Hunter drummed his fingers against his arm rest. The tedium of the day weighed on him like a ballast hanging from his neck, slowly dragging him into a tired slouch. His eyes stared sightlessly over the throne room, only vaguely aware of the pair of old men which bickered at the foot of his podium.

They had asked him to resolve… some property dispute. He could hardly remember what their arguments were, much less anything they've said since. Something about one of them squatting on the other's land. Or something to that effect.

Every day, dozens of people from all across the Isles came to him to resolve their issues, and even more sent in letters. While it was gratifying to see the trust they placed in him despite the horrific revelations about his predecessor, it was just as draining to have to hear just about every single problem which his people were apparently unable—or unwilling—to solve themselves.

He glanced to the side. The guards flanking his throne seemed just as bored. Their faces were hidden beneath their sloped helmets, but their drooping posture and constant fidgeting made it clear. One had even dropped all pretenses of formality and started openly playing with their scroll.

They had done away with the "plague doctor masks", as he remembered Luz calling them, shortly after deposing his uncle in order to distance themselves from the old regime and make it clear that the Emperor's coven had a new purpose. The entire uniform had actually been overhauled, but the masks were the first to go.

Not only that, but he and his advisors had split the Emperor's Coven into two branches as part of their long effort to reform the entire Coven System. The majority became the Isle Watch—the organized police force, dedicated to protecting the populace and upholding the law. However, the most talented and loyal members of the Emperor's Coven were inducted into the prestigious ranks of the Imperial Guard—Hunter's personal protectors, and the Isles' most elite soldiers.

Flapjack quietly chirped on his shoulder. His claws dug into his skin—no mean feat, considering the thickness of his cloak and tunic.

"...and he's just trying to steal my land!"

"No! It's mine to rights, and you're just freeloading!" He waved around a stack of papers, clenched in a grey, whirlbone-wracked fist.

"My family's lived on it since I was a child, and it's never been an issue. It's ours!"

"Only because we didn't know you were there!"

"Titan help me," Hunter muttered under his breath. The argument had been going on for nearly half an hour, and had gone nowhere. "If it's your land, why don't you just rent it to him?"

Both men looked at him incredulously. "What?"

"You've got the documentation, and we're still reviewing my un— the old laws, but he has squatter's rights, so you can't kick him out. Instead of wasting however much time you've spent arguing over this, just let him pay you a fair amount every month or whatever, and go on with your life."

The squatter stepped forward. "But we've been living there for free. Suddenly you're making us pay for our home?"

He rested his head on his right hand. "Listen, you're already paying taxes on it, right? You just give that to him, your new landlord, he gives both of yours to us, and we let him keep a little profit."

"Yeah, er, taxes. Right." The blood was draining from his face. Behind, the other old man shook with rage.

"I've been paying taxes on both properties for the last sixty years!"

Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose as they continued arguing. He could feel his strength draining with every word—each new revelation, a wound on his soul. "Alright. Seriously, this is getting ridiculous. You do know that this is tax evasion, right? Just pay him his rent and I'll pardon you for however much you owe." He looked to his guards. "Can you get them out of here?"

They saluted him and quickly ushered out the elders. They were just as eager to be rid of them. Maybe even more.

He rose to his feet before they were even out the door, cracking his back. "Oh my Titan," he groaned. "If I never have to settle another property dispute, I can die happy."

His off hand pulled his scroll from its loop on his belt. The time read 5:41. Eleven minutes after appeals were meant to close. "Great," he muttered to himself.

At least he was finally free. Until 6 o'clock, that is, when he had a meeting with the head of the Isle Watch. Something about a new vigilante in Bonesborough? They had apparently showed up just over a month ago and started putting criminals in their place. He was pretty sure they were just an urban myth, but he still had to hear him out. It's poor decorum to ignore the captain of the guard.

Ding!

A notification appeared at the top of his screen: New message(s) from HELLO_WILLOW. He quickly opened Penstagram.

W: hey
W: im bored
W: wyd

He smiled. His entire life changed when he met Willow and her friends, and he hardly had enough time to get used to his new normal before it changed again after taking the throne.

The duties were exhausting and often thankless, but he knew they were necessary. The empire almost fell apart after they deposed Belos. Sure, it was the end goal to make it more self-reliant and eventually move away from the monarchy, but as it was, that aspiration was still a long way off. His uncle left the place in a far worse state than he found it, that's for sure.

As exhausting as it was, the work was still satisfying. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was not just making a difference, but actually helping people. The Isles were still a mess, even after five years. However, thanks in no small part to his advisors, he was finally starting to turn things around.

