2

The messanger brings me to my father's bedroom chamber. There he lay on the massive royal bed. He was a mighty and large man. When I was younger, he was a fearsome warrior of a hunter. Now, he lies on his bed with a disease that had finally proven it is mightier than he is. It is taking him, there is no doubt. The only matter was how long he had. For now, he was asleep. I took a seat beside his bed.

A few moments later, my brother, Bartholomew, staggers in. his gait proved him drunk, and the tissue up his right nostril proved he was guilty of a bar fight. He is six years older than me and quite opposite too. He is reckless and rather irresponsible. He prefers a singular fighting style, and therefore is in the First Class defense hunters. Despite his reckless nature, I suspected he would be given the thrown once our father passed.

Oh yeah, and I don't quite like him either. I'd be one of the few; the town loves him.

"Hey lil brotha," he slurs. "Heard you brought another beast home today."

"Yeah, I suppose I did." I try to avoid interaction. Usually I can tolerate ignorant people, but he was one large exception.

He mutters something and laughs. It sounded like he muttered the word "alive." He is a rather cruel man, especially when it comes treatment of monsters. He has too much fun in hunting and fighting. The source of this fun is the cries of pain. Most hunters take care of the job and called it a day. Once he had one trapped, he works of torture until the beast had no more energy or will to cry and then he finishes it. Sometimes, he even captures beasts to bring into the arena and torture in front of people. It's quite sick. Most hunters understand the respect the monsters of our land deserve, and that is why most people are not hunters.

Our sister, my final sibling, Hannah, comes running into the room. She gasps as she sees the poor state of our father. She has the same sense of responsibility that I have, but unlike me has more time that responsibilities on her hands. She is head of the town police. Since there is much less threat inside the walls than outside, she is able to handle it with a lot less time devotion.

"When did his condition worsen?" she whimpers. Out of the three of us, she was the closest to dad.

"He began to feel weak this afternoon," one of the messengers replied. "After a few coughing fits, he passed out. It took ten of us to carry him here."

"We should wake him now," another messenger spoke up.

"It is what he ordered," added the third.

Very cautiously, the three messengers woke our father. His eyes opened, but closed for a coughing fit. Once it ceased, he looked at each of us.

"As you could probably see, I'm not doing well." His voice was weak and raspy. No, he was not doing well at all.

"What do you need of us, father?" I ask.

"It's time to think of what will happen after me, my children." I could hear Hannah starting to cry. There was definitely a lump in my throat. Bart seemed unmoved, as I expected his cold heart would allow. "Hannah, I need you to decide upon an apprentice. Soon, I will require you to switch your position. As of now, I do not know which: either head of defense or hunting."

I could see where this was going, and it was shocking.

"That leaves you two, Bartholomew and Nathaiel. One of you will be made chief of Weston. The question is which one of you I should choose. Either of you, I feel, could bring this town up higher than I have. One of you must be my heir, though, only one."

"I will do it," Bart says eagerly.

"Not so fast," my dad raises his voice. "I was not finished." Bart's face hardens. Usually he is full of himself and sees himself superior to everyone. Our father is the only one whom he excepts to that attitude.

"You two have one important trait: you are hunters. If I were to send you out on a hunt, both of you would be equal. Nathaniel, taking initiative is your specialty and you know far out areas like the back of your hand." This was all very true. "However, you are not used to hunting solo, and might not be used to doing things that a teammate would usually do." That was also true…

"Bartholomew, you are able to bring large beasts to their knees singlehandedly. Your focus for a task at hand is great, and you do not distract yourself with extra things when on a job. However, you lack strategy and patience. Arrogance is also a large problem for you.

"Being so, I have devised a contest that will help me pick out the next chief. In this—"

He falls into another coughing fit. It is sad, seeing what this mighty chief, our father, has become. "Wrap this up, chief. You need your rest," a felyne medic urges.

"In this contest, you two will be given a month to bring me the mightiest monster. You two must bring it to the town right after you kill or capture it. Thus, you will go in a cycle of one upping each other until the month is up." Another short coughing fit occurs. "I will send a felyne within the next few days with the rest of the details. That is all for now." He begins coughing again, and the felynes usher us from the room.