The dense, ancient canopy of the Wolfswood was a treacherous place even for seasoned rangers. The branches of the towering ironwoods and sentinel pines were slick with melting frost, and the shadows below were thick enough to swallow a man whole.
But to the figure darting through the treetops, the forest was not an obstacle. It was a playground.
A shadow moved fluidly from one massive branch to another, silent as a falling leaf. There was no snapping of twigs, no heavy thud of boots. Just a blur of motion, propelled by muscles operating at peak human efficiency.
Down below, a fast-flowing, freezing stream cut through the snow-draped earth. The spring thaw had swollen the river, and the waters were rich with life.
Suddenly, a massive Northern river trout—nearly two feet long and shimmering with silver scales—leaped high out of the rushing rapids, trying to catch a low-flying water bug.
It was suspended in the air for only a fraction of a second.
From the canopy above, the shadow descended. Yoriichi dropped from a branch twenty feet in the air, his descent perfectly calculated. As he fell past the leaping fish, his hand blurred toward his waist. The crisp, metallic shing of steel clearing leather echoed in the quiet woods.
A single, silver arc of a blade flashed in the dim evening light.
Before the fish could even begin its descent back into the stream, it was cleanly sliced in half, straight down the middle.
Yoriichi didn't stop. He hit the freezing, rushing water with a controlled, feet-first dive to minimize the splash. The glacial temperature of the river would have sent an ordinary man into immediate cardiac shock, locking their muscles in a frozen death grip. But Yoriichi's lungs were already filled with the rhythmic, fiery heat of Total Concentration Breathing.
His internal temperature surged like a furnace. He simply grabbed the two halves of the massive trout as they hit the surface and kicked his strong legs toward the muddy shore. As he broke the surface, the freezing river water clinging to his skin actually began to hiss. He stepped out of the shallows, and a thick, ethereal cloud of white steam immediately began rising off his dark, soaked clothes. The frost on the grass melted instantly beneath his wet boots.
Just as he stepped fully out of the water, a sharp thwack echoed from the nearby brush. An arrow embedded itself deep into the trunk of a pine tree, a mere inch from where the fish had been just moments ago.
A second later, the tall grass violently rustled.
A young girl burst through the brush, breathing heavily, a beautifully carved weirwood bow gripped tightly in her left hand, a quiver of arrows strapped to her back.
Lyra had grown beautifully over the past three and a half years. She was almost thirteen now. She moved with a fluid, terrifying grace that completely belied her blindness. Tied securely around her eyes was a thin, dark green cloth—a practical measure Serena had insisted upon to protect Lyra's unseeing eyes from whipping branches and thorns while she ran through the woods.
Lyra came to a sudden halt on the riverbank, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Her heightened ears picked up the sound of the dripping water, the sizzling steam radiating from her brother, and the sliced fish hitting the rocks.
She lowered her bow, her shoulders slumping in a highly exaggerated display of dramatic defeat.
"I am late again," Lyra sighed, kicking a small clump of snow into the river with an annoyed little grunt. "I heard the fish jump, but by the time I knocked the arrow, I heard your blade. I need more practice."
Yoriichi walked onto the shore, placing the two perfectly sliced halves of the massive trout onto a flat, clean rock.
He was nearly thirteen as well, but his physical development was extraordinary. He was noticeably taller than most boys his age, his frame packed with lean, dense, highly functional muscle rather than bulky weight. He wore a simple, dark grey tunic that clung to his damp shoulders. Most strikingly, he had let his raven-black hair grow out, tying it back into a neat, high ponytail. It was a strange hairstyle for the North, but it suited his serene, warrior-like face perfectly.
"I told you," Yoriichi said, his voice smooth and incredibly calm as he shook the freezing water from his sleeves, ignoring the warm vapor rolling off his neck. "First, train to run fast with obstacles. Then, try with your weapon. You cannot practice them both together yet. Your footing faltered near the roots of the old oak, which delayed your draw speed by four seconds."
Lyra crossed her arms tightly over her chest, letting out a sharp, stubborn exhale that fluttered the bottom of her blindfold. She knew he was right—his Transparent World vision allowed him to see her every misstep, even from a distance—but it was still frustrating to lose to her perfect twin.
Without waiting for her to finish grumbling, Yoriichi turned and started walking up the trail toward the clearing.
"Hey, wait for me!" Lyra called out, quickly securing her bow over her shoulder and jogging after him, her playful annoyance instantly melting back into her usual cheerful demeanor.
They moved together through the darkening woods, their footsteps perfectly synchronized.
Their little hunting excursion wasn't just for practice. A few miles away from the brutal, adult politics of Mole's Town, they had a gathering to attend. Over the years, Serena's iron-fisted but surprisingly fair rule over the town had brought a strange sense of stability. Because of this, the local children—orphans, the sons of farmers, and the daughters of the tavern workers—had finally found safe spaces to play without fear of drunken thugs.
Yoriichi and Lyra were practically royalty among these children.
They reached a wide, snowy clearing surrounded by thick pine trees. In the center, a warm, roaring bonfire crackled brightly, sending sparks dancing up into the twilight sky. Sitting on logs and boulders around the fire were over a dozen children, ranging from scruffy toddlers wrapped in sheepskin to teenagers bundled in patched furs.
When Yoriichi and Lyra stepped into the firelight, the chatter immediately ceased, and a collective, excited cheer went up.
"They're back!" a boy named Tom shouted happily, dropping a handful of pinecones he had been throwing at his brother.