Chapter Text
Huntress loved music, she considered herself an extremely eclectic person and a lover of any musical instrument. If her constant glances into the instrument room didn't indicate it, she had a certain fascination with them, and of course she loved listening to any kind of sound associated with instruments.
She had discovered, however, that she absolutely hated punk music. As she stirred the cappuccino she was preparing almost automatically, she could literally feel her eyelids twitching with nervousness as she listened to the irritating and agonizing sound, easily comparable to a dying pig, from the guitar one of the young men was playing at the table near the diner window.
The diner was too small to accommodate any excess, and perhaps that's why Huntress had always liked that place so much. The walls were covered in a creamy color, yellowed with age, decorated with crooked pictures displaying old illustrations of cafes and pies. There was a constant smell of toasted sugar, freshly brewed coffee, and baking dough, a combination that usually enveloped her like a warm blanket and made her forget, even if only for a few hours, the world outside.
The padded benches ran along the sides of the diner, forming small nooks where solitary customers could curl up with their cups and thoughts. The red upholstery had lost its luster years ago, showing small cracks that betrayed continuous use, but it was still comfortable. There was something intimate about the way the space closed in on itself: few tables, a narrow dark wood counter, the glass display case always fogged by the heat of the pies fresh from the oven, and a window that was too large for such a modest place.
Normally, the ambient sound was predictable and almost therapeutic: the clinking of cups, the steam from the coffee machine, hushed conversations, and the old radio behind the counter playing some neutral music, the kind that nobody loves, but nobody hates either. Today, however, all of that was overwhelmed by the aggressive noise coming from the table near the window.
The group of pale teenagers seemed out of place there, as if they had been cut out of another reality and pasted into that welcoming setting without any care. They wore clothes that were too dark for an ordinary afternoon, heavy jackets despite the mild weather, and had that air of performative boredom, as if the whole world were failing miserably to entertain them. One of them strummed the guitar with an almost offensive lack of delicacy, producing distorted sounds that vibrated in the air and made Huntress's nerves beg for mercy.
She maintained a neutral expression as she handed the cappuccino to the small customer in front of her, a little boy with wide eyes and hands gripping the counter, who thanked her with silent excitement before running off to his mother. As soon as she was alone again, Huntress allowed herself to sigh, resting her cheek on her hand and feeling the weariness settle in her shoulders.
Her gaze drifted out the window. The sky was covered in thick clouds, a uniform gray that made everything look like an old photograph. It wasn't raining, but the air felt heavy. Huntress watched the people hurrying past on the sidewalk, some looking at the sky with the same distrust she felt. Maybe it would rain. Maybe not. The mere possibility already set her mind racing.
She slowly imagined the excuse taking shape: the bus delayed because of the rain, the notebook forgotten at home, the sudden cold that had made her feel unwell. Nothing too elaborate. Nothing impossible. A slight smile almost appeared on her lips as she thought about the unlikely freedom of an afternoon without classes.
The sound of metal gently tapping against the display glass brought her back to reality.
Mr. Pig had emerged from the kitchen, carrying a wide tray with a fresh batch of steaming pies. His white apron was stained with flour and filling. Carefully, he arranged the pies on the display, making space and adjusting labels.
Then he looked up at Huntress.
"Are you still here?" he asked, checking the clock hanging above the wall. "You're not going to be late for class like this, are you?"
Huntress blinked, as if only then remembering the passage of time. She straightened up slightly, removing her cheek from her hand, and cast one last glance at the cloudy sky outside. The guitar still groaned in the background, the teenagers still took up too much space, and the smell of warm pie still made everything a little more bearable.
“I was just leaving.” She grabbed the coat hanging behind the counter, putting it on slowly, as if that could delay the inevitable.
The small bell rang above the door as she opened it and stepped out of the cozy little place. She shivered slightly in the cool breeze that brushed past her and began to walk, perhaps the movement of her legs would warm her a little. She looked up at the gray sky while distractedly rummaging in her shoulder bag, murmuring curiously as she felt a subtle weight that hadn't been there before. Opening it, she did a quick mental scan: Diary, pocketknife, headache medicine, and oh… she couldn't help but smile at the sight of the small piece of apple pie carefully wrapped in brown paper that was in her bag.