No, the work wasn't as painful as it may seem—maniacal old men aside. What truly wore him down was how the people treated him.

On the surface, it wasn't too different from when he was as the Golden Guard, or even a coven scout before that: respect, admiration, and a healthy dose of fear. However, back then, he was under a mask. The entire purpose was to dehumanize him. To make him an icon rather than a person.

As emperor, though, he was unmasked. He wasn't the Golden Guard. He wasn't an unnamed coven scout. And he certainly wasn't his uncle. He was Hunter. Sure, Emperor Hunter, but Hunter nonetheless. But as far as everyone else was concerned, his name ended at "Emperor".

Everyone except his friends, that is.

H: just had teh wooorst appeal ever
H: old guys fihgting over land
H: *fighting

He relaxed back into his throne as his guards returned to their positions. Their steel spear heads glinted in the artificial light.

W: that sounds awful
W: u srsly need 2 take a break
W: when r u free?

He quickly glanced at his schedule. It had a tendency to change on a dime, especially during particularly hectic times. Unfortunately, that was almost all the time.

H: ive got a meteing w/ steve at 6 til 6:30
H: then im done
H: hopefully

W: aight
W: ill grab gus n come over

A few seconds passed. He started to navigate away from his DMs, scrolling towards the Emerald Entrails' official account. Even if he was never formally enrolled in Hexside, and only competed in a handful of flyer derby matches before taking the throne, he was invested in the team's success. He watched every match, even making personal appearances when possible.

Before he could find the tournament bracket for the new season, Willow texted him again.

W: o
W: almost forgot
W: u hear that amitys back?

He and Amity were never particularly close. He supposed that was to be expected, considering how they met, but even after he had earned her respect while fighting at her side against Belos, she still refused to drop her defenses around him.

He had wanted to befriend her—as did Willow and Gus, who went out of their way to try and smooth things over between them—but he came to find that, until she was willing, there was little hope of that ever happening.

Despite their rocky relationship, he was still taken aback when she suddenly decided to travel the Isles after graduating from Hexside. He had expected a witch of her obvious talent and determination to join her family business—Titan knew they needed it, considering the state Odalia left their public image in—or pursue further training. He had even offered to make her the new Golden Guard, as he felt that if there was anyone who would fit the new image which he envisioned for the position, it was her.

Obviously, she turned him down, and instead went to "find herself". Whatever that meant.

He pulled himself back to the discussion at hand.

H: really?

W: yeh
W: got back a couple days ago

H: thats greatf1
H: *great!
H: whats she up to?

W: not sure exactly wut but seh seems
W: well not happy but
W: u know what i mean

H: less miserable?

W: yea lol
W: wtv it is, im happy for her

The door swung open as an Isle Watch captain ran into the room. "My liege!"

"What is it?" Hunter asked, his voice sharper than intended.

"Coven Head Steve asked me to tell you that he won't be able to make his meeting. There's a situation in Latissa that requires his attention."

He put his scroll aside. "Is it that new gang?"

Four months ago, a new group appeared, seemingly from nowhere. They attacked randomly, with no discernible patterns, and seemed to disappear into the ether after each attack. Captured members gave little to no useful information. Many had no records, and those who they could identify were generally petty criminals from poor neighborhoods across the Isles' numerous cities.

The only thing they could figure out was their name: the Dire Wolves.

"We think so, sir. We have yet to confirm whether any of their lieutenants are at the scene, but many of the members certainly appear to be Wolves." They paused. "Erm, not literally, of course."

"Alright," he grunted, beginning to walk across the room. The aftermath of this attack would undoubtedly fill his schedule for the next few weeks, maybe even longer. He and his advisors knew full well that their meetings and speeches accomplished nothing, but with so little information, it was all they could do to grant some illusion of security.

In any case, at least it left him free for this evening. "I'm sure Steve can handle it," he said. The man had a stellar track record since becoming Coven Head, after all. "Latissa has more than enough troops, and the city's layout should make it significantly harder for them to get away. Just keep an eye on the ratways. I'll be in my chamber, if anything else comes up."

"Yessir," the captain responded with a salute. His guards opened the throne room doors, the heavy bronze sliding smoothly along the polished stone floors. He summoned his scroll back to his hand and quickly typed out some new messages.

