Chapter 13

  I woke up before the roosters morning crow. Letting it be the thing to remove me from sleep would only anger me. Having it wake me up would just anger me. Something about a loud noise interrupting my sleep—forcing me awake on someone else’s terms—didn’t sit right with me.

  It didn't take too long to finish my chores around Henely’s house. I didn’t have to do them, but i saw it as good etiquette, especially since I was able to control how clean my surroundings were

  I wasn't where I wanted to be yet, but I refused to live in filth like the rest of this district.

  Even the street outside—I cleaned it myself. It didn’t take long, and I was getting stronger by the day. The workouts, the hunting, the constant servings of meat and vegetables from Henley—it was all paying off.

  I left before anyone woke up, heading toward the spot where I caught the beaver st time. If I could check the area, set my traps early, I’d hit my quota fast.

  More money.More ways to stick it to Azul.

  That bastard’s smug eyes bothered me more than they should.

  The dense woodnd near the forest stretched before me—a maze of willows and birches lining the riverbank.

  The air was thick with moisture, heavy enough that I could probably leave a mug on the ground and come back to find it full.

  The scent of moss and wet earth filled my nose.

  I scanned the ground—tracks, chewed branches, gnawed tree trunks.

  I was close.

  Then—I stopped.

  No.

  Something was wrong.

  My spot was ruined.

  The beaver dam—twigs, shrubbery, and all—was completely trashed. Not a single beaver in sight.

  I dropped to my knees, scanning the area. There had to be signs. A reason.

  Then I saw them—tracks.

  Too big for wolves. Too deep for foxes.

  I ran my fingers over the dirt, my stomach sinking.

  A bear.

  And not just one—a mother, with two cubs.

  That expined it. The beasts were preparing for winter, and she must have been desperate for food.

  My jaw clenched.

  If a bear had moved through here, the beavers were gone. They wouldn't come back—not for a long time.

  Damn it.

  This was bad. If I couldn't find a new spot, the deal with Azul and Big Randy might as well be dead.

  And Big Randy was already making the traps.

  I had to find a new spot—fast.

  I waited for a while before heading out to search for new trapping areas. It was still too dark to navigate the forest properly, and besides, I still had to hit the supervisor’s quota.

  At the very least, my old traps should have caught something.

  A waste.

  Two of my traps had been tampered with. They were near the ruined beaver site, so it was probably the bear.

  The rest? Empty. Either nothing wandered in, or the animals escaped.

  Today was not shaping up to be a good day.

  If I wanted to avoid pissing off the supervisor, I’d have to hunt the damn animals myself.

  By the time I was heading back, the wheat fields were already stirring with early workers.

  A few farmers waved to me.

  One of them—a guy whose name I was sure I hadn’t learned yet—was one of the first to warm up to me after the barbecues.

  His family was doing better now. More food, more energy. He even had another child on the way.

  Good.

  It was important to keep people seeing me in a good light. If more people trusted me and brought me their problems, that meant more opportunities for me.

  I made my way to Azul’s. Henley wasn’t here yet. He’d been working less these past few months, and I could tell his back was thanking him for it.

  I wanted to ask Azul about wild animals in the area.

  I had a decent idea already, but more information wouldn’t hurt.

  Tarig, the butcher, wasn’t much help. He only knew about butchering animals, not where they lived. He’d spent his whole life in the city and didn’t have much reason to care.

  Azul, though?

  A tanner like him—who worked around rivers and dealt with fur traders—was bound to know something.

  If anyone knew about hidden ponds or kes where beavers thrived, it would be him.

  I knocked on Azul’s door. Multiple times.

  It turns out Azul didn’t live at his tanning workshop.

  He had a small home close to the nobles' district. Not inside, but close enough that it was obvious the nobles thought he was important.

  His apprentice answered the door, blinking sleep from his eyes.

  “Master Azul?” I asked.

  The boy nodded. “I’ll get him.”

  I waited.

  A few minutes passed. They still weren’t here

  Then ten.

  Then an hour. No sign still.

  By the time the sun had fully risen, Azul finally appeared.

  That was definitely intentional.

  “What do you want?” Azul asked, expression bnk. His apprentice stood beside him, red-faced, clearly embarrassed by his master’s ck of urgency.

  “I had a few questions,” I said. “Something happened at the spot where I caught the beavers st time.”

  Azul’s brow twitched. “Huh? What happened? You can still get the required quantity, right?”

  “That depends. Do you know of any good kes or ponds?” I crossed my arms. “I need to find new trapping areas, and I’d rather not waste time searching blindly.”

  Azul scoffed. “What makes you think I’d know?”

  “Uncle Henley told me you work with a lot of hunters and trappers. I figured you would.”

  “Hmph.” Azul rolled his shoulders zily, gncing at his apprentice. “If it’ll help your search, then no problem. I have a few maps of the area, courtesy of some hunters I’ve done business with. When you do good work, people notice, eh?”

  He gestured, and his apprentice hurried off, returning a few moments ter with the maps.

  Azul took them without looking and handed them to me like he was tossing scraps to a beggar.

  “What happened, anyway?” he asked.

  “A bear,” I said. “A mother, with cubs. She must have been looking for food and destroyed the beaver habitat. They scattered.”

  Azul ughed.

  “Look at that! Big talker over here can’t even get what he promised?” His grin widened. “Should I be surprised?”

  My grip on the maps tightened.

  I visibly got annoyed, I knew my face had changed—I could feel the heat rising in my blood. I was starting to have enough of this man.

