The Hunter's Net

The dust swirled around my worn boots, a constant companion in this ever-shifting world. My family, a river of tents and wagons, flowed across the plains, a familiar, comforting current I always managed to rejoin. But this time, the current felt different, faster, more desperate. The whispers of animation had grown into a roar, and the familiar landscapes of Europe and Asia were twisting into grotesque, vibrant caricatures. I preferred the silence of caves, the ancient secrets etched in stone. It was in one such labyrinth, a maw of darkness smelling of damp earth and forgotten time, that I found them. Gloves. Black, supple leather, they felt unnervingly right on my hands. A strange tingling, a hum of latent power, thrummed beneath the surface. Later, outside, a creature of jagged lines and garish colors lunged. Instinct took over. I threw a punch. The world exploded. The animated thing dissolved into ash, and a shimmering, ethereal form – a soul, I realized with a jolt – drifted free before fading. It was a secret I hugged close, a dangerous, exhilarating truth.

The recruiters found me near a cluster of skeletal trees that clawed at the sky. They moved with a grim purpose, their armor scarred, their eyes sharp and unnervingly old, even on the younger ones. Their leader, a woman with a face like a well-worn map and eyes that missed nothing, stopped directly in front of me. She didn't ask, she stated. "Sixteen. Good build. Intelligent eyes. You fight."

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, my hands tucked into the pockets of my worn trousers. "I can handle myself." The gloves, a secret I guarded fiercely, felt like a second skin, a promise and a threat. I’d told everyone they were just fashion, a cool accessory. They bought it, mostly.