A cold breeze whistled long on the cold and starry night. So cold, in fact, that it chilled Daron to the bone. He resisted, of course, through an effort of will, not allowing himself to give in or even dare to move an inch of muscle.

However, in the last part, he struggled hard to remain still as his legs suddenly cramped.

The hunter had been stuck in this abandoned mill for some time now, surveying the lands below as his tired eyes fixed on the long, empty road. He must have checked a hundred times and more to find simply nothing. Nothing except the green plains and golden wheat fields that were as tall and high as his neck.

Despite this, the land of Allemance had always been a sight of spectacular wonder. Of steppes that outstretched from the horizon and filled with communities of farms, pastures, and vineyards. No wonder many beasts had called this place the green heart of the world. Yet, for all its good side, there came with a disadvantage. 

For one there were few high grounds for the hunter to snipe around as Allemance was considered flat and even. The second was the people themselves. It was not that he detested them, nor they on him. It was just that they were too honest and open in their friendly nature to deal with unsavoury individuals, which he was one, to be frank.

By fortune alone, Daron had found a perfect hiding place in the old, abandoned windmill. Strange, considering that many mills were built close to the communities. Overall deserted, remote and away from prying eyes, everything about this place oozed a sniper’s dream.

Yet a little sensation nagged at the corner of Daron’s mind that cautioned him to be wary. Everything so far felt effortless, easy, as if receiving a gift with no strings attached. He had thoroughly checked from top to bottom to find the windmill empty, but that didn’t stop the hunter from letting his guard down. Hunters like him needed to be two steps ahead in any situation, regardless of threats. 

At any rate, Daron had not come to divulge his concerns or even the state of his paranoia. He had come here to hunt his target, his bounty.

If his information had been correct, for which Daron paid a hefty sum from an eyewitness, his target would be arriving shortly with a complement of bodyguards in its wake. His client had been explicit, and keenly so, to bring the target to the Bristle Inn with the person alive and well. 

An easy task, Daron considered, if he knew which one was the target.

Without a name, background or description, the bounty hunter was hunting blind, which might be problematic as the chance of killing the target was high in the heat of combat. The only detail that his client could provide, which wasn’t much the more Daron thought about it, was that the target wore a pendant dedicated to Pirhoua, the goddess of life, love and harvest.

Again, not a hopeful prospect, Daron added to thought, given most Alleys were pious and assorted themselves with all sorts of religious paraphernalia in their dedication to the Beast Mother. 

Daron thought long and hard to understand that this contract was quite unusual, and he handled far stranger tasks than this. Everything about it suggested that he shouldn’t accept such a proposition if not for the reward that awaited him that was three times the weight of gold. The money alone would benefit the guild back at Barraille in the long run as well as the beastfolk of the mountains. 

Then again, if Daron’s client had been dishonest, which he considered more apparent to admit, he would make sure to hunt his client down and ensure it would be their last.

And so, the bounty hunter was here, and he waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Time seemed to stretch forever as the wind howled once more, now harsher and colder than ever before. 

Allemance's climate had always been humid during the day. But at night, with winds howling south from the Mantle mountains, it was just as cold and biting as the northern lands of Oria.

This time the bounty hunter could not hide the discomfort as the old bones in his body ached. A thought instantly surfaced to suggest lighting a fire, but Daron knew it would likely draw attention just by a glance. So he discarded the idea and endured the pain.

Feeling his mortal weakness, the cramps and aches that constantly stabbed into his body without end, Daron genuinely wondered if this would be his last contract. 

Despite years of excellent service with the guild, Daron knew he was not as fit and young as he once was. Still, even if he could retire, he could not think of the idea of living an easy life, nor would his comrades feel the same notion beyond what they were truly good at. 

Like the others from the guild, Daron was a reparator, one of the human brethrens that fought and lost in the Invader war. Though many have forgotten over the years, he remembered them like it was yesterday.

He remembered Allemance as a once scorched wasteland, done by war and fire. So heavy on its destruction it almost resembled a hellish landscape. He remembered the unit he served, men and women he considered family, all gone and scattered to the wind, dead or otherwise. He remembered, with sour indignation, of the traitors. Defectors that have turned their own kinsmen and ruined their only chance of victory over the beastfolk so long ago. 

His hands suddenly tightened the grip of his mechanized crossbow at the mention of them, features contorted into an ugly snarl of hatred. A hot cold of anger suddenly flared from within his chest that not even the bitter wind could douse his fury. One particular traitor he held above all else close to his heart, and this one had the title of Baroness.

“Diana…” Daron growled softly, making the name sound like a curse.

