CAUTION: Spoils aspects of Innocent Hopes, Twisted Realities, as well as aspects of When Nothing Remains and aspects of Usurpation of the Darkness.

Seriously, major spoilers here.

Assuming you wish to continue, read on…

Background: This is a short one, the third one-shot I put into writing. I decided to cut it off where I did so as to be able to release it sooner… way back in 2019. I'd intended not to put it out until I had the then-planned second half following Eret through the events of Usurpation of the Darkness. That second half didn't get written and thus this didn't get posted because I'm not done with Eret, son of Eret, and he may yet have a part to play in this world going forward. I wanted – and still want – to make sure I have the flexibility to put him wherever I need him in the future.

But this much of his characterization and past activities is pretty set in stone. Rough, could use some polishing, and liable to get a fresh coat of paint when it becomes relevant and I have the final details, but none of this will meaningfully limit me if and when I decide I want to bring him in. So I can put this up! It's not often I look at writing from 5 years ago and think 'yeah, that planning and worldbuilding fits nicely!' I'm listing it as a deleted scene because it's not the final version, but consider it preemptively deleted. It's got good bones, I'm just waiting for the right time to use them.

The first Eret heard of his father's murder was a drunken congratulations.

"Oy, I 'ere yer out from under yer old man's shadow!" a trapper he knew in passing yelled, shouting across the tavern at him. Eret only knew the yell was directed at him because the same man had just thrown an old piece of bread at him, as a way of getting his attention.

He was not used to people congratulating him, and wasn't quite sure what he'd done to earn recognition, but he knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Aye," he agreed, walking up to the counter, "that last haul was good." Only two Gronckles, but high-quality ones, ones with more… lumps…

Who was he kidding? There was no way this guy was talking about that.

"Eh? No, didn't ya hear? Old Eret Senior is up in Valhalla now," the drunken trapper mumbled, suddenly less jovial.

Eret wasn't sure whether or not he believed that. "What dragon could possibly kill him?" he asked, only slightly bitterly. His father was everything he aspired to be, but could never quite seem to reach. Everything he did, his father had done a little faster, or a little better, or with a little more flair. He was good in his own right, he thought, but nobody saw him as anything but mediocre, all because he was in his father's shadow.

"Not a dragon," the man whispered dramatically, leaning in to bombard Eret with his truly horrible breath as he continued. "A one-legged Viking teen put a dagger through his eye from twenty paces. I was there. Drago had just taken the kid on. Started a fight Drago's men ended."

"Really." He managed to hide his disbelief. "A teenager."

"Scary kid, mark my words," the man proclaimed. "Drago liked him, and that says a lot. Wasn't scared o' Second, either."

Eret blanched. The one thing all of Drago's men agreed upon was that Second scared them. It was a badge of perverse pride among Drago's ranks. Second made them all sweat just by looking at them. Given Second was a near-mythical Night Fury and Drago's unofficial second in command, that admitted fear was not so embarrassing. But for this soldier to admit someone else was not scared of Second would be far too humiliating to be a lie.

Which meant his father really was dead.

Two things immediately occurred to him. The first was that he was, indeed, finally out from under his father's shadow. The second was that he had a Viking teen to kill. He needed to avenge his father. Not out of sentimentality; he had little of that to start with, and if some random boulder had fallen on his father he'd raise a glass in thanks.

Rather, his motivations hadn't changed at all. His father's death was part of his legacy. As it was, Eret senior had managed to slay a Night Fury after it escaped one of his traps, many years ago, and that was a feat Eret had yet to even have a chance of matching, let alone outright surpassing. But killing the one who killed his father? That was much more feasible.

"So, what was this Viking's name?" Eret asked, not bothering to hide his intentions.

"Called 'imself Ember, but ye'd best be quick," the man advised. "Get 'im before he's too settled in wit' Drago, else ye'll end up with yer bones servin' as appetizers for Second."

"That may be the wisest advice ever given by a drunkard," Eret remarked, standing to go rally his small crew and set sail. To Drago's island, and to a future kill. He was a trapper by trade, but for this he'd make an exception and get his hands dirty.

