The path to the Hunter’s Guild cut through the plains just outside Killima Village — dry grass swaying with every breeze, stretching wide beneath a pale blue sky. The land felt ancient, open, and a little wild. Lyra walked the worn trail alone, boots dusted and heart pacing.

Ashura had told her the hunter wasn’t much for conversation. “Don’t take it personal,” he’d said. “Hassian’s got bark, but no bite. Probably.”

She clutched the note he’d given her in one hand: Hassian, please supply this one with bow and arrows. She wants to learn. Be civil. Signed with a little drawing of a wink.
The note probably wouldn’t help.

Ahead, in between two windmills, stood a squat, weathered shack. Rough wooden beams. A porch that looked like it had been repaired one too many times. A few crates sat outside, stacked with gear. A sign hung above the door: Hunter’s Guild – Killima Outpost.

And there he was. Leaning against a post in the shade, arms folded, bow slung over his back. He didn’t move when she arrived. Only his eyes shifted—green as deep moss, unreadable.
He was tall, with a body built for the hunt—broad through the chest and shoulders, lean through the waist. His skin held the color of dusk, deep lavender kissed by sun. His face was sharp-edged and serious, his expression carved in quiet stone, but it didn’t dull the impossible symmetry of his features. Strength radiated off him without effort, like the calm stillness before a storm.

His dark hair was worn in dreadlocks, neat and precise, catching just the faintest sheen of light where the sun slipped past the eaves of the building. Of all the Majiri she’d met, he was—without question—the most gorgeous. Almost unfairly so.

And if that chiseled scowl said anything, it was that he had absolutely no idea.

A plumehound lay at his feet. Large. Fluffy. Regal. Watching her too.

Lyra’s breath caught — not in fear. In awe.
Something about the moment felt important, as if the world had just nudged her forward.

She stepped into the clearing.
“You’re Hassian?” she asked.

He didn’t blink. “Yes.”

His voice was low and clipped, like stone being shaped.

“I’m Lyra.” She hesitated, holding out the note. “Ashura sent me. Said I should come here for hunting supplies.”

He took the note, eyes flicking over it, and said nothing for a beat too long.

Lyra smiled despite the silence. “He said you might not be chatty.”

“I’m not.” Still flat. Still stone.

“Good to know.” She turned slightly, letting her eyes wander — not to fill the space, but to let him breathe. “This place is beautiful.”

Still no reply.

But when she knelt and extended her hand toward the dog, the air changed.
The hound stood and stepped forward with slow, deliberate grace. He sniffed her fingers, then bumped his head against her palm.
“There you are,” she whispered, smiling. “Aren’t you the goodest boy?”

The faintest shift in Hassian’s expression — barely a softening.
“That’s Tau,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him. “Tau.” She scratched behind the hound’s ears. “He’s perfect.”

Another silence.

Hassian moved toward a crate near the wall, pulling out a long, slender training bow and a small bundle of arrows wrapped in canvas. He handed them over without flourish, his calloused fingers brushing hers.

She felt the shock of it — how solid he was. Grounded. Heavy with some unseen weight.

“I don’t teach,” he said. “Ask questions. Don’t be careless.”

“I won’t be.” She strapped the bow over her back. “Thank you, Hassian.”

His gaze lingered on her as she turned to go — something unspoken in his eyes. A hesitation. A memory, maybe.
And then, just before she stepped away, his voice dropped low, just for her, barely a whisper: “Good to meet you.”

He was as surprised as she was that he’d said it. The words had come unbidden, like a truth he hadn’t meant to share.

She paused, heart skipping. “You too.”

She waved once at Tau, then disappeared down the path.

Hassian didn’t move. He watched her until he couldn’t find her anymore.
The clearing settled again — quiet and still, just wind and leaves and the faint rhythm of Tau’s breath.

But something stuck in his chest. Not discomfort, not really. Not threat.
Curiosity.

She hadn’t flinched. Not from his silence. Not from Tau’s size. She hadn’t tried to fill the air with noise. She listened. She smiled–Like she’d already forgiven him for being the way he was.

He crouched beside Tau and rubbed the hound’s thick fur between his ears.
“What do you think?” he murmured.

Tau let out a quiet huff and laid his head down.

“Yeah,” Hassian whispered. “Me too.”

First Impressions

“I’m telling you,” Saraya said, “He looked at me like I asked for his house keys and firstborn child. Just ‘Here’s your bow’ and walked away.”

Simon snorted. “I said ‘thank you’ and he grunted. That was the full exchange. Ten seconds, tops.”

Lyra was sitting on the grass with them, fletching one of her arrows with quiet concentration. “I kind of like him,” she said softly.

Everyone looked at her.

Lexi’s brow shot up. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, sure, he’s not exactly warm. But he’s... honest. There’s no pretending with him.” Lyra answered.

“He pretends you’re not standing there,” Rex said. “That’s a kind of pretending.”

Lyra gave them a little shrug and grin. “We don’t know his story. Maybe he’s lost someone. Maybe the silence is his armor.”

Saraya groaned. “Oh no. You’re doing it. You’re building him a tragic backstory.”

“Better than writing him off as a grump with no soul,” Lyra said, rising to her feet. She looked toward the trees where she’d come from. “Besides…” She slung the bow across her back and said it like a casual truth, like it had always been waiting in the back of her throat: “Someday, he’s going to be my man.”

The group erupted.

Lexi choked on her drink. “Oh no, she didn’t just say that.”

Saraya pointed. “She’s been eating too many mushrooms.”

Simon clutched his chest. “This is how epic love stories begin. Or... dangerous obsessions.”

Lyra just laughed — wide and unashamed. “You’ll see.”
And as they laughed around her, Lyra smiled to herself, eyes still turned toward the tree line.
She’d seen something in his eyes. Just for a moment. And she wasn’t wrong.