Honestly, she could easily say that Tree Trunks and Mister Pig were two angels in the form of cute animals who didn't deserve the customers they had. And she suddenly felt bad for not having kicked those teenagers out before leaving.
Huntress quickened her pace almost instinctively, as if her own body had decided for her that standing still was no longer an option. The houses in the neighborhood blurred past in the corner of her vision: simple facades, low fences, windows fogged by the damp weather. The ground was still dry, but there was that characteristic smell of earth about to receive rain, a silent warning that the sky could change its mind at any moment. The cold seeped into the sleeves of her coat, and she clutched her shoulder bag, feeling the light comfort of the familiar weight against her hip with each step.
She ran for a few blocks, dodging old puddles and accumulated leaves, until she suddenly slowed down, almost as if she had been pulled out of her own rhythm. Her eyes had caught something too familiar to ignore.
On a low branch of a tree, a hawk with chocolate-brown plumage was perched, motionless, observing the world with that absolute attention that only birds of prey seemed to possess. Huntress stopped completely, her chest rising and falling with her accelerated breathing, and a wide, genuine smile spread across her face without her even realizing it.
“Hey…” She murmured, approaching with careful steps.
The hawk turned its head slowly, a watchful eye fixed on it.
Huntress lowered herself slightly, resting her hands on her knees, further diminishing her presence.
"Have you caught anything good lately?" she asked in a low, almost conspiratorial voice.
The hawk responded with a deep, short sound, a curious noise that vibrated softly in the air. Huntress let out a restrained giggle, shaking her head.
"Yeah... me neither"
She took another step forward, feeling her heart race.
The hawk spread its wings, wide and firm, and took flight with a decisive flap, cutting through the cold air with elegance. Huntress straightened slowly, following it with her eyes as it became a distant dot in the gray sky, until it disappeared completely on the horizon.
"One day..." she murmured, more to herself than to the void, "One day I will win you over."
With one last look at the now-empty branch, she ran off again.
The gray building appeared shortly after, a bland concrete block that stood out from the neighborhood like an abrupt interruption. The facade was cold, functional, marked by time and small cracks that no one seemed interested in repairing. Huntress slowed her pace as she approached, her breath heavy, the cold now mingling with a slight weariness.
She stopped at the bottom of the entrance stairs and sighed deeply before climbing. Each step echoed beneath her feet, the hollow sound reverberating through the almost empty space. Upon entering, she was greeted by long, dimly lit corridors, where the white light reflected impersonally on the polished floor. There were only one or two people sitting on benches against the walls, silent, with tired expressions or too distant for any interaction.
Huntresswalked to the end of the corridor, stopping before a simple wooden door. Nothing extravagant. A golden plaque was embedded in the surface with the initials "SP".
She felt her shoulders slump slightly and took a deep breath before raising her hand and knocking lightly on the door.
"Come in!" came the cheerful voice from the other side of the door, too clear for that silent hallway, almost out of place with the serious tone of the building.
Huntress hesitated for only a fraction of a second before turning the doorknob. The door opened with a discreet creak, and she entered, closing it behind her.
The room was small, cozy in a way that contrasted sharply with the cold corridors of the building. There was nothing luxurious about it; everything was chosen more out of affection than aesthetics. The walls were painted a soft shade, somewhere between beige and light green, and the lighting came from a lamp in the corner, creating warm shadows that made the space feel less clinical.
Simon was already seated in his usual armchair, sunk into it like someone who truly belonged there. He wore simple, comfortable clothes and maintained a posture that was far too relaxed for someone who was technically still at work. In front of him, a low table held two teacups, from which a thin wisp of steam still rose, filling the air with a slightly spicy aroma.
"I thought you were going to come running up," he commented with a half-smile, his attentive eyes following her every move.
Huntress didn't answer immediately. She walked to the armchair in front of Simon and practically threw herself into it, feeling the upholstery give way under her weight. Her body relaxed all at once. She let her bag slide to the floor with a soft thud, pushing it closer to the chair with her foot.