H: well
H: appently the wolves r back
H: *apparently
H: meetings r off but i mite haf 2 go debrief
H: hopefuly l + dar will handel it

Glancing both directions, he pulled down a torch sconce. A section of wall folded away to reveal a dark corridor, shadows bathing its interior so thoroughly that, even with his natural darkvision, he could barely see more than a few meters in front of him.

The bricks slid back into place behind him, thrusting him into near-complete blackness. He had found that he had better natural darkvision than the average witch—one of the few surprising benefits of being a grimwalker. Even so, he could barely see the faintest outline of his hand in front of his face.

He pulled a light glyph from his hip pouch. A small, sickly yellow orb hovered in the air in front of him, illuminating the secret corridor in pale, heatless light. After deposing his uncle, he had poured over his notes on wild magic—glyphs in particular, as they actually allowed him to use real magic, in the same way Luz had. Not only this, but it allowed him to further distance himself from Belos and his artificial magic, which was always a good thing, as far as he was concerned.

The corridor turned into a steep staircase, which wound its way between the castle's interior walls. Bronze pipes vibrating with energy climbed up the walls, supplying power to the rest of the castle. He had no idea how many of these secret shortcuts were within the castle, but they certainly explained his uncle's tendency to appear from seemingly nowhere.

Lilith had given him the castle's blueprints, but only a few of the more conspicuous ones were included—exit routes, panic rooms, maintenance tunnels, and the like. Others, including the one he currently walked through, he had to find for himself.

Eventually, he arrived at the top of the stairs. Even with his excellent physical conditioning, he could feel his calves beginning to burn. A wooden panel took the place of the wall in front of him.

Pulling down a hanging chain, it rotated out of the way and opened into his bedchambers. He had chosen not to move into Belos' royal chambers, preferring his old room next to the castle's southwest tower. It was only a fraction the size, but it was familiar, and more importantly, it was his . He could sleep there without feeling his uncle's presence looming over him.

Even in death, Belos still held incredible sway over the Isles. Sometimes, he had to remind himself that he was really dead. He had mounted his fractured mask above his dresser as proof of this, and as a warning to himself.

Hunter removed his crown and hung it over his bedpost. It was a simple thing, inspired by the crowns of the princes which ruled the Isles during the Savage Ages: an engraved golden circlet topped by a ring of small spikes, which grew larger as they neared the front. He had specifically asked for it to be small, humble even, at least in comparison to his uncle's horned mask. More importantly, however, he requested his face be unobstructed.

He walked to his window. Outside, a dense cover of red-tinged clouds blocked out the sun. They had shrouded the skies for several days to this point, but had thus far only treated them with brief spatterings of boiling rain. At this point, he would have preferred it just to get it over with. The longer it waited, the worse the ensuing storm would be.

The Titan's ribs curled over the landscape in the distance, bathed in dim crimson light. Bonesborough was somewhere to the west, a short ways past the right shoulder. Further back, he could barely see the tip of the Knee, a hazy triangle peeking over the horizon.

He sighed and slowly removed his cloak, draping it over the foot of his bed. His sword followed, the handle thumping against his bedside table. He threw himself onto his mattress. The soft fabric soothed his tense muscles. His eyes subconsciously drifted shut.

Willow and Gus would come over whenever they were ready. He'd granted them full access to the palace, so they could find their own way up.

Until then, he would rest.

The calming warmth of sleep began to slowly wash over his body. Sleep was hard to come by these days, so he learned to relish it whenever he could. Power naps were a Titansend.

A sharp snap cut through the air, rousing him from his slumber. He opened his eyes to darkness. The light from the window had faded. The normal soft thrumming of the magical pipework had been silenced, leaving only the sound of the wind.

Hunter sat up, narrowing his magenta eyes. The castle had lost power on occasion before, but that was usually the result of Belos' experiments—particularly the Astral Nexus, the centerpiece of his draining spell. Since taking power, it only ever had brief blackouts during particularly violent plagues.

This was not a normal power outage.

As soon as the thought passed through his mind, Flapjack started chirping wildly and fluttering his wings. A dark shape filled the window. The scarce light glinted off the edge of something in their hand. They dove for him, weapon raised.

Hunter's instincts took over. He rolled off the bed, landing hard on the wooden floor. A split second later, the dagger stabbed into his mattress. The attacker grunted in annoyance.

He quickly grabbed his scabbard and yanked the blade free, just in time to parry a second dagger strike. Metal clashed against metal, the sound echoing off the heavy stone bricks with every strike. His attacker was fast, but he was faster.

He locked their blades as the crossguards, then delivered a pointed knee to their midsection, eliciting a feminine grunt. The young emperor slowly backed towards the door as she recovered.

