It's time.

He pushes the thoughts away, trying to keep them from invading his mind. But it is a fight that he has been losing for quite some time.

Aren't you tired? How long have you endured? How much more will you force yourself to suffer?

He tightens his hands into fists, the only thing keeping him from immediately grabbing his blade and spilling his blood onto the ground as the voice suggests.

This isn't a life; not anymore. This is just survival.

Not just from them … but from yourself.

With a cry of anguish, he collapses onto the ground and weeps. The suffocating loneliness is all he knows, all he ever will know in this cursed existence.

Maybe it's right. Maybe it's time to end it all, to finally be free.

He unsheathes the knife that hasn't left his side in years; his constant companion, and perhaps his salvation.

This is what you want, what you've wanted for so long …

But it's not what she would want.

Slowly, the blade falls from his grasp, and he stares at it lying upon the ground.

Every day was a battle between him and the knife. Today, he had won. But tomorrow was to be seen.

The war was far from over.


With a gasp, Clara was jolted out of her slumber.

Slowly, she began to calm down as she glanced around and looked at her surroundings in a clearer state of mind than the hazy blood-deprived perspective she'd had earlier. She appeared to be laying in a cot, one that resided in a room much better kept than she would have expected.

The entire structure was built out of wood, but it certainly wasn't shoddy craftsmanship; the effort expended in constructing it must have been quite generous. Her mind thought back to her first impression, one of a cozy cottage; as it turned out, that description was quite apt.

There was only one room, but it was easily large enough to house two people; her cot was situated on the left side of the main entrance, a single wooden door with glass to see outside with. On the wall opposite of her, there was a large window where she could see that wherever they were, it was in the middle of a clearing in the woods. A snow-covered field stretched for a few hundred feet before meeting a wall of trees that formed the edge of the forest.

A fireplace sat burning brightly in the wall furthest from the door, and she noted with unexpected gratitude that the Hunter had placed her cot as close to its warmth as possible. The flames gave her some much needed heat in conjunction with the blankets that had been cast on top of her.

For what was essentially a shack out in the middle of the woods, the place looked very … modern. Had Woods built this all himself?

She pulled the covers off of her body and saw that instead of the metal plating that would normally protect her naval region, it was simply tightly wrapped bandages. That meant that she'd have to be a bit more careful concerning her activities until it was replaced.

Where was the Hunter? The thought came into her mind suddenly, and she searched the room. He wasn't anywhere to be found, so she could only assume he was outside.

She had a few questions for him. The last she remembered had been him telling her the next part of his tale, the one about those six Guardians … something about a 'Messenger.' She must have fallen unconscious before he finished.

Deciding to venture a bit, she tested her strength by standing up from the cot and taking a few steps. For the most part, she felt fine; those parts that Ghost had replaced must have done the trick. Or, they were at least in working order.

Opting to get a better view of what was outside the cottage, she made her way towards the door. Gripping the handle, she twisted it and swung it open easily. A breeze of brisk cold air awaited her. After a momentary shock from the temperature, she continued outside.

There was an overhang over a patio of sorts. Nothing more than a simple deck with a step down to the ground, but it was still more than she would have expected. Glancing over to the left, she saw him sitting on the edge of the porch, his legs dangling over the ledge onto the snow. Even now, he wore his hood and helmet. He never looked towards her, but she could sense that he knew she was there.

Her intuition was confirmed a moment later when he gave a small grunt. "You should be resting up."

She said nothing, and he fell silent. She waited a few moments before giving a small cough. "Thanks … for the fire and blankets."

He gave another noise, one of begrudging approval. "Your Ghost friend is off collecting more spinmetal, considering he used up the last of my supplies on replacing your vitals. We need more if we're going to fix your plating."

She had the growing feeling that he wanted to appear more nonchalant than he actually was. It gave her the confidence to engage in conversation with him.

"Hunt …" She paused, and tried again. "Woods … I have questions."

"I figured that out already," he grumbled, though she could tell it wasn't malicious; it was lighthearted if anything.

She took that as permission to proceed. With wonder, she turned to look back at the cottage and the rest of the large field that surrounded it. "Is this where you live? Did you build it?"

He hesitated, as though unsure of how to answer. "Didn't expect that to be something you'd ask." He nodded. "Yes,I built it myself."

"But how has no one ever found you?" she asked curiously.

"For those that didn't know I existed, they had no reason to search. I'm far from civilization and prying eyes." He growled, "And for those that did know I exist … searching for me would have alerted others to my potential reality, and that's the last thing they wanted."

"The Star … they knew you were real …" she said, awaiting his confirmation.

He nodded again. "Yeah. But the fact of the matter is that I was more useful as a legend than a corpse. A body is something you have to acknowledge, to validate. A legend … you can simply call it wishful thinking."

He sighed. "Not anymore, though. Now that everyone knows I'm real, they'll be on the warpath for me." He shook his head scoldingly. "Stupid, stupid, stupid …"

"Then why'd you save me?"

His head turned towards her intimidatingly, but she didn't back down. "If you knew what repercussions would occur, why bother saving my life at all?"

"Would you've rather I not have?" he muttered.

She shook her head. "No, I'm grateful. I just don't understand your reasoning."

He waved his hand at her in a dismissive fashion. "I told you already, it's just old habits dying hard-"

"I don't believe you."

He stopped quite suddenly, and glared at her. "And why's that?"

"If you truly cared about staying hidden," she countered, "you wouldn't have come at all. Or at least, you would have remained hidden while doing so. And even then, you needn't have made a scene; you could have just run while the Stag was taking his time killing me."

"What's your point?"

She paused. "You were there to die."

He only held gazes with her for another moment before turning away silently, and she knew that she had guessed right.

"I'm not here to judge you," she quickly explained. "It's just … if you were planning on dying, then why even bother saving me? It wouldn't have mattered, I had nothing to do with you."

He took a deep breath, and let it out in a long sigh.

She tilted her head. "Long story?"

After a moment, he nodded. "Yeah. You could say that."

She decided that maybe she was pushing him a bit too far when it came to his suicidal tendencies. She thought back to her questions about the tale instead. "Your story, the one you were telling me … I still don't know who these people were, but you talk about them with such …"

Clara tried to think of a word to describe his tone; admiration? Regret? Pride? It was a massive mixture of emotions that constantly changed, and she couldn't settle for just one.

"What about them?"

She pressed on. "Who were they?"

He sighed. "We were friends. As close as people can be."

"Where are they now? Are they also in hiding, like you?"

He fell silent, the only noise present being the wind that cascaded over the surface of the snow.

"They're dead."

She had no response to that, having not expected such an answer.

"All of them?"

He nodded. "All of them."

She shrank a bit, feeling small at such a humbling revelation. "I … I'm sorry."

Nothing was said between them for a moment before a thought struck here. "Was … Was Matt the Hunter you talked about? The one I reminded you of?"

Woods took a moment to answer her. "Yes."

"How?"

Surprisingly, he stood up and began to walk towards the door. He pulled it open, and waited for her. She stared at him curiously.

"It's a long story," he supplied. She took the hint, and gestured towards the wilderness around them.

"I've got a lot of time."

He said nothing, but let out a content sigh. She felt that maybe … just maybe … he had a new purpose for the first time in a long time.

Without uttering a word, he entered and she followed in his wake.


A/N: 30 hour work weeks on top of a full college class schedule. Kill me now.

As I said, this is going to be a very long book; so don't get put off by all the setup I've been building. We're only just getting into the meat of the story, and there's a lot to tell. Might be awhile before anyone sees where this is going.

Until the next time,

- Matteoarts