Her gaze wandered around the room, as it always did. There were a few photographs in simple frames: a younger Simon, smiling beside a woman with a warm expression, Betty. In one photo, they were sitting on the grass; in another, embracing before a lake. There were also some paintings of tranquil landscapes, open fields, clear skies, solitary trees, and, scattered across the walls, posters of cats in ridiculously optimistic poses, with phrases like "you'll be okay" written in large, friendly letters.
Simon gestured with his hand, pointing to the cup positioned in front of Huntress.
She leaned forward, carefully picking up the cup. The warmth transferred to her fingers immediately. Huntress brought the rim to her nose, inhaling slowly. The scent was strong, comforting, with that unmistakable touch of ginger that warmed simply by existing.
The liquid went down her throat warm, spreading a pleasant sensation through her chest. And she couldn't help but murmur with satisfaction.
Simon chuckled softly, crossing his hands over his knee.
“So…” he began, observing her carefully, “how are you today, Huntress?”
Huntress swirled the cup slowly between her fingers, watching the steam rise and dissipate into the air.
“I’m fine,” She finally said, shrugging. Her voice was calm, almost neutral. “Everything’s normal. Nothing much happened today.”
Simon tilted his head slightly, as if accepting the answer without truly being satisfied. He didn't press her immediately. Instead, he leaned back a little more in his armchair, maintaining a casual tone.
"And what did you do this morning?"
Huntress lowered her gaze to the cup. She ran her fingernail along the ceramic rim, once, twice, three times, in a distracted rhythm.
“I worked…” She began, pausing for a moment too short to be natural, “I cleaned up a rat infestation.”
Simon murmured a low, interested sound, his eyebrows rising slightly.
He seemed to expect something more. But Huntress merely brought the cup to her lips again and took another sip of tea, ending the conversation with a firm silence.
After a few seconds, Simon adjusted his glasses on his nose with a familiar, smooth gesture, like someone changing gears.
"And... have you been writing?"
Huntress felt her stomach give a treacherous little leap. Her mind immediately went to the bag tossed beside the armchair, to the diary hidden among objects too ordinary to arouse suspicion. She sniffed slightly before answering, glancing at one of the paintings on the wall.
“I have,” She admitted, in a somewhat annoyed tone. “I still think it’s kind of… idiotic.”
Simon smiled and chuckled softly before placing the cup back on the table. “Writing is a very practical way to physically manifest thoughts and memories that are difficult to say aloud.” He rested his elbow on the arm of the armchair, clasping his hands together. “Sometimes, putting it on paper is safer than trying to explain. The words don’t run away.”
Huntress remained silent, her thumb absentmindedly brushing the handle of the cup. The tea no longer burned as much, but the heat was still there, steady and constant.
"It's...maybe..."
Simon watched her for another second, in silence, as if evaluating not only her answer, but everything that followed. Without saying a word, he leaned to the side and opened his own bag, which rested against the armchair.
He rummaged around calmly, as if he were in no hurry at all, until he pulled out two sandwiches wrapped in parchment paper. He placed them on the low table, side by side, and raised his eyebrows in an almost ceremonious gesture.
“So,” he said in a lighter tone, “which one will it be today? Tuna or chicken?”
Huntress looked away from the paintings and turned her attention back to him. With a soft sigh, she placed the teacup back on the table, the ceramic bottom making a discreet clinking sound .
“None,” She replied. “I got a treat from Mr. Pig.”
For a moment, Simon blinked, surprised. Then his face lit up in an almost childlike way.
“Really?” he asked, clearly excited. He quickly retrieved the sandwiches, carefully folding the paper before putting them back in his bag. “That’s great,” he commented, pleased. “I knew those two had huge hearts. I’m glad to know they’re taking good care of you.”
Huntress nodded slightly, a small smile appearing at the corner of her lips.
"Yeah... they're amazing"
The silence that followed wasn't heavy. It was short, comfortable, like a necessary pause between two parts of the same conversation. Then Simon sighed deliberately, exaggeratedly, and rose from the armchair with a dramatic groan. He cracked his back, one vertebra after another, as if preparing for something extremely serious.
“Well…” he said, flashing a mischievous smile, “in that case, I guess we can go back to our usual fight.”
Huntress let out a low, brief laugh, shaking her head.
"You don't stand a chance," She taunted. "You should just give up while you still can."
