Chapter Text
*
Human,
It has come to my attention that you have expressed an interest in hunting, and if you MUST share my grounds, I would not have you scaring every beast in sight.
Please come see me at once.
Hassian.
⁀➴
You had expected this to be difficult.
You just hadn’t expected it to feel so much like being assessed.
The clearing is quiet save for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant calls of creatures deeper in the forest. It should feel peaceful—like every other moment you’ve spent in Palia’s wilds—but standing here now, bow in hand, it feels different. Like you’re intruding on something rather than belonging to it.
Sifuu had made it sound simple.
“Hassian’ll teach you! Don’t worry—he’s a good teacher, even if he doesn’t look like it.”
…You’re now thinking she might have been a little bit biased.
At your side, Tau shifts, brushing lightly against your leg. His presence is warm, steady, entirely unconcerned with whether or not you’re doing this right. When you glance down at him, his tail gives a hopeful wag, like he already believes you’ve succeeded.
It helps. A little.
Ahead of you, a chapaa rustles faintly in the underbrush.
Behind you—
“You’re doing it completely wrong,” the stern hunter criticises, arms folded tight across his chest. “Have you not listened to a word I’ve said?”
“Dragon above!” you huff, readjusting your hold on the weapon. “Give me a minute, won’t you?”
Your arms tremble under the strain, the arrow pulled taut against the bowstring. Your shoulders knot in real time, each second tightening the ache until your elbow shakes so badly you can’t keep the shot steady. Sweat beads along your brow, slipping down your temple.
“I am trying you know,” you grit out. “I don’t exactly have the muscles for this.”
He clicks his tongue, dismissive—but it’s true. At least, mostly.
You’ve been in Palia long enough now that, in theory, you could have trained, built strength, made this easier. But it just didn’t feel natural to you. You don’t remember much about who you used to be, but you’re certain of one thing: you were never someone who relied on physical strength.
You’re more at home with creative things—helping Tish design furniture, assisting Jel with fabrics and fashion, tending carefully to your flower garden. Not that you hide away indoors; quite the opposite. You’ve grown to love Palia’s wilds—the plants, the creatures, the quiet magic of it all. Most days, you’re out foraging, catching insects, or sketching beautiful landscapes and animals you discover into the journal you’ve taken to carrying these days. It is one you’d originally acquired to help you organise better but has since become something a lot more personal.
You love this world, and in that lies the biggest problem. You don’t want to hurt anything. Not even a nefarious creature like the poor chapaa.
The thought alone makes you falter, and your arrow falls entirely from its hold, cluttering clumsily to the floor.
Tau lets out a soft, sympathetic whine. You glance down at the Plumehound to find him eagerly watching you with wide, concerned eyes, tail thumping uncertainly against the grass as if he’s trying to encourage you without quite knowing how. When your gaze meets his, he perks up instantly, giving a small, hopeful bark.
But as you reach out to pet him, Hassian’s stern voice interrupts you.
“Again.” He instructs. “And focus this time.”
“I was focusing last time,” you mutter under your breath, drawing another arrow.
This time, you let it go and it veers wildly, missing the chapaa entirely. It startles, then bolts—burrowing into the ground, unharmed.
You don’t turn around. You don’t need to.
“You didn’t even try to adjust your aim,” Hassian says at last.
“I did—”
“You hesitated.”
Your grip tightens at your side. “Because I wasn’t going to kill it cleanly,” you snap, spinning toward him. “It would’ve run, and cried, and that’s—” Your voice catches. “That’s horrible.”
Something in Hassian’s expression hardens.
“And there it is,” he mutters. “Your weakness revealed.”
Your chest tightens. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he says, stepping closer now, voice low and cutting, “that when something is difficult—when it requires precision, or effort, or resolve—you flinch.”
“That’s not—”
“You hesitate. You make excuses.” His eyes flick over you, sharp and assessing. “And then you call it kindness.”
“That’s not fair!” Heat rushes to your face, anger flaring through the surprise of his accusation. Who does he think he is to jump to such absolute conclusions?! “It’s not easy for me—”
“It’s not easy for anyone,” he interrupts, his voice flat, unimpressed. Not angry, or even disappointed—just certain. “The difference is that you care about how you feel more than you care about what needs to be done.”
