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"Really, headmaster?" said the man with a supressed sigh. "Something about scraping the bottoms of barrels comes to mind," he added, looking the other man straight in the eye.

Professor Portokal, the headmaster of Lantern, just sat behind his desk, fingers drumming on its flat top. "Yes Mavros. I am aware that Acker's reputation is somewhat…poor, but you cannot deny the man's skill," he replied evenly, pulling open a drawer in his desk to fish out a glass and bottle of whisky. Mavros had always been at odds with Acker. The men had never managed to see eye to eye, ever since they had both been students.

Mavros snorted. "Being good at something and being good at teaching it are two different things, Chiron," he pointed out, freely making use of the headmaster's first name. Portokal's eyebrow twitched as he poured himself a drink. He hated it when people called him by his first name. He hadn't spent decades working hard and becoming the headmaster of a Hunstman Academy just to be called out like some common man on the street. Mavros pushed on before he could interrupt. "Besides, what makes you think he would even want to come back here?"

"He owes me," replied Portokal with a glare that managed to shut up the other teacher for a moment. "So as long as you make sure to emphasise that the request is coming from me, he'll come along. He won't like it, but he won't argue either."

Mavros gritted his teeth. "Alright. Where can I find him?"

"DAMN YOU PORTOKAL!" screamed Mavros in frustration, aiming a kick at a small pebble lying in his path and sending it twirling away off the mountain. "AND DAMN YOU ACKER!" he added for good measure. Of course that brainless dolt would chose to live on a mountain. It was exactly the kind of thing he would do, claiming it as a 'supreme vantage point'. The sun was shining brightly above as the teacher lapsed into quitter grumbling as he continued marching up the rocky path. That had been the sixth plateau he had managed to reach, and he was still to come across any signs of habitation. Not even a fossilised candy wrapper.

He was beginning to suspect Portokal had no actual idea where Acker was, and had just sent him up a mountain in Vale for little more than a cheap laugh at his expense. His mind filled with thoughts of righteous vengeance, Mavros continued following the path. It had to lead somewhere, and he owed it to himself to at least find out where Portokal had sent him before wreaking bloody havoc on the man.

That was when he hit the tripwire.

The man froze as he heard the tingling of a small bell, eyes darting about as his muscles tensed, ready to dodge in case any attack came his way. He stayed like that for a full minute, his senses enveloping the area around him. Nothing happened. He allowed himself to relax slightly. Maybe this was just Ackers interpretation of what a doorbell was. If so, then he was certainly on the right track after all. A shame. He had begun looking forwards to smacking Portokal in the face with his mace.

Resuming his walk up the mountain, Mavros' thoughts turned to the man he had been sent to retrieve. Acker had been in Haven alongside himself and Portokal over two decades ago, and had proven himself to be quite the survivalist. The man could survive anywhere, which was why the headmaster wanted him to teach that particular class in the coming year, something Mavros privately agreed with. Acker was an insufferable optimist, but he knew how to spit in the face of nature.

He walked for another ten minutes before he came to another plateau, this one decorated with a small cabin built against the rock face. Wooden planks with stone laid against them…quaint. Just what he would expect of Acker. Mavros shook his head as he walked up to the door and knocked twice, his knuckles rapping against the wood. He heard shuffling from inside, before the door creaked open. Mavros blinked. "Acker?" he asked, all of a sudden back in Haven, back on that day when he needed a blasted history textbook that the idiot had checked out the library and forgotten to return.

"...yes?" the youth in front of him asked, his expression neutral save for a slightly raised eyebrow.

Mavros blinked. What the...that couldn't be right. That had been over twenty years ago. Acker couldn't have managed not to age...and his eyes hadn't been green either...oh no. "Uhm...Allan Acker?" he asked.

The youth shook his head. "No...Owain. Allan was my father."

Oh no. It had happened. Acker had had children. They were doomed. Mavros coughed politely, trying to stop staring at the impossibility before him as he continued. "Well...could I see your father?"