  “I made a deal with you,” I said, voice even. “And I’ll keep it.” I straightened. “But if you’re just going to mock me, I’d rather leave now.”

  Azul shrugged. “Go ahead. I should have known better than to expect anything from a foreign peasant like you.”

  Then, under his breath, he muttered: “Fán Zhǒng.”

  I froze.

  It was an old phrase. Dead nguage, even by the time I wrote this record.

  Mortal Breed.

  It meant ordinary. Less than ordinary. Insignificant.

  A man that was one with the mud. A man that could never cultivate.

  How the hell did he know?

  I clenched my teeth. The maps hit the floor, a sharp sp in the silence.

  For one of the few times in my life, I shouted.

  “How dare you! I’ll make you regret that statement.”

  Azul barely reacted. He just looked at me—a look of complete dismissal.

  Like a wife who had lost respect for her husband.

  Like a master listening to the barking of a servant.

  Like a man looking at another who thought himself important—when he wasn’t.

  It was a look of impotence.

  My blood burned.

  I stormed off.

  Maps be damned.

  I didn’t need them. I had seen enough to know where to go. Azul would regret ever looking down on me.

  I’d figure out the rest myself.

  Khan’s chest heaved as he stormed away from Azul’s house, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, drawing tiny beads of blood. The humiliation burned hotter than any fire he’d ever felt.

  Azul’s words echoed in his mind, a dagger twisting deeper into his pride. *Fán Zhǒng.* Mortal Breed. A man of the mud. A man who could never cultivate.

  The streets of the district blurred as Khan marched forward, his vision clouded by rage. Farmers tending to their fields near the city walls gnced his way, their faces tightening with unease as they caught sight of his expression. They stepped aside, avoiding his path. Khan didn’t care. Let them fear him. Let them all avoid him.

  He didn’t stop until he reached the edge of the woodnds, where the trees loomed like silent sentinels. The knife at his belt felt heavier than usual, and the arrow he carried seemed to pulse with a promise of violence. He didn’t need maps. He didn’t need Azul’s smug condescension. He would find the beavers himself. He would prove himself. And if he couldn’t, then he’d make sure Azul regretted ever looking down on him.

  The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant call of a bird. Khan’s breathing slowed as he ventured deeper, his mind churning with thoughts he couldn’t escape. His father’s face surfaced in his memory—stern, weathered.

  An old memory came up in his mind, his father, drunk, bottles of cheap ale strewn around despite his best efforts to clean up after his father.

  This was one of those rare few times his father let him in. Dropping the false facade that everything was okay, *A dog trying to father a tiger,* the old man had once said, his voice heavy with regret.

  He clenched his jaw, pushing the memory aside. His father had been wrong. He wasn’t a dog. He wasn’t insignificant. He would prove it, even if it meant tearing apart every beaver dam in the forest. Even if it meant staining his hands with blood. His father’s legacy would mean something.

  Khan straightened, his jaw tightening. He would prove them all wrong. He would make the man regret ever underestimating him. But it wasn’t just about Azul anymore. It was about proving something to himself. Proving that he was more than the sum of his failures, more than the son of a man who thought he had failed his child..

  The knife felt cold in his grip as he moved through the underbrush, his eyes scanning for signs of life. The thought of the bear crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. Let it come. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t weak. He was Khan, and he would make something of himself, no matter what it took.

  He stopped for a moment, leaning against a tree to catch his breath. The forest was alive around him, but he felt disconnected from it, as if he were an intruder in a world that didn’t want him. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had always prided himself on his ability to survive, to adapt, to thrive in the harshest conditions. But now, standing in the middle of this vast, untamed wilderness, he felt more lost than ever.

  He moved deeper into the forest, his senses sharp, his eyes scanning for any sign of beaver activity. The knife in his hand felt like an extension of himself, a tool of survival and vengeance. He would find what he was looking for, no matter how long it took.

  As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest floor, Khan’s resolve hardened. He would find the beavers. He would fulfill his deal. And when he returned, Azul would see. They would all see.

  The forest seemed to hold its breath as Khan disappeared into its depths, his knife gleaming in the fading light. A branch snapped in the distance. Khan’s grip tightened on the bow.

  The hunt had begun.

  Hours passed, and the forest grew darker. The sun had disappeared behind the trees, leaving the world bathed in twilight. Khan’s frustration grew with every step. He had found nothing—no tracks, no gnawed branches, no signs of beavers. It was as if they had vanished, leaving him with nothing but his anger and his shame.

  He stopped by a small stream, kneeling to spsh water on his face. The coldness of it shocked him, pulling him out of his thoughts for a moment. He stared at his reflection in the water, barely recognizing the man who looked back at him. His eyes were dark, his face hard and unyielding. He looked like a man on the edge, a man capable of anything.

  And maybe he was.

  The thought scared him, but it also excited him. He had always been in control, always careful, always calcuting. But now, he felt something else—a raw, primal energy that demanded release. He wanted to sh out, to destroy, to prove to the world that he was not to be underestimated.

  He stood, his resolve hardening. He would find the beavers, even if it meant staying in the forest all night. Even if it meant facing the bear. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t weak. He was Khan, and he would make something of himself, no matter what it took.

  ---

  As the night deepened, the forest seemed to come alive in a different way. The sounds of nocturnal creatures filled the air, and the shadows grew longer, more menacing. Khan moved through the darkness like a ghost, his knife in one hand, his arrow in the other. He was a predator now, hunting not just for survival, but for something deeper—something he couldn’t quite name.