“Never,” Simon replied, laughing along as he walked away.
He walked to a shelf at the back of the room, absentmindedly running his finger over the stacked boxes. Board games, cards with folded edges, boxes marked by constant use. After a few seconds of feigned indecision, he pulled out a specific deck of cards and returned to the table, placing it between the two with a decisive gesture.
“I still have hope of beating you someday,” he declared, sitting down again. “Even if it takes… I don’t know, a few years.”
Huntress leaned back in her armchair, crossing her arms, her eyes shining with quiet anticipation.
"Dreaming doesn't cost anything, right?"
~~
When Huntress finally left the doctor's office, she was met with heavy rain and wind that made the leaves of the trees sway. Not that she minded the rain; in fact, her leaves would even thank her for it. She wrapped her bag further under her coat as she left the building and walked beneath the awnings. Although she was a water-loving plant, the apple pie wasn't, and she certainly didn't want her dinner to turn into a disgusting mess of dough and water.
So she walked along the sidewalk in the rain with light, almost carefree steps, humming softly a melody without defined lyrics, something between a murmur and an ancient rhythm that arose whenever she felt even slightly at peace. Water trickled down the edges of her coat, dripping onto the ground at small, regular intervals, and the sound mingled with the drumming of the rain against the concrete. Every now and then, she would jump slightly to avoid a deeper puddle, laughing to herself when she miscalculated and felt the cold water splash onto the hem of her pants.
The city gradually began to recede into the distance. The gray of the buildings and sidewalks gave way to more vibrant tones, deep greens that seemed almost to pulsate beneath the constant rain. The air changed. It became denser, laden with the smell of wet earth, crushed leaves, and damp wood. The woods emerged like an old acquaintance, opening before her unceremoniously, and Huntress couldn't help but smile as she crossed that invisible boundary.
The ground, now muddy, gave way beneath her steps, causing her boots to sink slightly with each movement. It wasn't uncomfortable; on the contrary, there was something comforting about it. She climbed onto a fallen log, balancing herself with her arms outstretched, and continued like that for a few meters, dodging low branches and soaked leaves, retracing the familiar path she knew by heart.
The pleasant weather, however, did not last long.
A sudden noise from a nearby bush cut through the air. Huntress stopped instantly, her whole body freezing in place. Her senses sharpened, and she fixed her gaze on the vegetation ahead, waiting, listening. A lightning bolt ripped through the sky at that same instant, illuminating the entire forest for a fraction of a second: twisted trees, leaves glistening with water, shadows stretching too far.
Then, a raccoon jumped out of the bush.
The two stared at each other for a brief, almost solemn moment. The animal tilted its head, curious, while Huntress blinked, relieved. Before either could do more, the raccoon turned and disappeared again into the foliage, leaving only the rustling of wet leaves behind.
She turned around and started walking again, picking up the pace with a slight shake of her head, as if trying to shake off the little fright. The rain continued steadily, and the woods seemed to close in around her once more, welcoming, familiar.
It was then that another lightning bolt cut through the air.
The flash was accompanied by a sharp, close-range thunderclap, and before Huntress could react, she felt a hard blow to the back of her head. The impact was sudden, brutal. The world spun, her vision filled with white dots, and the ground seemed to disappear beneath her feet.
She fell forward, her body completely losing its balance, her hands not reaching out in time to cushion the fall.
Huntress fell face-first to the ground with a dry impact, the immediate taste of earth and mud invading her mouth before her brain could even process what had happened. The world was still spinning, the sound of the rain seemed too distant, muffled, as if she were underwater. Her fingers instinctively dug into the soaked soil, trying to find some support that no longer existed.
Before she could even groan, she felt a firm, cruelly firm hand grab her left horn.
The tug came suddenly, lifting her head from the muddy ground without any care. The pain exploded, white and sharp, radiating through her skull, making her eyes burn.
“Look at you…” said a loud, acidic voice, laden with scorn. “Doesn’t seem so heroic now, does it?”
Laughter followed immediately. Then two other voices, quite different, were amused by the scene. Huntress huffed, her breath heavy and uneven, more a sound of frustration than anger. The realization came quickly, almost automatically: of course it wasn't going to be simple . It never was.