In the back of his mind, he questioned why his guards weren't coming to help. Two were stationed outside his door at all hours, and the commotion was certainly loud enough for them to hear.

The question was answered as the door violently swung open. A second assailant leapt through, a large spell circle forming in front of them. Hunter raised an arm to shield his eyes from the sudden influx of light.

Flapjack suddenly appeared overhead, transforming into a staff, which he caught and instinctively spun. A split second later, a razor-thin blade of energy crashed into his glowing barrier. It cleaved through his shield before dispersing, mere inches from his body.

The residual energy illuminated the room, letting him get a look at his assailants. They wore dark, ragged leathers with ill-fitting hoods that did little to hide their faces. Both were clearly witches. One was a dark-skinned man with a long face, the other a pale, freckled woman with dark purple hair. She held a wicked dagger made from some unknown metal—the same used by members of the Dire Wolves.

Latissa had just been a distraction.

He continued to fight, drawing on every ounce of experience just to hold his own against both opponents. The adrenaline in his veins helped to dispel the sleep from his mind, but his muscles were still catching up. A bolt of energy shot past his head. He threw himself against the wall in order to dodge it. The other attacker took advantage, kicking him in the stomach and expelling all the air from his lungs.

He doubled over, but still managed to deflect a knife slash. The next found its mark, cutting across his arm as he raised his staff to block another spell. A long blade of abomination clay slashed across his thigh, sending him to the floor.

A scream caught itself in his throat, coming out only as a coarse growl. The pain in his arm was dulled to a distant warmth as his system flushed with additional adrenaline, but he could feel the blood running along his skin.

He blocked another attack and surged forward with a headbutt, pushing through the pain. The melee attacker staggered back, grasping at her face. "You bast—"

Hunter shut her up with a kick to the chest, sending her tumbling over his bed. She smashed through his bedside table as she fell to the ground, while the Emperor turned to her ally. He attacked his foe with both his blade and staff, forcing his opponent to rely on his magic in order to defend himself, and preventing him from making any attacks.

The pair fought into the hallway, the assassin creating a barrier of hardened abomination clay in front of his arm. Hunter lashed out with a series of vicious swings which failed to break through the witch's defenses, his blade scraping along the magically-strengthened mud.

His staff vanished from his hand as Flapjack took flight. The cardinal circled the foe and attacked from behind, distracting them. Unable to maintain their focus, the barrier began to soften, giving an opening for Hunter to exploit.

Clasping his blade with both hands, he raised his blade overhead, ready to strike. As his blade came down, moments away from cleaving through the clay and meeting the witch beneath, a brick tore itself from the wall and knocked the weapon from Hunter's hands.

He turned just in time to catch the other assassin's wrist as she attempted to stab him in the ribs. Knowing he had to even the playing field if he wanted to have any chance, he drove his knee into her elbow, forcing her hand open. The dagger clattered noisily to the ground at their feet.

His elbow slammed into her temple, sending her staggering back into the room. Light shone from behind him. Working purely on instinct, he grabbed the fallen dagger and whipped it at the other enemy, narrowly missing their head as they fell to the ground. Before they could recover, he closed the distance and slid along the floor, driving his knee into their face.

The young emperor kipped up and dashed back through the door, slamming it behind him before jumping into the air. He attempted to dropkick the hooded attacker, but she nimbly spun out of the way. She traced a large spell circle around herself in the process, before raising her hands.

Hunter felt the entire room shudder as he returned to his feet. A moment later, his bed collapsed as the nearest posts were torn off and sharped into spikes, which launched towards him.

He barely dodged the first, feeling the splinters striking the back of his tunic as it shattered against the wall behind him. The second caught him in the side, throwing him against his dresser and causing him to cry out in pain. Its point embedded into the dark wood of the dresser, holding him in place even as he attempted to pull himself free.

A boot struck him in the ribs. The assassin crouched down, her dark purple bangs spilling over her face. "Not so high and mighty now, are ya? I thought the 'Golden Emperor' would put up more of a fight," she sneered. "You know, your little friend Gus ruined our lives. After we're done here, we might go pay him a visit, too."

He weakly threw a punch, but she easily slapped his fist aside.

"Oh, no. None of that." She kicked him again, this time in the face. A metallic taste filled his mouth. She effortlessly pulled a large shard of stone from the wall. "Now, be a good boy and die !"

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable. But it never came.

A few moments of silence rang out.

