The forest was alive. The ravens called, flying overhead as they surveyed the area. Absinth stood on the edge of the clearing, her emeralds sharp as flint, fixated on the scene before her. Today marked the outcome of countless lessons, countless hunts, countless moments etched in bone-deep resolve. Indica, her son, stood poised in the center, his sleek charcoal fur catching glints of pale morning light, he was ready. He had to be.

The opponent—a skinny adolescent cougar—moved with the grace of a creature born to kill. It slunk into view, muscles rippling beneath its tawny coat, golden eyes locked on the young wolf with a gaze that promised blood. Absinth's heart beat a steady war drum within her chest, but her expression remained stoic. This was his trial, his proving ground, and they had prepared him well.

Indica shifted, his body mirroring the cougar’s movements as it drew closer. His gaze was hard, the determination there as clear as the chill biting at the air. The two predators circled, tense, each assessing the other’s strengths and weaknesses.

Then, the moment shattered. The cougar lunged, a blur of claws. Indica met it head-on. The clearing erupted into a frenzy of fur and fangs. Absinth's breath stilled as she watched, every muscle in her body taut with anticipation. Indica's initial defense was strong, his teeth finding purchase on the cat’s shoulder, drawing forth a snarling yowl. But the cougar twisted, leveraging its superior reach, and batted the younger wolf away with a savage swipe. She hissed, urging the boy mentally to make use of the knife she had given him.

Indica staggered, a crimson streak painting his side. He recovered quickly, darting back in with a snarl, but the cougar was quicker. It pivoted with deadly precision, its jaws clamping onto Indica's neck in a heart-stopping moment. Time seemed to freeze, the world narrowing to that singular, terrible sight. A sickening crack resonated through the clearing—a sound that would haunt Absinth forever.

“No…” the word left her lips as an unbidden whisper, raw and jagged. The instinct of a mother within her surged forward, tearing through the mask she'd always worn. She moved, not with the careful calculation of a huntress, but with the blind ferocity of a storm unleashed.

Absinth hit the cougar like a force of nature, her fangs sinking deep into its throat. She was brutal, shaking her maw this way and that, ignoring the claws and gouges the cat opened on her chest. The taste of iron flooded her senses, but it was the beast's death rattle that grounded her, bringing the world back into painful clarity. The cougar slumped, lifeless, beneath her weight, but there was no triumph, no relief—only the hollow silence that followed death.

She turned to Indica’s still form, the light in his eyes snuffed out before their time. His body, once full of potential, lay unmoving, the snow beneath him stained with the red truth of mortality. A crimson slap in the face. Absinth’s chest tightened, a silent, crushing grief pressing in. She told herself, as she always had, that mourning was for the weak. She had spoken those words to others, to herself, and now they came back to her, bitter and hollow.

Oh, Indica.

With deliberate, trembling movements, she lowered her head to touch his, a final gesture of the bond they shared—mother and son, ravens both. And the ravens watched on, low clacks of mourning coming from their beaks, as Absinth stood over her child’s body, the taste of blood and loss sharp on her tongue. She refused to weep, refused to break. Her resolve hardened like frost, a shell against the pain.

This was the way of the world she had shaped him for. This is what it had always been. Cold, unforgiving. It was the way of the world—her world—where strength was forged in the fires of agony. As it always had been.

—

She had brought him back home, cradled one last time in the jaws of his mother. When she arrived, there were no words exchanged as she laid him gently before his father. She met Aresenn's gaze but did not speak, not yet. Turning away, Absinth began to dig, her movements methodical and relentless, the soil yielding under her claws until some deep instinct told her to stop. She lined the resting place with soft bedding, feathers, and the small trinkets Indica had cherished. With reverence, she laid him to rest and covered the grave with a simple mound of rocks.

She sat beside it, unmoving, her body carved from stone. Absinth's gaze remained fixed on the grave, her heart a fortress, refusing to yield to the grief that wanted nothing more than to consume her.




"Absinth Artemisia Inferos"

Aresenn loped across the sparse pines, his paws trampling the brittle autumn grasses. The sun hung low on the horizon, tinting the sky in hues of orange and red that mirrored the fiery colors of the turning leaves. But Aresenn paid no heed to the seasonal beauty around him. His mind churned with thoughts of the trial, replaying each moment over and over.