"Let go..." She hissed, but the word was swallowed by the mud.
The stranger didn't answer. He simply pushed her face back against the ground with deliberate force. Mud splattered across her nose, cheek, and lips. Huntress grunted in protest, trying to turn her face away, but the hand on her horn held her head firmly pressed down.
“If you’re not going to pay for what you did,” the man continued, his voice now lower, more dangerous, “then we’re going to have to take something from you.”
She felt the sharp tug on the strap of her bag before she could even react.
"Hey!" She shouted, her body struggling instinctively.
The response came immediately: her face was buried even deeper in the mud, the man's weight pressing her against the ground.
"Quiet," he growled.
The bag was thrown aside, landing at the feet of one of the accomplices. Huntress heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being opened, the nervous rustling of paper and objects being rummaged through without the slightest care.
“Look at this,” said one of the voices, with a mocking laugh. “At least we got something sweet.”
She heard the brown paper being unwrapped, and her chest tightened unexpectedly as she recognized the sound.
"Apple. Not bad."
"Go find something of value, you idiot!" shouted the man above her. "That thing won't pay any debts."
The bag continued to be rummaged through, objects falling into the mud one by one. Huntress felt her heart pounding, not only from fear, but from the growing anger, simmering silently beneath her skin.
With effort, Huntress managed to turn her face to the other side, her cheek dragging through the cold mud. The movement was slow, painful, her whole body protesting, but her eyes finally met the scene that made her heart skip a beat.
One of the men, shorter than the others, was rummaging through it impatiently, throwing the objects haphazardly, as if it were all worthless trash. His fingers stopped on the diary.
Huntress felt the air leave her lungs.
He picked up the notebook, flipping through it quickly, pages turning hastily, his eyes darting across the lines without really reading. He was looking for money. Something easy. Something quick. Finding nothing, he huffed irritably and simply threw it to the ground, carelessly.
"No damn thing here," he grumbled.
The diary fell open, sinking partially into the mud.
Then something slid out of it.
Time seemed to slow down cruelly.
An old photograph slid slowly, spinning in the air for a second before touching the muddy ground. The world lost its sound. The rain, the voices, the entire forest seemed to recede. Huntress could only watch.
The photograph began to absorb moisture from the soil almost immediately, the paper darkening and warping. Half of the image was ruined in seconds. But the other half remained visible.
A small Huntress, still without horns. She smiled openly, carefree, holding a birthday cake too big for her short arms. Candles with the number five were still lit, frozen in time. That version of her stared back, intact, oblivious to the mud, the rain, the violence.
Something inside Huntress broke.
It wasn't gradual. It wasn't careful. It was immediate and absolute.
Like a lever, she braced her hands on the ground. Her arms trembled, her fingers sinking into the mud as she propelled herself upward with all the strength she had left. The man holding her had no time to react.
Her horn made a strange sound. A low, morbid crack, coming from inside her own skull. But Huntress didn't register the pain. Not at that moment.
She grabbed a handful of mud, heavy, cold, full of dirt and stones, and lunged forward, practically punching the face of the man who was holding her captive. The impact was brutal, clumsy, driven by pure instinct. He screamed, staggering backward, clutching his face as he fell to a sitting position on the soaked ground.
The other two henchmen stood frozen for a moment too short to think, long enough to make a mistake.
Huntress didn't waste the moment.
She lunged forward, ignoring the throbbing that was finally beginning to spread through her head, and gripped the photograph from the floor with trembling fingers. She pressed the paper against her chest, protecting what remained of herself as if it were part of her own body.
And then she ran.
Dashing into the woods, branches whipping her arms, mud pulling at her boots, rain mingling with droplets of sap that trickled down her forehead and which she refused to acknowledge. Behind her, voices began to shout, confused, furious, but the woods swallowed her up too quickly.
This was no longer an escape. It was a hunt, and she hated being hunted.
Huntress ran without looking back, her lungs burning, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it wanted to burst out of her chest. The woods, once a familiar refuge, had become a treacherous labyrinth. Roots sprang from the ground like traps, slippery stones emerged from under the mud, and low branches tore through the air ahead, forcing her to push them aside with her already aching forearms.
