Sylas woke to dawn peeking gently through the wooden shutters, brushing soft gold across the stone floor. For a few precious seconds, he simply lay still, wrapped in the quiet hush of early morning. The fire had burned low in the hearth, leaving behind only a faint red glow beneath pale ash. A slight chill clung to the room, but it was the good kind.
From the corner came a familiar sound: the soft rustle of furs and a tiny, squeaky yawn.
Sylas turned his head toward the makeshift bed of blankets, where the coyote cub blinked blearily up at him. Its ears twitched, its bright eyes catching the light as it gave a sleepy whimper.
"Well, good morning," Sylas said with a faint smile, his voice hoarse with sleep. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and crouched beside it, brushing his fingers through the soft fur. "Still here, huh? Guess we're both tougher than we look."
The cub nuzzled against his palm, then settled again.
A fragile kind of calm settled over him. For once, he wasn't consumed by fear of the gods. He had the morning off before it was do or die. For now, he was free.
All he needed to focus on was the morning hunt.
Just one of the dozen his father led each week to keep the family and the village supplied with meat. Still important. Still serious. But not divine.
And Sylas had been invited to join.
He stood, stretched, and shook the stiffness from his arms. He'd barely slept, but he didn't feel exhausted. Just… alert. Ready. Or close enough to it.
Outside, the grove was bathed in golden light. Dew glittered on the grass, and smoke curled lazily from the chimney. The scent of damp earth and woodsmoke filled the air.
Nara was already outside, perched on the low stone wall with a slice of bread dangling from one hand like a banner of victory.
"Look who finally emerged," she called. "I was betting you'd oversleep and miss the whole thing. Planning to impress Father by making a dramatic late entrance?"
Sylas rolled his eyes. "That'd only work if he liked drama."
Nara grinned, swinging her legs. "Fair point. Still, you clean up well for someone who definitely lost a staring contest with the ceiling last night."
He offered her a half-hearted glare as he approached. "Why are you always awake this early?"
"Someone has to monitor the bread intake." She tore off a piece and tossed it at him. "Plus, you're funnier when you're stressed."
He caught the piece and chewed it silently. "You're annoying."
"Thank you." She winked.
Their mother's voice called from the direction of the kitchen. "Nara. Stop heckling your brother and come help me with the morning batch."
"I live to serve," Nara called dramatically as she hopped off the wall and sauntered inside.
Maren followed her out a moment later, wiping flour from her hands on a cloth. She offered Sylas a warm but appraising look. "You're up early."
"Didn't sleep much," he admitted.
"Figured as much." She stepped closer, her voice lowering. "Try to keep a clear head today."
"I know." And this time, he meant it.
She reached up and brushed a strand of hair off his brow. "Eat something. Even if it's just to spite your sister's predictions."
He managed a small smile and nodded, turning toward the house.
"And Sylas?" she added.
He looked back.
"You're more capable than you think."
This time, he smiled without needing to force it.
The kitchen smelled of warm bread and roasted root vegetables. Eiran stood near the hearth, quiver over one shoulder, sharpening a hunting knife with steady, practiced motions.
"You're cutting it close," he said without turning.
Sylas grabbed a slice of bread from the counter. "You too, huh? Is there a family quota for sarcasm before dawn?"
Eiran chuckled, sliding the blade into its sheath. "Just making sure your mouth works before your bow does."
Sylas sat at the table, still chewing. "You sound like Father."
Eiran gave him a sidelong look, smirk fading. "Not trying to. Just… remember, this isn't a test. It's just a hunt. We do this all the time. You've got good instincts. Use them."
Sylas raised an eyebrow. "Since when do I have good instincts?"
"Since you kept that cub alive longer than most grown hunters would've bothered trying." Eiran turned back to the hearth. "Doesn't have to look like tradition to count as skill."
Sylas blinked. That was… unexpectedly generous.
Before he could reply, the front door creaked open, and the air in the room shifted.
Deren stepped in, all broad shoulders and quiet weight. His presence filled the room without a word.
"It's time," he said simply, glancing between his sons. His eyes lingered on Sylas a moment longer than usual. "Don't keep me waiting."
Sylas stood quickly, brushing crumbs from his tunic.
The knot in his chest still hadn't vanished—but it was lighter now. Manageable.
He could do this.
The grove buzzed with quiet purpose as the family gathered near the edge of the woods. Their breath rose in faint clouds. Deren adjusted his hunting spear while Eiran checked the fletching on his arrows. Nara slung her bow lazily over her shoulder, cracking her knuckles like someone heading into a festival instead of a hunt.
Sylas tightened his quiver and double-checked his bowstring.
He caught Maren watching from the doorway, arms folded, her expression unreadable—but there was something in her eyes. Not worry. Not pressure.
Just hope.