Pride surged through him as he recalled how Dracun and Araxina had faced the mother bear, working together seamlessly to bring her down and then her adolescent cubs. It had been a thing of brutal elegance. Even the dispatching had been done efficiently, dispassionately. And yet, a thread of unease twined through Aresenn's satisfaction. Had Araxina hesitated a beat too long- Had Dracun been just a little bit slower- What would have happened? He would never forget the pit that had formed in his stomach. The restless unease of how he was meant to let them succeed or fail on their own. Thankfully it had been the former. He wouldn’t have known what he would have done had it been the later.

Aresenn shook his heavy head, trying to dislodge the needling doubts. They had done well, his offspring. Proved themselves worthy. He would not allow anything, even his own misgivings, to taint their victory.

As he grew closer to home, a familiar scent hit his nose, tinged with the unmistakable metallic tang of blood. Aresenn's pace quickened, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His amber gaze fell on Absinth’s frame coming into view. But wasn’t just her. It was the limp form of his son, Indica, that commanded his attention. Aresenn froze, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the scene before him. Absinth stood over Indica's body, her emerald eyes hard as steel despite the blood that matted her fur. But it was Indica who drew Aresenn's gaze like a lodestone. His son lay unmoving, his dark coat stained with a spreading crimson.

No words were spoken. None were needed. The truth hung in the air, as heavy and suffocating as the scent of death. Aresenn moved forward as if in a trance, his paws carrying him to Indica's side. He lowered his muzzle, nudging his son's still form, as if hoping to wake him from this nightmare. But the boy remained motionless, his once bright eyes now dull and empty. A low, nearly inaudible, keening whine escaped Aresenn's throat, a sound of raw, primal grief. His son …. gone. Snuffed out. A fire extinguished.

He raised his head, his gaze locking with Absinth's once more. In that shared gaze, a thousand unspoken words passed between them. The weight of their loss, the depth of their grief, the bitter taste of failure - it all hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Aresenn saw his own anguish mirrored in Absinth's emerald eyes, though she held herself with a rigid control that he could not muster.

He watched as she turned away, her movements stiff and mechanical as she began to dig. The rhythmic scrape of her claws against the earth filled the silence, each sound a dagger to Aresenn's heart. He watched her work, numb and detached, as if observing from outside his own body. The world had narrowed to this moment, to the grim task before them. They failed. Aresenn's mind reeled, fractured thoughts chasing each other in dizzying circles. Indica had been ready, they had made sure of that. Every skill honed to a razor's edge, every instinct sharpened to a predator's keen. And yet, here they stood, over the cooling body of their son, their legacy cut short by the cruel whims of fate.

A snarl curled his lip, a flash of teeth in the gathering dusk. Aresenn stepped forward, his movements stiff and deliberate, as he joined Absinth in her grim task. He dug alongside her, his claws tearing into the earth with a ferocity born of grief and rage. The soil yielded under their combined efforts, a final resting place for their fallen son.

As they worked, Aresenn's mind churned, dark thoughts swirling like storm clouds. They had prepared Indica, had they not? Trained him, honed him, molded him into a weapon fit to survive the trials ahead. And yet, here they were, burying the shattered remnants of their hopes and dreams. The bitter taste of failure coated his tongue, mingling with the coppery scent of blood that hung heavy in the air.

Aresenn stepped back from the grave, his breath coming in sharp, ragged pants. His muscles ached from the exertion, but the pain was a distant thing, drowned out by the howling void that had opened in his chest. He stared at the simple mound of earth and rock, marking the spot where his son now lay. It looked so small, so insignificant. As if it could not possibly contain the magnitude of their loss.

He turned to Absinth, searching her face for...what? Comfort? Absolution? He found neither in the hard lines of her expression, in the steely glint of her eyes. She met his gaze unflinchingly, a silent challenge, a dare to give voice to the accusations that clawed at his throat- or of course, perhaps he was only projecting that. "How?" The word escaped him, rough and jagged, scraping past the tightness in his chest. "How could this happen?" His own question ignited his anger. "We prepared him!" he snarled, his hackles rising. "Every skill, every instinct - we gave him everything he needed to succeed.” It was senseless rage. But of course, it was easier for him to process wrath than sorrow. Oh, Indica. How could this happen?

"Aresenn Praetor"