The hunter awoke. He was around twenty. Lying beneath a tree, he looked up; it was a large birch tree, strange and foreign, with apples hanging from its branches. The hunter was nobody and had never been anybody. Oh, how lonely he was in this universe. And in this very moment, he had no one. He never imagined he would sit alone in silence, surrounded by lush plains of grass. Lilies sprouted across the field. how beautiful everything was. And yet, he felt nothing. No satisfaction. No happiness. No love.
What was his life? Why did he live? What purpose did he serve? Why did he continue? What does it mean to feel? Would it hurt to try?
All of it questions left unanswered.
Even beneath the majestic birch tree, its bark painted in black and white stripes, its branches sprawling with autumn leaves, he remained empty. The place was beautiful. Unnaturally so. But there he sat, wrapped in withered, decayed knightly armour. Black. Broken. Battered. Still, it covered him head to toe. The metal was scorched, burned black, a sharp contrast to the world around him.
The hunter stared at the terrain, watching the sun rise over the hills. And then, he saw her. A girl. Someone he had never seen before.
He was the hunter. He was death. And he gazed at the girl stumbling forward.
Her body was covered in scars. From head to toe. Tears fell from her eyes as she ran blindly, dressed in torn rags and wearing a blindfold. She collapsed into him, falling gently into his arms.
He looked at her, puzzled.
Her light blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her skin was pale like ivory, and her face, though lovely, was twisted in sorrow. She cried against him, her arms wrapped weakly around his armour, holding him as if she would disappear otherwise.
He lay there, unsure, frozen. Why did she cry against him?
He didn't know.
She spoke in a language foreign to him, her voice trembling as she drifted into sleep atop him. He looked down at her, bewildered, then gently laid her on the grass beside him. That's when he saw them.
Men on horseback in the distance. Swords raised. Charging.
And suddenly, he understood.
She wanted protection.
It felt... nostalgic.
He wasn't surprised. He had grown used to the emptiness. He never expected more. Never hoped for less.
Where he went, death followed.
Or perhaps it was the opposite.
He rose. His body erupted in flame. Bursting. Agonizing. His scorched skin peeled beneath the heat, but he paid it no mind. The pain had long stopped mattering. Cold and indifferent, he moved forward.
His sword cut effortlessly through the riders. One after another. Flesh and steel alike fell before him.
Then it was done.
Ashes scattered the field. The heat vanished. The air turned cold again.
He turned and continued walking.
And then something strange.
A hand grasped his.
The elf girl.
She had returned.
Still blind. Still trembling. But now clinging to him. He didn't know why. She spoke again, the language unknown, her hand gently tracing the broken armour he wore, her fingers delicate with curiosity. Maybe it was unfamiliar to her. Maybe she simply wanted to know who had saved her.
But why did she return?
He had already helped her.
She leaned into him and hugged him.
He froze.
He didn't understand.
She didn't know who he was. She couldn't even see him. Yet she relied on him, trusted him.
What a strange feeling.
The boy, now a man called Nobody, looked at her in silence. Confused. But he didn't pull away.
She rested in his arms a while longer before stepping back. Her blindfolded gaze tilted up toward him as she spoke frantically once again in that same unknown tongue. He could only look down at her, confused, unsure how to respond.
So, he patted her head.
She paused.
Then she blushed and stepped away.
He tilted his head. Had he done something wrong?
She bowed gracefully, sincerely.
And he just watched her.
Still confused.
Perhaps… she was afraid.
He didn't know.
She spoke again, softly, quietly. And so did he.
"I don't understand," he admitted honestly.
She tilted her head, puzzled. There was a barrier between them not just in language but in sight. She was blind. And yet, she looked toward him, uncertain. Wanting to offer something. Anything. But she had nothing.
So, slowly, she reached down, her fingers gently undoing part of her garments.
He stopped her, having the wrong idea.
But she blushed and shook her head, continuing anyway.
From beneath her clothing, she pulled out a necklace. It had been hidden, pressed against her skin. The pendant hanging from it bore an intricate symbol one the hunter recognized.
It had belonged to Royal blood.
She pointed to it with trembling hands. Her face wasn't proud or arrogant, just afraid. There was no confidence in her gesture, only vulnerability. She had no one to rely on.
So she relied on him.
A stranger.
Someone whose intentions were entirely unclear.
The hunter took the necklace, inspecting the emblem with faint interest before letting it drop gently from his fingers. He said nothing. Did nothing.
She was confused, unsure of what he was thinking. His silence left her adrift. So she reached out again, her hand searching in the space between them until it found his. Relief crossed her face as her fingers closed around his palm.
He turned and started to walk.
She stumbled at first, surprised. He caught her without effort.
Her grip tightened. She clung to him.
He looked at her curiously, then stopped. Without a word, he positioned himself in front of her, crouched down, and reached back.
She hesitated as he gently lifted her legs.
Her breath brushed against his back. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. She blushed but didn't resist.
To the hunter, it was nothing more than practical.
Efficient.
He carried her on his back, the way one might carry a bundle of leaves or a sleeping child. No thought, no meaning. Just movement.
He didn't care whether she was of royal blood or not.
He had never cared about such things.
He simply did as he was asked.
He was no one.
So, in that moment, if she needed him, he would be hers.
He was the hunter.
He wandered aimlessly.
And now… now he had a destination.
At least, for a while.
That's what he thought, anyway.
Everything faded just as it began.
"Her name. Do remember it… for you are her hunter, are you not?"
A voice spoke, his own, but older. A version of himself from a future far ahead. One he had yet to reach and would not reach today.
He awoke an adult, standing beneath the gaze of death; really, it had been his own shadow. It stared at him coldly, and he returned the look in kind.
"Her name?... It was… Eliora," the hunter said, though he remained confused.
"That's all I can give," the shadow replied, simple and unbothered. "The rest, you'll have to find yourself. We have no time."
Then it faded.
"Hunter… wake up. And run."
A second voice, this one belonging to a man shrouded in mist, his smile hidden behind the fog.
"Run far to a place even Fate cannot reach. A place untouched by anything or anyone. An unfathomable realm where nothing exists. There… all will be revealed."
And just like that, the dream ended just as quickly as it had begun.
The hunter awoke on the cold floor of an all-too-familiar place back in the maze.
Alone. Again.
Left with more questions than answers.
As the fragments of memory returned, a past not fully real and a future not yet lived began to stir within him. How vexing. How convoluted. He could feel it all piecing together yet not fully aligning.
He stared forward until his gaze landed on a reflection.
It smiled back.
Only… it wasn't him.
He should have been scared. Most would be.
But he was Tobias Renholm.
He was the hunter named Death.
And in the infinite universe, he alone is hunted by Fate
And he alone will be the one to take its head.