"What do you mean, he flew away?" Eret asked, not entirely sure he was being taken seriously. "Look, I have a bone to pick with this kid, and you're not helping either of us by hiding him." The kid was a Viking, he would want to fight Eret. Not that Eret intended to kill this 'Ember' face to face, a sword in the back would be fine. No reason to risk meeting the same fate as his father; with his luck, people would somehow say his father had lasted longer against their mutual killer.

"Ask Drago," the sullen guard spat. "He's not in a good mood, and that's why."

"Maybe I will," Eret said, hoping to bluff the man into giving up the truth. He had made his way here, right outside Drago's personal quarters, inside his personal mountain, and he did not intend for this whole trip to be wasted because of one stupid-

"Drago!" the guard yelled, grinning cruelly. "Somebody wants ta see you!"

Eret blanched. "Not right now, later." Never, he had been bluffing. He did not like talking to Drago when the man was happy, let alone angry.

But it was too late. The stone door swung open with a speed that defied how heavy it had to be, slamming into the wall with a resounding crack. Drago stood in the doorway, his eyes sharp and piercing. The only saving grace was that Second did not appear to be around.

"Speak, or be silenced," Drago grated.

Eret spoke quickly, knowing his life was actually on the line at the moment. "I have a man to kill, and I heard he was here."

Drago scowled dangerously, his hand twitching. "To avenge your pitiful father?"

"To put myself above my father," Eret corrected, knowing Drago had a habit of seeing through lies, straight to the heart of the matter. "I want Ember dead, either way." Drago helped Ember, employed him, but one never knew what he might say or do. That was part of what made him so terrifying.

This could end with Eret's blood pooling on the floor. But he screwed his courage to the sticking point and held his ground as Drago looked down at him.

"So do I," Drago rumbled. "If I knew where to find him, he would be dead now."

"You don't know where–"

Drago shoved Eret, knocking him to the stone ground, and glared at him. "Seek him. Kill him. Do not come back unless you have his head, trapper." With that, he retreated back into his quarters, slamming the door shut behind him.

Eret's head was spinning, but he pulled himself up anyway, glad that had been all Drago ended up doing. When Drago was in a good mood, people died. Bad moods meant torture and pain before death, unless Drago had a good reason to hold back.

A reason that was now Eret's reason to get out of here, head to some tavern in the middle of nowhere, and drink. Before it was his ambition. Now his life was truly on the line.

"I'm tellin' ye, Second betrayed tha' both of them," the ragged man said desperately. "Viggo had 'im last I saw, and Viggo's dead now, accordin' to the word on the street. He'll be in the field o' cages."

Eret reluctantly passed over a fair payment for the information and leaned back against a conveniently still-standing stone wall. Getting onto this island in secret was hard enough even now that the fighting was long over. Finding out that everyone important was dead was nice, but he still had a man to kill… and hearing from five separate sources that said man was also a dragon, a Night Fury to be exact, was not encouraging. One of Viggo's men had seen Ember shoot blue fire from his hands, and then turn into a Night Fury.

That, on its own, was nothing, the babbling of a crazed soldier willing to do anything for money to barter with on this war-torn island, but Eret had heard it from many different sources, all just as desperate for anything to barter with, the top prize being a place on his ship when it left. The three new, minor warlords who had sprung up out of the devastation were fighting over the ships and blocking anyone from using them until their dispute was settled, and food was running low already. This entire island was a disaster that just kept on going. Luckily, Eret didn't need to stay.

No, he didn't need to stay, he just needed to kill something Drago's men swore was responsible for upward of half a hundred kills over the course of the short battle that had happened here. Men from both sides claimed he could turn his victims into dust. Ember was not a Viking, he was something else entirely.

Eret still planned to kill him. Taking down an unnatural Night Fury who happened to be his father's killer was going to put him on the map, and totally outshine his father's shadow. That was why he headed to the field of cages and bribed one of the men to let him past.

One lucky break was all he needed. A chance to shove a spear in an unsuspecting back. That was all.

Many hours of searching later, he was sure Ember was gone. There wasn't a single Night Fury in these cages, despite reports of at least six flying around and fighting everything from the soldiers of both sides to each other.

Really, everything about this stupid island seemed to say that he'd never understand a fraction of what had happened here. So much for taking down Ember, if he was gone without a trace.