A beat passes.
Tau lets out a low whine.
You stare at Hassian, something raw twisting in your chest, your face burning. “You don’t know anything about what I do.”
“No?” His brow lifts slightly. “I see the village struggling. I see people doing what they must to keep it alive.” A pause. “And then I see you. Picking flowers, chasing bugs. Avoiding anything that might require you to make an unpleasant choice.”
Your throat tightens. Human instincts beg you to berate him and argue, point out his obvious flaws as easily as he does for you—but before your frustration can boil into anger, you falter.
…Is he even wrong?
“If… if that’s true,” you force out after another awkward beat, a lump hard in your throat, “then why did you decide to teach me?”
“It wasn’t my decision,” he replies, your faltering seeming to temper him—if only slightly. His gaze shifts briefly, like he almost looks away before catching himself. “I’m sure you can guess whose it was.”
Ah.
“Your mother?”
He nods.
“My mother thinks too highly of you,” he says, avoiding your eyes now. “Since she became your shepp, she hasn’t stopped trying to convince me to help you.” His gaze sharpens again. “I don’t understand why.”
You let out a short, disbelieving laugh, frustration, conflict, and hurt tangling together. But how could you not? This whole situation is just so ludicrous! The two of you had barely spoken to each other before this lesson, but apparently the hunter feels content to shoot you with insult after insult.
“Then maybe you should ask her instead of deciding I’m useless after one bad shot.”
“One?” he echoes.
You sigh, the fight quickly draining out of you. You don’t know if he’s looking to push further—but you don’t have anything left to give him. Not that it seems he would care even if you did.
“Forget it.” You reach back, adjusting the bow against your shoulder. “Tell her you tried. Clearly I’m not worth the effort.”
Tau makes a soft noise, stepping in front of you as if to stop you from leaving, tail wagging uncertainly.
You crouch just long enough to give his head a quick, grateful scratch. “You tried your best,” you murmur under your breath.
Behind him, Hassian goes still.
Then you straighten.
“I have better things to do,” you mutter sharply, already walking away, “than stand here and be judged by someone who’s already made up his mind about the kind of person I am.”
You don’t look back, even as you feel his sharp gaze following you, as if you were little more than another piece of prey he had already decided wasn’t worth the arrow.
Tau whines once as you go.
He doesn’t follow.
⪼------➢
The next day, the irritation no longer sets your nerves alight, but rather has settled itself somewhere under your skin, prickling every time you think too hard about Hassian and his stupid lesson and that damn chapaa.
Your footprints press deep into the sand along Bahari Bay as you walk, each step heavier than the last. Dried up coral crunches faintly underfoot as you scan the shoreline, grabbing anything that catches your eye and stuffing it into your bag with far more force than necessary.
Shells
Clams.
Mushrooms.
Spices.
Acorns.
By the time the sun begins its slow descent, your bag is overfilled—shells, pebbles, heat root, bits of ore, anything you could get your hands on. None of it feels particularly valuable. That isn’t the point.
You just needed something to do that wasn’t stew.
By evening, you find yourself at the inn and drop your backpack onto the bar with a heavy thud. Reth barely glances at the mess before sliding you a pint like he’d been expecting you.
“What’s with the storm cloud look, sweet tooth?” he asks, leaning casually across the counter. His gaze flicks to the overflowing bag. “Whoa—don’t tell me this is all for me. I’m flattered, really. Not that I’d say no to a few of those brightshrooms…”
“Go for it,” you mutter, waving a hand as you take a long drink. “There’s probably some Morels buried in there too.”
His eyebrows lift. “Oh, you’re serious? Careful, I might start thinking you actually like me.”
You huff faintly, but it lacks bite.
He watches you for a moment longer than usual, something a little more perceptive settling behind the teasing. “Alright,” he says, straightening slightly. “What happened?”
You scowl just thinking about it. To be honest, you hadn’t expected to talk about it, but the words come easier than expected, spilling out between sips of your drink—about the lesson, the missed shot(s), the way Hassian had looked at you like he’d already decided exactly what kind of terrible, meek person you were.
By the time you finish, your glass is half empty, and your chest feels just as tight as it had in the forest. Maybe ‘a burden shared is a burden halved’ doesn’t really work when the other person is Reth.
