The black carriage was driving through the countryside. Inside, a man sat, all in black, short, spiky hair, cold eyes. In front of him, a young female sat. Slender with strawberry blonde hair. Her face showed the marks of pain and suffering that are carved deep into the soul. For a while, they looked outside, doing their best to ignore the presence of the other human. Then the woman looked intently at the man, seeking eye contact. The tension grew until the man sighed and said, "What is it, Jessica?" She waited; the man was still not looking at her. He slowly turned his head, and his predator's eyes bore into hers. She didn't flinch and said, "Chala, before I become a hunter, I have questions."
The hunter remained silent for a moment. Then he nodded, "That's fair. What do you need to know, Jessica?" The young woman hesitated, broke eye contact, and looked down. After wetting her lips, she locked eyes with Chala again and asked, "How did you become a hunter?" The man had a light scoff, just the smallest exhale, and the shadow of a lopsided smile. "Childhood dream," he said simply. Jessica pinched her lips, waiting for more. Her new mentor was not helping. Chala looked out the window, watching the lulling movement of the scenery passing by in the dimming light of the day. When he looked back at her again, his eyes were softer. "Ask your real questions, Jessica," he said.
Chala waited patiently; he felt the question hover between them, orbit around Jessica, and finally take form in a few words. "Why do hunters kill mist users?" The hunter took a deep breath and nodded, "That's an excellent question. Straight to the point. I like it." She had a soft smile as she noticed some mannerisms from Chala while he was setting his thoughts in order. It reminded her of the Grandmaster. Almost like they are related. She straightened up and gave her most diligent student face.
Her mentor made a gesture with his hands, as if he were holding an invisible sphere and tracing its outer surface. "Our world is wrapped in the mist. The pink mist brings life to the world. But it is also a barrier. A barrier from things that crawl outside and crave to enter our world." He laid his hands on his knees and locked eyes with Jessica. "You had a taste of some of them." His eyes dropped to her legs. "Or rather, they had a taste of you." Under the fabric, Jessica's scars itched. A chill ran down her spine.
Chala scratched his face absently. "Mist users tap into the mist to fuel their abilities. If they take too much, the barrier is weakened, and a portal will appear, bringing forth monsters hell-bent on ending all life." The hunter looked at his hands. "I don't enjoy killing, Jessica. I do what must be done to avoid even more death and destruction." The tense silence recognized its cue and crept in the carriage again, filling all the space, breathing, expending, it found delight in the soft sound of souls being crushed.
Jessica didn't dare to speak. She could feel her eyes sting, holding back the tears, she said, "You attacked Gareth." The words woke Chala up from his reverie. He blinked twice, then squinted. "Gareth? The brawler?" He took a deep breath and sighed again. "I have nothing personal against him. Fighters are the worst. Their abilities drain the mist fast, creating holes where they are." He made a fist and punched the seat next to him lightly in controlled anger. "The mist is alive, it tries to fill the gaps, it moves to fill holes, and stretches. Sometimes it is ripped apart somewhere else. And portals can appear far away from the event." His eyes were burning with fanatical passion. "And if no hunter is there, the monsters will roam free and kill everyone in sight." His voice carried a deep, frightening strength as he concluded, "Letting the mist users live will mean even more death and suffering. It's a necessary sacrifice of life. Both theirs and ours."
Jessica remained silent. She was thinking hard, trying to find the flaw in the hunter's argument. She didn't like how it seemed to make sense. She grabbed the last lifeline she saw and said, "You don't kill all mist users. Healers are working publicly everywhere." Chala nodded, "Yes, that's true. We consider that healers do more good than harm." He looked outside. The world was almost completely wrapped in the mantle of night. His eyes unfocused, he continued, "The healers' ability doesn't take too much from the mist, or not too fast at least. There are rarely portals appearing near them." He turned to his apprentice, a light face in the darkening carriage. "We have hunters near every temple, as a safety." The silence thought he was done and prepared to claim the space between them, but the hunter continued, eyes unfocused, as if he were talking to himself, "The mist is alive, it protects us, we must leave it alone."
Darkness had filled every corner, blending the frontier between light and shadow. A clear female voice asked in the night, "What about the shadow power? It doesn't come from the mist." Her words echoed in the void, then a raspy male voice answered, "No, the shadow power doesn't come from the mist. It comes from beyond." It felt like several presences had entered the carriage, watching, waiting. The mentor continued, "Long ago, the first hunters fought to protect the world from an invasion; beasts all made of shadows. They didn't have the power we have now. But they prevailed. The beasts could not be defeated. Instead, they were trapped in weapons. The weapons we use today. We call them: Relics."