Back on his ship, after a simple and almost boring escape from the island that was probably going to become the tomb of everyone else trapped there, Eret realized something else. His days as a trapper were over. The three big clients were Drago, Viggo, and the Collector. All three were gone, and nobody was taking over any of their empires, because the remains of both Drago and Viggo's forces were fighting each other over scraps.

Time to head to the nearest tavern and have another drink. That was all he seemed to be doing lately. Drinking, and failing to find a single man.

At that tavern, his crew disbanded. They had seen the writing on the wall, and nothing held them to him but the promise of pay, which was hollow now with nobody to buy from them. Eret didn't even try to convince them to stay. He knew his business as a trapper was over. He could acquire a new crew easily enough once he had a plan that sounded liable to keep them fed and paid.

Eret noticed that something was going on in the far corner of the tavern, but he didn't really care. All he wanted was a drink, so he ignored the tall and foreign-looking man speaking to a small crowd, and brought his ale over to a table in the opposite corner, as far from the commotion as he could get.

About halfway through that drink, the same foreigner sat down opposite him and passed over another mug. "Tell me what you are good at."

"Trapping, if anything." It was a strange request, but he had no reason to turn down a free drink. "A dying trade as of a few weeks ago."

"Here, anyway." The foreigner smiled unnervingly. "Of all those who came into this tavern, you alone ignored me. Why?"

"I don't feel like listening to some stupid story of improbable adventures. You look like a storyteller."

"I am, but that's not what I was doing." The foreigner leaned in over the table, his eyes sharp and determined. "Tell me, would you like a steady job as a trapper?"

"If it was in anyone's power to offer, yes." Now he was interested despite himself. "But I just lost my crew, and you'll not need a solitary captain."

"Actually, that is exactly what I am looking for." The man pulled out a long knife. "I work for a group that specializes in eradicating dragon nests. We recruit only the talented. You have potential, Eret, son of Eret."

Eret knew he had been tricked. He stood, glad he hadn't actually begun to drink out of the now suspicious mug. "You know me."

"We know of you. You are one of several men we hope to recruit from Drago's destroyed empire." The man smiled slyly, holding out the knife for Eret to take. "Take my weapon if it makes you feel better, and hear me out."

"That's not your only weapon, and you're not alone in this tavern," Eret retorted. He could feel a setup coming, but with his luck he'd already stepped into the middle of it. "So tell me what you're offering, and then tell me I can't refuse. I know this drill." It was quite like how he had first been convinced to sell his dragons to Drago, despite an initial resolution to not supply the same customer as his father in an attempt to distance himself.

"You can refuse. We only take willing recruits." The man held his knife out insistently. "We offer steady employment, an employer who values skill and not brawn, and a purpose. We travel the world in search of ways to help humanity against the dragon menace."

Eret took the knife, knowing he was already hooked. They were just reeling him in now. "Good pay?"

"Along with free food, lodging, and if you are talented enough, men to command. We do not abuse our men as some groups do, and you are also free to leave our ranks as long as you recruit a replacement with the same skill set first."

"What's your skill set?" Eret asked suspiciously. "Because if you're getting out, I don't think I want in."

"I am a trainer," the man retorted confidently. "I know nothing of trapping, and I plan to die as a trainer, of old age if nothing else. What we do is important and meaningful. Every nest destroyed means a safe village somewhere. We do not fight in wars against other humans. Only against dragons."

"I'll admit that I'm interested. But what's the catch?" There was always a catch.

"We take in all sorts. The only requirement is that each recruit be skilled in something we can use. About the only line we draw is dark arts. We recruit assassins, berserkers, strategists, and all sorts of other things. Many men would consider some of our members dishonorable."

"Like I care about that." He had worked for Drago, who many had said was unnatural himself. Not having to deal with that kind of thing was a good deal, and anything less was tolerable. "I'm in on two conditions."

"Speak."

"First, if anything is not as you said, I'm out." He would, of course, reserve that right. "And there is a single man I want to kill, so if we ever come across a Viking named Ember, I get to kill him." It was a long shot, but he would be sure of that.

"Deal. Welcome to the Grim Hunters, Eret, son of Eret."