He lets out a low whistle. “Wow. He actually said all that?”
You shrug, though it feels stiff. “More or less.”
“And you didn’t throw something at him?”
“No way. Have you seen that guy? I’d never beat those hunter reflexes.”
He snorts. “You should’ve tried. Might’ve improved his personality.”
You can’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugs at your lips, but it fades quickly.
“So?” you ask, quieter now. “What do you think? About what he said about me?”
Reth doesn’t hesitate. “I think he’s got a bow shoved so far up his—” He cuts himself off with a glance around the inn, lowering his voice only slightly. “Look, I’ve never liked the guy, and he’s not the biggest fan of me either. You shouldn’t waste your time trying to impress him.”
You frown into your drink. “I wasn’t trying to impress him.”
“Sure sounds like you were.”
“I wasn’t,” you insist, a little sharper than intended. You sigh, rubbing at your temple. “I barely know him! I just… I’m annoyed he thinks I’m so useless.”
“And you care because…?”
“Who wouldn’t care about someone having a bad perception of them?”
He shrugs. “I do alright. But then again, it comes with the whole bad boy territory.”
You roll your eyes at him, but before you can think of something witty to say, the door to the inn swings open.
You don’t need to look to know who it is. Sifuu’s laugh carries easily across the room, warm and unmistakable—but it’s the scramble of paws against the wooden floor that reaches you first.
You barely have time to turn before Tau barrels into you.
“—oh!” you gasp, nearly knocked off your stool as he plants his front paws against your legs, tail wagging so hard his whole body follows. A happy, breathy bark escapes him as he leans in, nudging insistently at your hands, your arms, anywhere he can reach.
Despite everything, a laugh slips out of you. “Hi, Tau—hey boy! Okay, okay—”
You set your drink down quickly to steady him, your fingers automatically finding their way into the soft fur at his neck. He practically melts under the attention, tail thumping loudly against the bar.
Behind him, Hassian has gone still.
“Tau,” he says, low and warning.
Tau does not listen. Instead, he presses closer, nosing at your bag on the counter, then back at you, clearly thrilled to see you.
“Traitor,” Reth mutters amused under his breath, watching the display.
Sifuu laughs as she approaches. “Looks like someone missed you,” she says, giving Tau a fond look before her attention shifts to you. Her hand comes down on your shoulder in a firm, friendly clap. “There you are! I was just thinking about you.”
You resist the urge to wince at the smith’s strong blow, thankfully half-distracted as Tau wedges himself between you and the bar, leaning heavily against your side like he belongs there. “Hi, Sifuu! Been busy today?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, kid!” Her eyes flick between you and Hassian, who lingers just behind, posture rigid—though his gaze dips briefly to where Tau is practically glued to you. “So!” she says brightly. “How’d the lesson go yesterday? Did my son behave himself? He refused to tell me about it.”
You freeze, one hand still resting absently on Tau’s head as he pants happily.
“Uh,” you say, glancing briefly at Hassian before looking away again.
This is your chance. You could commit the worst possible offence imaginable: snitching to his mother. It would be such sweet revenge! But then, where would that leave you and him? If being your shepp makes sifuu like family to you now, you couldn’t very well make an enemy of her son. Imagine how awkward family meals would be.
Besides, you’re a bigger person than him. You don’t need to sink to petty jabs and uncharitable observations to feel good about yourself.
“It was fine.”
Tau lets out a soft huff, like he disagrees.
Sifuu turns to her son immediately. “See, Hassian? Told you it was nothing to worry over—they said it was fine!”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“Yeah you were, you wouldn’t stop pacing, even Tau couldn’t keep up!”
At the sound of his name, Tau looks up, then back at you, tail wagging again like he’s pleased to be included.
“No I wasn’t,” Hassian repeats calmly, obviously refusing to let his mum’s teasing fluster him. “And I didn’t ‘refuse’ to tell you anything. I also said it was fine.”
Reth lets out a soft, disbelieving hum. “Didn’t sound fine from what I just heard—”
You shoot him a look, sharp and warning, but he ignores it entirely.
“In fact,” he continues, leaning forward with a grin that’s far too pleased with itself, “sounds like someone here was being a pretty terrible teacher.”
“Reth—” you start.
