Iāve been thinking about Hunter abilities, trying to figure out what that might be like. I imagined seeing the world through a Hunterās eyes.
Imagine being able to feel a Witchās magic. That crackle of energy over your skin, the hum of it in your very bones, knowing how powerful they are because you can sense it. You donāt need to ask, you just know.
Imagine sensing a ripple in the dark, that animal instinct in your brain making the hairs at the back of your neck stand to attention because you know a predator is near. A cold ripple, like shadows folding in on themselves, and a Vampire steps into view, bathed in the quiet stillness of night.
Imagine breathing in the wind-rush of racing through the forest, something light and free and fierce, solitary but unyieldingly loyal. The Lycan embodies the thrill of the hunt, and you sense it more strongly when the stars are bright, and the moon dominates the cloudless sky.
And you can feel all of it.
Then I wondered what another Hunter would feel like. Do they have the same tempestuous energy as a Witch, or the cool, dark shadow of a Vampire, or the fierce, moon-drunk allure of a Lycan? Itās possible, we donāt know yet.
But maybe theyāre a cold spot in the room. Imagine a sort of hollow space that youāre aware of but canāt fathom just yet. You can tell when theyāre angry, and you can tell when theyāre sad, and you can feel the happiness that makes the corner of their mouth twitch upwards. But thereās a depth to them that you canāt measure. Not yet.
Imagine getting to know them. Aware of them next to you, running by your side as you hunt. Their adrenaline surging, fire in their veins, making your own begin to spike. They arenāt a cold spot anymore; now a forest fire in human form, a storm of strength and indomitable will. You know when theyāre tired, when not to push, when saying something will annoy rather than comfort. You learn to lean on them, on that strength you sense simmering within them, because now you see the person beneath that hollow space, and theyāre soā¦ There isnāt even a word for it. Just a feeling.
Imagine being hyper aware of them. You know theyāre at the door before they knock. The heat of their every want and need making your skin prickle. The overwhelming sense of love radiating from them, bright and fierce and hot as they cleave with you, surrounded by a snowfield of crumpled sheets. You know where they are in a room full of people without needing to look for them. You can feel them standing by your side, like theyāve always been there because thatās where they belong, just as you belong at theirs.
Then one day they are late. They donāt come home that night, or the night after that, or the night after that. They donāt come home. Youāre trying to find them, to feel them across that distance, but itās too far to reach, theyāre too far away. They donāt come home.
That cold spot is back in the room. But itās you now, youāre the one thatās hollow, and when people try to help, they canāt find you in the chasm. Youāre bleeding out, something broken within you, a severed link, and youāre screaming but itās swallowed up in that big, empty cavern in your chest. Thereās something missing, and itās terrifying and it hurts and itās wrong.
And you can feel all of it.
