The hunters’ village had grown into a citadel of prosperity, its walls now guarded by men wielding weapons forged from Jonas’s resourceful discoveries. Yet within all the acclaim and reverence, Jonas felt a gnawing emptiness—an unshakable itch at the back of his mind. Nights no longer offered him rest, for each dream carried fragments of a forgotten man with steely eyes, and a name that kept surfacing in whispers: Aiden Romanov.He could no longer ignore it.That evening, while the village celebrated a new trade agreement, Jonas slipped away under the cloak of night. Cloaked in a plain hood, he moved past the cheering crowd and into the woods, guided not by reason but by instinct. His heart pounded with each step, as though some unseen tether pulled him toward answers he desperately craved.For hours he wandered, his torch dimming, until the winds shifted. A flutter of papers, caught on a broken branch, brushed against his boots. Jonas bent to pick them up.What he found left him froz

Jonas had not slept. The faint smudge of charcoal still stained his fingertips, a ghostly mark of the drawing he had taken. That paper—those strokes—haunted him. The more he stared at it, the more his chest tightened, as though something inside him was trying desperately to claw its way out.That morning, when the hunters left for the fields, Jonas slipped away again. He moved quickly, retracing his steps to the path where he had first stumbled across the scattered sketches. His boots crunched against the forest floor, his mind a storm of questions.By the time he reached the clearing near the safehouse, his breath was shallow. He crouched low behind the trees, scanning. The wind whistled through the branches, carrying with it the faintest sound—a child’s voice.Jonas stilled.Through the cracked wooden frame of a narrow window, he saw her.Zia.The little girl’s hair swayed as she sat by the window, her small hands clutching a bundle of papers. With each page, she whispered, her voic

The morning sun rose over the hunters’ village with a golden brilliance, the kind that heralded destiny more than it did a mere day. Aiden Romanov, no longer a man lost in the fog of fractured memory, stood at the threshold of a decision that carried both promise and peril. For years, the hunters had sheltered him, clothed him in anonymity, and trained him with discipline that sharpened his will even in his darkest hours. Now, he was returning not as Jonas—the stranger they once knew—but as Aiden Romanov, son of legacy, father of promise, and bearer of justice long delayed.Silvana stood beside him, her grace untouched by the storms she had endured. In her arms, she cradled their newborn son, whose tiny breaths seemed to carry the weight of generations. Zia clutched Aiden’s hand with childlike excitement, her voice bubbling with endless questions.“Daddy, will they like us? Will the hunters let us stay forever? Will they dance too?” Her eyes gleamed with anticipation.Aiden bent to h

Zain Romanov sat behind the long obsidian table, fingers drumming impatiently as he studied the latest financial charts displayed across the holographic screen. His empire had grown ruthless, a towering shadow stretching across nations, but he knew it was brittle beneath its glittering exterior. Fear kept his subjects in line, but fear also bred betrayal. He needed something more solid, an alliance that would cement his dominance beyond dispute.The hunters’ village—small, wealthy, and secretive—seemed perfect. Their resources were underestimated by most, their independence resented by many, and their warriors feared by all. If Zain could secure their allegiance, his grip over the Romanov legacy would be complete.So, he drafted the alliance proposal, sealed it with his insignia, and sent it through his trusted channels. He had no idea that the letter would eventually fall into the hands of the very man he had betrayed—the man he thought was dead—Aiden Romanov.Far from the golden to

The Romanov empire had once been a fortress of stability, admired by allies and feared by enemies. But under Zain’s reign, it had turned into a fragile kingdom of smoke and mirrors, held together only by fear and intimidation. His subjects bowed deeply, but their eyes were empty—pretending loyalty only to preserve their lives. His power stood on a trembling pillar, and now the hunters’ proposal threatened to collapse it entirely.The letter from the hunters sat on Zain’s mahogany desk, its seal unbroken no longer. He had read the words a dozen times, each sentence more suffocating than the last:"Seventy percent of the Romanov empire’s shares to be invested into the Hunters’ Village, and our warriors will serve as your chief security."It was a calculated move, a trap disguised as an alliance. Zain knew it, yet he also knew the depth of his desperation. Investors were already fleeing. The moment whispers spread that the hunters demanded such a price, Romanov allies—once loyal—began