Author's Note: I apologize for the long time gap since my last posting. I will post two chapters tonight to make up for it. (4-8-15)

3

News of the dying chief quickly spread across the town. From that night, the town remained in an eerie gloom. Word of the contest had not yet spread, though. Bart and I awaited our letters. I had no clue how to feel about this. Did I want to be chief? If I wanted, I could throw this all away and father would give Bart the decision.

Though, as much as I doubt my trust in myself if I were chief, Bartholomew would be far worse. For my town, I had to try.

Being a chief did have its upsides, after all. I could assign others to do the jobs around the village at my command. Therefore, I would finally have down time. Hannah taking my position was implied, but she is no hunter. Although she would look after the teams and training, so who would fill my spot on team A?

Hunting… did I really want to give that up? I guess a chief could hunt, but a town would have less faith in a chief that went out every day with a chance he may not return. Furthermore, a chief needs to remain at his village. I couldn't be out all the time…

Maybe I should give it up now.

A knock on my door interrupts my thoughts. Could it be the letter? I open the door to reveal Nadia.

Of course! I could finally have time for her. Done deal, I will compete.

"May I come in?" she asks. She looks concerned. What was the matter?

I let her in and when I close the door she embraces me.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers in my ear. I knew immediately; my father was gone. For a second, I stand shocked. Should I be more upset? Should there be tears welling in my eyes? Should I be lost to my thoughts? Why can I think so clearly? Did not I love him?

"Are you ok?" Nadia asks as she pulls away from her embrace.

"Actually, I'm better than you may expect."

"Would you like me to come with you to the chief home?"

It is in this moment that my mind returns to its thoughts like never before. We needed a chief. I might be the next chief. Who would stand in while the contest went on? It was supposed to begin in less than a week at this point. Would I get my letter soon?

Without noticing, I had walked to the fire and stared into it. Nadia must have called my name three times before I responded, looking over my shoulder at her with a dazed composure.

I threw on a coat and headed out the door. Nadia was at my side. When I got there, all his servants stood watch at his bedside, erect like a line of soldiers. This is how they paid their respect. A few of his hunting team members (those that were still alive) stood in the corner. There were two of them. At his bedside, Hannah was sobbing into the bed sheets.

And there lay the chief of Weston. I have never seen him more peaceful. He's fought in wars of men and great battles of monsters. He has seen death, and he has sustained the integrity of life in this town. He has seen most of the horrors of our chaotic world. All his life, he fought or struggled. For ten years, he has mourned the death of his wife, our mother. In an attack, she had been claimed by a Rathian enraged at the loss of her eggs to some black market thugs in our town. She was never seen again.

Now here this great chief, strong father and mighty man finally had his peace. But he was too different for me to handle. Plus, half the beings in the room, people and felyne, were morning by weeping. A tear fell; I could not stand any longer.

Bartholomew, however, was nowhere on the scene.

One of the messenger felynes tugged at my coat. He held up a rolled parchment, which I assumed to be my letter. I accepted it, and thanked him. As I looked back at my father, I knew I must be the one to succeed him and carry out his legacy. Not for me, but for Weston. Not fully because I thought I would be a good chief, but because I knew that Weston would suffer under Bartholomew's reign, along with the guild, our ecosystem, economy, and the civilization of our whole continent.

I returned home alone. My felyne servant welcomed me and offered his condolences.

For what had to have been an hour, I was left to my thoughts in front of my fire which Fred, my felyne, kept going. Fire always helped me think. After rethinking it all, my decision was finalized: I would compete for the throne.

I went across the room to grab the letter. I carefully untied the string keeping it rolled up, and unrolling it I read:

My Dear Son, Nathaniel,

My final days are passing by, and soon I will have to leave you and the rest of this town. Please don't be upset over my passing. You have important matters that being upset would very much get in the way of.

Of course you have a contest ahead of you. Be wary of your brother, though, my child. He has wanted the role of chief badly since he first understood the power. Knowing his nature, he might take drastic measures.

My child, this is your chance to put him in his place. If I didn't give him a fair chance, he and his followers would get the position of chief for him themselves. Making you face him in this contest was wisely done, for if you can show him up in front of his followers, he won't have their support.

Starting next month, you will each be given a felyne comrade of whom you know nothing. The purpose of this is not only for companionship, but for an unbiased referee to watch your hunts. They will make sure you don't receive help from other hunters and that you fairly capture your beasts. A man brought from the city with no knowledge of either of you has been hired to judge each capture. By the end of the month, he who has caught the mightiest beast according to this man will ascend to my position.

If either of you shall die in this competition, the other will claim the position by default.

I'm counting on you, Nathaniel. The chief in the end must be you, and I trust you to achieve this fairly. Good luck, and may you enjoy the rest of your life. I know you will do well as new chief.

I'm sorry that I must leave you so soon. I'm proud of you, son. You, my own son, have perhaps become the greatest hunter in history. It is my honor to be your father.

Your Father,

Charles the Fierce