There’s movement in my peripheral vision where Kalden stands at my right, but my attention is on the hundreds of tiny black pushpins scattered along the map.
Noting the direction of my gaze, the commander explains, “Each of these represents a fallen Huntress from the past three decades. The locations of these deaths provide data that help us track our enemy’s movement. As you can see, though a few outlying nests were encountered further inland, Sols tend to congregate closer to the coast. Any guesses why?”
He peers over the frameless rim of his glasses at the group, fixing his beady eyes back on me.
I point out the obvious answer. “To avoid shadows.”
It makes sense that creatures dependent on sunlight would gravitate away from densely packed forests or any terrain that would get in the way of a direct view of their source.
“But why just the past three decades?” I ask. “Were the locations of prior deaths not recorded?”
Commander Guffian’s lips thin. “After thirty years, the data is considered obsolete. The more recent the death, the more useful it is for adapting our intel on the Sols.”
A metallic taste fills my mouth as I bite the inside of my gums hard enough to draw blood. Hundreds of women gave up their lives in futile service to this city, only to be reduced from useful intel to obsolete data.
The commander carries on with his orders. “Once you’re released, you’ll be split into pairs to cover more ground. There are five hotbeds of Sol activity noted over the past several Hunts, one target for each pair.”
His finger traces around several large patches of black pins only a few miles from Caligo’s entrance, though what sends my skin crawlingis the heavier density of pins surrounding the Gate, producing a teardrop shape. The forest. The majority of our predecessors tried to make it to the tree line. Most didn’t succeed, but the pins all but disappear inside the splotchy cluster of green and brown ink.
“We understand that Sols are coming from areas primarily to the north and northwest. Note the locations where past Huntresses have already searched. Each pair will be provided with directions to their target location. Follow them exactly, and you’ll fulfill your purpose. Find their dens. Neutralize all Sols in the vicinity. And finally free Caligo from the soulless scourge above!” Commander Guffian leans back and pauses triumphantly for a raucous cheer that never comes.
Aruna’s hand shoots up. “What if we run into a group of Sols that outnumbers us?”
“Do you know how many of them are up there?” asks Demi, who’s standing beside Yvonne.
The line between Commander Guffian’s gray brows furrows deeper. “Sols are inherently selfish creatures that often travel alone, though there have been exceptions. The largest horde we’ve seen is a group of five. It’s fair to suspect there are more, perhaps dozens of others, that lurk farther from our borders, but those posing a more immediate threat should be no more than ten. Fifteen, at most.”
Whispered dismay echoes through the cramped room, and the commander reengages. “You’ll have about half an hour before the sun rises. The more distance you cover in that initial window, the more likely you are to find the Sols at their weakest.”
On my left, Gem mutters to me under her breath, “Like thirty minutes will be enough time.”
Our eyes meet. It’s a relief to see no evidence of bleed-through on the fresh compress cloth, but the way she hugs her arms tightly around herself deepens the creases in my forehead.
From the neck up, Gem looks more like herself than I do. Her attendants used a light hand with her cosmetics. A dab of dewy blush on the apples of her cheeks and a thin smear of liner along her lashes enhance her naturally striking features. The effect reminds me just how young she is, though there’s an acute heaviness in her jade eyes—multiplying with every passing hour—that ages her compared to her twenty-four-year-old peers. But the rest of her is unrecognizable. As long as I’ve known Gem, she’s kept her body hidden beneath layers of oversized clothing. Seeing her forced into having herself on display like this makes my teeth grind together.
It’s all my fault. The accusation festers from my lungs into my throat. Gem had the opportunity to walk away from the Hunt, and the only reason she turned it down was so I wouldn’t be alone. And how did I repay that sacrifice? By picking a fight with her on the final night before our deployment.
I need Gem. I’ve always needed her, but especially right now.
Her twin and I were instant friends. With Taurance’s infectious optimism and magnetic passion, it’s impossible not to love her. But when I’d first invited the twins to share a cabin with me, Gem had her misgivings about welcoming a stranger into her heart and home. The roots of their mother’s abandonment ran deep. Still do. So, day by day, I proved to her I had no intention of walking away. And once she decided to let me in, I knew it was a forever type of friendship—the kind with a foundation not easily fissured. Her steadiness will be the only thing grounding me as we traverse into the unknown.
The center of my brows raises: an apology and silent plea.
With a nod, the corner of Gem’s lips lift, and she reaches her right hand toward mine. A peace offering. I accept it eagerly, my chilled fingers wrapping around hers before she can change her mind about the physical contact.
“—weapon of choice,” the commander says, bringing my attention back to the room at large while gesturing at the array of nightstone blades and weaponry mounted on the concrete wall.
The others stride towards it. Gem releases her grip, yet stays at my side while I shuffle behind.
I stare at the swords, daggers, and spears. Unlike the other natural stones mined from Caligo’s underground quarries, nightstone has no polish or sheen. Instead of reflecting the room’s dim light, its flat black surface seems to eradicate it, absorbing only the shadows. It’s those same properties that make nightstone our only resource capable of causing true damage to the Sols. With every cut, the golden energy flowing through their veins depletes. I should be grateful that such a resource exists. Yet there’s something disconcerting about being this near to the inky black weapons, like they’re void of more than just light.
“How are we supposed to know which blade to pick?” Gem asks as she too eyes the weapons warily, reluctantly stepping towards the row of swords on the far left.
Yvonne leans in. “My Pops has been working in the nightstone mines since before I was born. He says any nightstone with a brown patina has been diluted with iron. The pure stuff should be matte black.”
“A blade is a blade,” Kalden says.
Yvonne continues, “But untempered iron jeopardizes more than the purity. It might make the weapon more brittle.”