An officer of once great respect and command, her actions were brought low by the promise of fortune. Compromised for a better chance at life, her twisted words of defection brought swathes of soldiers to her side, resulting in internal strife within the military ranks. This one act of treachery, Daron suspected, was what brought the Invader war to an abrupt end and brought more harm than good for his kind. 

Many brethren kin who participated in the war were brought into chains and served a decade or even a lifetime of hard, laborious tasks. While the baroness and her cronies that sided with her received a lighter sentence in an easy, opulent life in the city of Patrie. 

Daron had been a prisoner of war in the aftermath, summarily branded for it and worked under the mines of the Mantle mountain until his hands bled and scarred for life. It was no exaggeration, he admitted, that others in the guild felt the same as he did, though not to a greater extent. 

Some came to understand Diana’s actions and respected her bravery in ending the war and saving her people. Others saw her as an ambitious snake, selfish and opportunistic, who sought fortune above all else. 

Whatever the reason, whatever the defence, Daron could not hope to forgive her as it wouldn’t excuse her, if any, the irrefutable damage caused by this one act of defiance. Diana had her orders and should have followed them like any good soldier would allow, no matter the demand or the cost. If she did, then his unit would… would…

The bounty hunter’s train of thought ceased altogether as he thought he saw something up ahead. He zoomed in through the scope of his weapon and then smiled slowly into a mirthless smile as he finally spotted someone. 

By way of confirmation, a single light, then more, glowed brightly from a distance like beacons in the sea of black, growing bright and closer in their approach toward the bounty hunter’s hidden position. What was anger that coursed through him soon overturned into a small trickle of delight as Daron’s time and effort had not been in vain.

As the group came a little closer, Daron managed to distinguish the individuals among the party. Even though his body was wracked with pain and misery, his eyes were still as sharp and deadly and hadn’t failed him over the years to identify each target. 

The first came a rider, tall and lean and cloaked heavily in a fabric of black and gold. They rode a large, avian-mounted creature that stood on two legs and had the head of a vulture. The creature reminded Daron of dodo birds, dumb things but massive in size and ferocious with sharp talons and pointy beaks. 

The next came more riders. Five of them, at least. 

With four canine-wolves and an equine-donkey, they rode their mounted creatures in a loose formation and behind the rider. The former, Daron recognized based on their uniforms, were the typical workforce of levies. They were the farmers, militias and expendables that received little training and were far easier for the bounty hunter to handle. The latter, however, was a different matter.

Old just as he was, the broad-shouldered donkey donned a silver-plated armour and, after a close examination, bore the heraldry of the Lupine Throne.

If Daron had been any lowlife scum like the thieves or some mewling greenhorn, he would have left right there and then and never looked back. Instead, he mouthed a curse at his misfortune and weighed his options. The bounty hunter hadn’t considered that they had a queensguard among them, but that proved little to the scheme of things. Despite this sudden occurrence, he was far too invested and committed in his contract to back down. He would not leave empty-handed without a fight. Even if this would bring down the ire of the Queen herself.

Then, a question struck him.

Could the rider in front be the ruler of Allemance herself?

Daron very much doubted it.

For one, the queen would never be this too inconspicuous to sneak around in her own kingdom and in the dead of night. Two, Daron knew personally well that it didn’t suit her style as she preferred open publicity rather than in the shadows. 

During the Invader’s war, the bounty hunter has studied her extensively and those of important figures deemed possible for termination. His unit had been, after all, purposed as groups of hunter-killers and snipers meant to cripple within the enemy's military and societal structure. Yet of all the targets he had observed so far, the queen of Allemance was the most terrifying. It wasn’t her martial might that scared him. Instead, her cold intellect, the ruthless determination on her part, was what made her such a dangerous foe.

Many beasts acclaimed it was her training and her devotion to the gods that earned the ice queen the crown. He supposed one part of history was true - the rest had either been redacted or erased entirely from the record books. 

In any event, it didn't matter. Daron was here, and he would not break his contract, queen or not. 

Daron steadily adjusted the crossbow to lock on the knight's head, deciding that the equine would be the first to fall. The rest he would do them later, knowing full well of levies that they would either fight or flight from the ambush once the knight was dead. He hoped it would be the former. The rider, on the other hand, Daron was not sure what to make of that one. Still, he suspected he would discover the truth in time after he disabled its mount and rendered the target out from commission. 

Plan decided, Daron took a deep and heavy breath, one eye narrowed through the weapon’s scope. Slowly he peeled back his teeth in a cold smile at the prospect of a good hunt as he pulled the trigger.