Hunt, sir."
"Training completed."
"Equipment distributed."
"Formation maintained."
The director continued walking.
Telvaris accompanied him.
"Expected losses?" the director asked.
"High, sir."
A short pause.
"As expected."
They crossed the orphanage gate.
The mountain trail could already be seen in the distance.
The cold wind descended from the slopes.
After a few steps, Telvaris spoke.
"Sir… I request permission for a question."
The director slowly released the cigar smoke.
"Granted."
"Days ago I received your order to send all two hundred wards to the Hunt."
A short pause.
"Is this related to the delay of your return from the county?"
The director walked a few meters in silence.
Then he asked:
"What led you to that conclusion?"
Telvaris answered carefully.
"Sir… our numbers are already limited."
"In prolonged war, numbers still have utility."
"Even inferior wards can operate in support."
"Logistics."
"Support."
"Reconnaissance."
"Numbers still have value in a long war."
The director listened to everything without interrupting.
Then resumed walking.
"I understand."
A short pause.
"But you are starting from a mistake."
Telvaris remained silent.
The director continued:
"This place does not form common soldiers."
He pointed with the cigar toward the mountain.
"It exists to reveal the strong."
Another pause.
"The weak only slow the strong."
The wind crossed the trail.
Then he added:
"Tell me, Telvaris."
"What is the motto of this place?"
The answer came immediately.
"The strong remain."
"The weak are forgotten."
The director nodded slightly.
"Exactly."
He turned his gaze toward the mountain.
"Tonight we will only confirm that."
At that moment—
The bell rang.
Six tolls echoed through the valley.
The beginning of the Hunt.
The director remained looking at the mountain.
The cigar smoke rose slowly in the cold air.
"Do you see, Telvaris?"
He did not turn his head.
"Those who are climbing now…"
"half will not see the dawn."
A pause.
"Perhaps fewer."
Telvaris remained silent.
"And still you think we must preserve numbers."
The director released another cloud of smoke.
"We do not build soldiers."
"We build survivors."
Finally he looked at Telvaris.
"There is only one way to know who deserves to remain."
The mountain wind passed between them.
Then he continued:
"You will remain here until dawn."
"When the survivors descend…"
"collect the bodies."
"Take them to the summit of the mountain."
"Burn them all."
A short pause.
"Let them see the ashes."
"Let them breathe them in."
"Let them never forget where they are."
He began walking again.
After a few steps, he added:
"And tell Éreon to come to my office."
"I have matters to discuss with him."
Telvaris remained standing still.
Watching the director move away along the trail.
Up ahead, the first silhouettes were already climbing the mountain slope.
Then—
a scream tore through the mountain.
At the beginning of the trail, fifty veterans had stopped.
They blocked the path.
Swords raised.
Éreon only watched.
The wind blew against his hair.
With absolute calm, he brought his hand to the sword.
"Totsuka no Tsurugi…"
The blade slid out of the sheath.
At that instant, a cloud covered the moon.
The slope plunged into darkness.
The first scream echoed.
Then another.
When the moon illuminated the slope again, the scene revealed itself.
One of the veterans was still on his knees.
Blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
Even so, he tried to raise his sword.
His eyes remained fixed on Éreon, who approached slowly.
In his mind echoed Telvaris's words:
When you stand before the God of Death… remember what you must say.
The veteran's lips trembled.
He tried to whisper:
"Not tod—"
The blade cut through.
For an instant, the body remained still.
The head rolled down the wet slope.
Silence returned to the mountain.
Éreon wiped the blade with a single movement.
And continued climbing.
Higher up, the one hundred and fifty advancing along the trail heard the final scream echo through the valley.
And realized that the Hunt had truly begun.