The female assassin shouted in surprise, then he heard her dagger slam into the wall across the room. Opening his eyes, a tendril of abomination clay had wrapped itself around her wrists, and was currently lifting her into the air. She struggled in vain against the bindings, fear plastered across her face.

Perched in the window was a new silhouette. Their cape danced in the wind. A pair of sloped, glowing eye slits stared judgmentally from beneath their hood. Even as a golden spell circle ringed their right wrist, their entire form was cast in a deep shadow.

They prowled into the room, shifting their captive aside. Their movements were measured, almost elegant, as their intensity rose with each silent footfall. A cone of white light illuminated the room in front of them, revealing the terrified expression on the second would-be assassin's face as he stood in the doorway, bleeding from a gash on his forehead. He slowly backed into the doorframe with a fearful gasp.

Panic overtook him. He attempted to blast them with a fireball.

The figure effortlessly counterspelled, then wrapped a thick, leafy vine around his throat and pulled him into the room. It tightened just enough to restrict their breathing, without cutting off their airflow. Intimidation, in its most distilled form.

Their voice was flat and distorted as they stalked towards him: "Gavin Inadod?"

He erratically nodded. More creepers began to climb along his body, locking his arms to his sides and fastening his legs together at the ankles.

"You're with the Dire Wolves?" He nodded again, though Hunter noticed a brief moment of hesitation before he did so. "How did you join them? Where are they hiding?"

The young witch quickly stammered, "A-are you a g-guard?"

Hunter could tangibly feel the figure's annoyance. "Do I look like a guard to you?" They cut him off before he could answer. "That was rhetorical. Answer the questions."

"B-but they'll kill me!"

A golden fireball appeared in their hand, filling the entire room with light. "And what makes you think I won't?" Their eye slits narrowed, focusing the light into intense, narrow arcs across his face. Even as the firelight flickered along the walls, the figure remained entirely bathed in darkness. Hunter could almost see the light bending around them, giving them an almost otherworldly quality.

This was a powerful illusion. Whoever this was, they were extremely talented.

He had never seen this person before, nor anyone with this level of unwavering intensity. They certainly weren't a member of his guard—that was abundantly clear—nor any of the mercenaries he sometimes employed for more specialized tasks. However, as he watched their hooded silhouette slink across his room, he couldn't shake the sense of overwhelming familiarity.

"Gavin Inadad," they growled. "Only son of Evan Inadad. Expelled from Glandus High five years ago, shortly after attempting to steal the Galder Stones alongside his friends Angmar Guillen and"—they cocked their head towards the other witch—"Bria Nyte. Now wanted on multiple counts of armed robbery, aggravated assault, and cons—"

An energy bolt struck them in the back. However, the magic harmlessly dissipated across their cloak. The force of the projectile would have still staggered a normal person, but they didn't even flinch. Similarly, their illusion hardly faltered, though Hunter thought he saw a flash of dark purple.

On the far wall, the spell circle faded from Bria's raised legs.

The arrogant grin fell from her face as the figure turned, pivoting their entire torso with almost mechanical deliberation in order to look at her. Even beneath their mask, their anger was clear as day.

"Don't try that again," the vigilante growled, slowly walking closer. They almost seemed to glide along the ground, their footfalls silent as they deftly avoided the debris from the battle, like a cat on the hunt. "I know exactly who you are, where you come from, and most importantly, everyone you've hurt." The bindings tightened around her wrists, eliciting a shrill cry of pain. "You have a lot to pay for, so you really don't want to make me mad. Understood?"

Bria nodded meekly as her interrogator leaned closer, the glowing eye slits coming to rest just a few inches from her face. They had narrowed to razor-thin slivers of light, but glowed with such an intensity that they left their imprints seared into her vision.

"Good. Now, let's try this again. If you behave, I'll leave him to decide your punishment." They looked to Hunter for the first time since entering his chambers. "If not, then the honor is mine."


We're now three chapters in the bag, and dare I say it, things are starting to get interesting.

Who are the Dire Wolves, and what do they want? And what about this enigmatic figure? They couldn't possibly be the vigilante mentioned in passing earlier in the chapter, could they? No, that would be ridiculous.

In all seriousness, thank you to each and every reader, and everyone who leaves a comment, an upvote (or whatever platform-specific alternative exists), or any other form of engagement. It's still early, but I'm having a lot of fun writing this, and I hope that my mediocre writing abilities don't get in the way of you enjoying it, too.

Major Revision (9.27.2022): Expanded the fight scene to make Hunter less of a pushover; he's tired and rusty, but he's still a warrior at heart.