The youth, Acker's…son (the thought made him wince) looked at him for a moment as if studying him before nodding. "One moment," he said and shut the door, leaving Mavros standing outside, his mind still wrestling with what he had just witnessed. Acker had had a son. A son. How?! He hadn't even had a girlfriend when they were in Haven, and had expressed no interest in anyone either. Most of the students simply figured him to be asexual. He never showed any interest in…well, anything remotely resembling intimacy. The door opened, interrupting his thoughts. The youth – Owain – stepped out and shut the door behind himself before walking towards the path leading ever upwards. Siletly, Mavros followed, somewhat irked at the youth's lack of respect for guests.

Then again, he doubted the…Ackers…had many guests. Urgh…pluralising that name was almost painful. One was bad enough…

He had spoken too soon. Or thought too soon to be precise.

The duo stood at the highest point one could walk up the mountain, where the path ended. Even a cynic like Mavros was forced to admit that the view was spectacular, stretching all the way to the coast. One could almost see Beacon on the horizon. A spot Acker would have loved. Probably had loved.

Which was why it was his grave.

The man and the boy stood in front of a pair of tombstones, rough rocks dragged into position and names chiselled on.

Allen Acker. Dahlia Acker.

Mavros sighed and glanced at the young man next to him. He was somewhere in his late teens, probably at the age to being Huntsman training. "How long?" he asked.

"Two years now. An old nemean was moving through the valley, and shrugged off most of their attacks. Dad bled out, and mom's wounds got infected…they weakened her, and she didn't last the winter."

"I'm sorry," Mavros said.

"It's alright. They were Hunters. It happens," shrugged Owain. The teacher supposed that any tears the boy had had been shed long ago. "So what did you want my father for?" he asked, still looking at the twin graves.

"An…old friend wanted his help," the man explained, suddenly feeling his age as he sighed, tired.

"I…see. Can I help?" Owain offered, looking at Mavros, still lacking anything resembling an expression on his face.

Mavros smiled ruefully and shook his head. "No…you're too young to be teaching. You should…" he said, before a thought struck him. "Wait, what do you actually do?"

Owain blinked, not having expected that question. "You mean, here?"

"Yes."

"I hunt. I survive," the boy answered, as if it was obvious.

"…do people come by often?"

"You're the first."

There was more of Acker in his son than was good for anyone. "You've been living on this mountain, alone, for two years?"

"Yes."

Mavros was quiet before staring at Acker's grave. It was. It really was. The idiot had raised another idiot to plague the following generation. Still, he doubted the woodsman would have wanted his son to be a hermit…"Tell me…what do you want to do?"

"Want?" Owain asked, curious. That was a question that had never been posed to him before.

"Well, you can hardly stay here. I doubt your parents would have wanted that kind of life for you," the teacher continued, turning to face Owain. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Owain seemed to think on this before answering. "…true."

"So, what do you want to do?" Mavros asked again.

"I…I don't really know…" replied Owain, his eyes falling as he pondered the uncomfortable truth Mavros had presented. He knew his parents would've wanted him to go to town, to settle down and live, but…he just never found the right moment to bring himself to leave them.

"You ever think about being a Huntsman?" Mavros asked casually, looking at Acker's name on the stone. Damn Acker. He never did pay him back that fifty lien he owed him either.

"A huntsman? Like dad?" asked the boy. Mavros nodded in answer. "I…have thought about it…but you need things like tests and schooling. I was supposed to start last year but…"

"Don't worry. If you want to become a huntsman, I know a man who might be able to help…" he replied. Portokal would understand. The man had been one of Acker's friends after all. And if Mavros had to put up with Acker when he had been training to be a huntsman, he would be damned if he denied that trial to the next generation. "What do you say?"

Owain seemed to think it over before nodding. "I…I think I'd like to try. Dad always spoke of helping people as being the noblest duty…"

Mavros nodded. On that, he had agreed with back in Haven. "Alright. Go gather your things. We'll be going as soon as you're ready."

Owain nodded, before glancing at the tombstones. He seemed to debate something in his mind before speaking. "I'll need an hour." Somehow, Mavros wasn't surprised. He doubted the boy had much in the way of personal possessions. Especially if what he suspected was true – that he had been raised in that cabin his whole life.

The teacher watched the boy leave before turning back to the gravestones. "Alright…I'll take care of him for you. But not for-for you, understand?" he said, glaring at Acker's name on the stone. He could just see the man smirking at him.

Owain Acker – Hunter. Green.