“What?” he shrugs. “I’m just saying—”
Sifuu’s expression shifts, her easy smile dropping just enough to show something firmer underneath. “Hassian!”
He stiffens slightly. “What.”
“You didn’t give them a hard time, did you?” she asks, arms crossing in a way that mirrors his own stance from the day before. You guess that must be where he’d picked it up from.
Hassian shrugs nonchalantly. “I told them what they needed to hear.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
A flicker of something—irritation, maybe—passes over his face. “They were too cowardly to attempt an accurate shot. If they’re going to learn, they can’t afford to hesitate.”
Your ears and cheeks heat up. Did he really have to label it cowardice? And in front of Sifuu?!
She exhales sharply. “You’re too harsh my boy, even a great adventurer like your ol’ mum here had to start somewhere.”
“I wasn’t harsh—”
“It certainly sounds like you were,” Reth cuts in, entirely unhelpful.
“Stay out of it,” Hassian snaps.
“Gladly,” Reth replies, not sounding glad at all.
“Hey—” you interject quickly, the tension getting quickly out of hand. Your hand presses briefly into Tau’s fur, grounding yourself. “Don’t worry about it. Really.”
Three pairs of eyes turn to you.
You force a small shrug. “Hassian wasn’t entirely wrong,” you admit, even as the words feel strange leaving your mouth. “I did… hesitate.”
Hassian’s gaze sharpens slightly at that, like he hadn’t expected you to say it. To be fair, you hadn’t expected to say it! Moments ago, you wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that humans could blow steam from their ears. But, for some reason, Sifuu’s words were all it took for your irritation to die as quickly as it had risen. A result of her calm presence, you reason. Now, you just want to come out of this whole conflict like it had never happened to begin with.
Sifuu, however, looks unconvinced. “That doesn’t mean—”
“I’ll figure it out,” you cut in gently, offering her a more reassuring smile this time. “It’s not his fault if I’m not good at it yet.”
There’s a brief pause.
Then Sifuu sighs, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Alright,” she says, though she doesn’t look entirely satisfied. “But if he gives you trouble again, you tell me, yeah?”
You nod. “I will.”
You probably won’t.
You slide off your stool, carefully stepping around Tau—though he immediately moves to follow, nails clicking against the floor.
“Tau,” Hassian calls.
He stops, unsure whether to follow the command. You smirk a little, knowing that the hound’s insistence on being your friend is probably irking the owner more than he’d care to admit.
“Sorry,” you laugh half-heartedly. “There may be more than a few goodies in my bag I’m sure Tau would probably quite like.”
You scratch behind the dog’s ear, winking at Sifuu as you pull a sweet leaf from your bag and slip it to Tau, who dutifully returns to Hassian’s side to snack on the treat.
“Greedy pup,” Reth laughs, before taking you in for a half hug over the bar, patting you on the shoulder. “See ya later, sweet tooth,” he grins. “Don’t go doing anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down at all,” you tease, poking his cheek.
Sifuu gives you one last pat on the back, and you carefully avoid looking at Hassian as you head for the door.
You can feel his attention on you and the suspicious stillness of the room at your departure. You wonder how long it would be before Reth and him started bickering again.
⪼------➢
That night, you don’t sleep easily, and when you do, it’s restless. So when the first hint of morning light creeps through your window, you’re already awake.
The memory of Hassian’s words sit as heavy and irritating in your chest just as they had the night before.
You care about how you feel more than you care about what needs to be done.
Could that really be true? Reth clearly didn’t think so, but he isn’t exactly an unbiased option. In fact, you can’t think of anyone in town who would just go ahead and say that about you. Is your compassion not a strength? Your love for the world not a positive?
But then, what Hassians said wasn’t inaccurate. The chapaas are a problem—you never even got the chance to experience this world before they took over it. But that was the world he loved. The one he now so stubbornly tries to bring back.
And maybe you really are just another obstacle in the name of the greater good.
You sigh, reaching for your journal and writing it all out. The argument, the inn, the here and now.
You shove it into your back pocket as you stand. Then, you grab your bow and arrows.
“Fine,” you murmur to the empty room, the word quieter now, but far more certain.
You know in your heart there’s only truly one way to solve this. To know who’s right. To see if you can prove him wrong.
And it begins with the chapaas.