I survived it then. Will I be capable of surviving now?
We only stop once we've breached the masses. I glance to Mira and Elison, register the fear in their black, hollowed eyes, and quickly divert my gaze to something far worse. Down the fields, dozens of insatiable, rapacious noctis have gathered. There's another bundle an acre away from them. And another. There must be hundreds of them, spread out into clusters as far as my eyes can see.
If I strain hard enough though, I think I can count at least ten.
Ten cells.
Ten clusters.
We're the farthest group north... Does that mean Rowland is the farthest south?
Before the dread can twist its knife deeper into my watery belly, my eyes are drawn east tothe looming Shadowthorn forest.
Even without the Blight hanging over it to cast the canopy and everything underneath in a foreboding sort of darkness, evil still looms over the dead woods. Even from this distance, the earth looks withered, like one footstep would shatter the ground beneath. The trees hang heavily, their bare branches seeming impossibly heavy for the puckered trunks to hold onto any longer.
Long ago, this place was cursed by a Primordial's wrath. It was turned into a haven for demons until the mages stoppedtampering with the land’s magic. The histories say that when Halira restored the magic they’d stolen, the forest began to thrive once more. Verdant trees and vibrant foliage. It became a beacon of hope for the people, a symbol that their lives could improve despite the darkest of omens.
Then magic disappeared, and everything withered again.
With how much blood has likely been spilled beyond its borders, I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire place is cursed.
Hoofbeats pound atop the flat grass, and I spy a trio of horsemen galloping our way. In the center, sitting ramrod straight with a mane of white hair whipping behind him as he leads them forward, is the noctis I loathe most.
“Greetings fellow Hunters." King Tor Devonshire addresses his people with a tight smile and a subtle tilt of his head, one that suggests he knows it’s expected of him to bow, but he despises lowering himself to anyone. "We are honored to host you today in commemoration of our most glorious moment in history. The day when we stood up against tyrants and their prejudices. The day we reclaimed our place in the realm."
They all cheer, a sound like a thousand crashing waves on the shoreline. It's been years since I've heard anything so loud, but it's the lie of it that makes my nerves splinter.
He paints them as victims when they slaughtered thousands.
King Tor’s hand moves with the grace of a gentle breeze, but I know better than anyone to believe him capable of anything but brutality.
"The humans told us we were monstrous. They told us we were better off dead. They tried to murder us, but what was our crime? Surviving our imprisonment in the Shadowthorn and merely wanting to exist and return home to our families? Today we celebrate who we are in our truest nature and honor our vow to never be anything but ourselves ever again."
A bitterness fills my mouth and upturns my lip. They’re hanging on his every word like he’s some messiah instead of the monster responsible for the downfall and near-extinction of an entire civilization.
"A few reminders before we release you to your hunting.” Pausing for effect, he takes them all in. “You paid for an experience, but this year only the strongest will reap their rewards. The human-to-noctis ratio is admittedly more unfavorable than in year's past, but I'm sure you can appreciate the circumstances we're all facing. It's why this year, we're instilling a one-kill decree—you’ve all been briefed, so consider this your final warning. Anyone greedy enough to kill more than one human will be imprisoned until the Hunt is over, used as a source of entertainment in the celebration that follows, and ultimately exiled to the Unresting Mountains."
A murmur ripples throughout the group. Even Elison, Mira, and I exchange glances.
The Unresting Mountains is one of the most feared places in the realm, second only to the Shadowthorn.
Now I know why.
King Tor continues. "You have three days to hunt. If you make a kill before the final day, feast upon your prize and then join us back here in the Castle of Nigh, where you'll wait in luxury for the arrival of the rest of your brethren. If you have not been successful in your hunt by the third and final day, you are expected to return to the castle as well. We will celebrate the victories of our people regardless of your individual gains, enjoy entertainment, and of course, round up all of the remaining humans to provide as refreshments for the final days of festivities."
It's no wonder no one has ever survived. Even those skillful enough to last three days in the noctis-infested Shadowthorn are still doomed to be served up on a platter in their banquet hall.
A new thought occurs to my ever-churning mind.
If he thinks he can round us up, that must mean the borders are guarded. Maybe even blocked. Or perhaps he has another failsafe in place to prevent anyone from leaving the forest once they enter.
If he was smart, this sort of information should've been shared with the participants ahead of time, outside of earshot of those of us with the will to strategize, fight, and live another day. Although admittedly, as of now, I’m not sure how to utilize such intel.
Unless he’s doing it on purpose. Unless he’s telling them now—tellingus—because he wants to snuff out all the hope we might have for escape.
"As you can see," he continues. "You have been separated into groups. I hope we've done well enough matching your particular tastes with suitable candidates."
I glance around at their nodding heads, and then to my former cellmates.