She stumbled once, managed to grab onto a tree, stumbled again. The photograph was pressed against her chest, protected by her arm, as if it were the only solid thing in that world spinning too fast. The rain made everything more difficult: the ground, the view, the balance.
A sharp bend appeared suddenly. The path narrowed, sloping dangerously downwards. Huntress tried to slow down, but the mud gave way beneath her boot.
She almost slipped, managing to brace herself for a second, her fingers closing around a damp bush, her body hanging precariously over the void just ahead. The woods seemed to hold their breath along with her.
It was then that thick arms wrapped around her torso from behind with brutal force, pulling her back.
"I got her, boss!" shouted a triumphant voice, too close to her ear.
The impact caused Huntress to lose what little balance she had left. The extra weight, the unstable terrain, the treacherous incline—everything conspired against them both.
"No-!"
That was all she could think of before the ground disappeared completely.
They slid down the edge together.
The world turned into a chaotic blur of colors and impacts. Huntress instinctively cowered, protecting her head and chest, feeling rocks and gravel tear at tissue and exposed skin. Each impact stole the air from her lungs, each roll made her body protest in a new and urgent way. There was another crack, different from the first, briefer, followed by a sharp pain on the side of her head.
She registered this from a distance. Everything hurt now. So one more pain seemed… irrelevant.
The descent ended as abruptly as it had begun. Her body slid a few more centimeters before finally stopping on flat, waterlogged ground covered in leaves and loose soil.
For a moment, Huntress stood motionless. Opening her eyes with difficulty, blinking several times as she tried to make the world stop spinning. The rain fell directly on her face, cold, insistent. She took a deep breath, once, twice, cautiously testing her own body with silence.
A low moan made her turn her head slowly.
The man who had grabbed her was lying a few meters away, his body twisted awkwardly, unconscious. His chest rose and fell unevenly, but he didn't move beyond that.
Huntress let out a long, heavy sigh.
She turned carefully, each movement triggering a different sting, and managed to get to her knees. Her hands trembled as they touched the ground, but they obeyed. For a second, she stayed there, her head bowed, the rain running down the leaves of her hair and across her face, mingling with the mud and sap that still marked her skin.
Then, with deliberate effort, she stood up.
She staggered to the side, almost fell again, but forced her body to straighten up. She stood still for a few seconds, breathing, waiting for the world to align itself minimally. When she finally managed to stand without support, she pressed the photograph against her chest once more.
Huntress abruptly raised her head upon hearing the voice echo from the top of the hillside, cutting through the sound of the rain like a blade.
“You’re crazy if you think you’re going to get away with it!” the man shouted, his voice distorted by distance and fury. “Nobody messes with the Destiny Ga—!”
The words were still swirling in the air when something abruptly interrupted the speech.
There was a dry sound, a dull thud too dull to be just a slip. The man let out a surprised, almost childlike grunt, and his body appeared on the edge of the slope, unbalanced. For a ridiculously long second, he tried to grab onto something that wasn't there.
Then he slipped and slid down pathetically, too slowly to be dramatic, sliding on his stomach, hitting rocks, leaves and roots, until he finally stopped beside the unconscious henchman, his body lying there as if the forest had simply decided to return him to the ground.
Huntress blinked.
It took her brain a few seconds to process what her eyes were seeing. She looked at the two fallen men, then raised her gaze again to the top of the slope, trying to understand what had caused this.
A silhouette stood out against the heavy gray of the sky.
A boy was standing up there.
He wore a blue T-shirt, torn on one side and completely soaked by the rain, clinging to his thin body. There was a small cut on his cheek, bright red contrasting with his pale skin, and his blond hair was plastered to his face and forehead, dripping water. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as if he had run as far as she had.
His eyes were fixed on Huntress.
"Hey!" he shouted, his voice thick with urgency, "Are you okay?!"
Huntress opened her mouth to reply.
Nothing came out.
The world seemed too distant now. Sounds became muffled, as if someone had plunged their head into deep water. The rain turned into a continuous, shapeless noise. The forest lost definition at its edges.
She thought he looked cute.
It was the last coherent thought that crossed her mind before the ground decided to kiss her face one more time.