I’ve been thinking about Hunter abilities, trying to figure out what that might be like. I imagined seeing the world through a Hunter’s eyes.
Imagine being able to feel a Witch’s 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 don’t 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? It’s possible, we don’t know yet.
But maybe they’re a cold spot in the room. Imagine a sort of hollow space that you’re aware of but can’t fathom just yet. You can tell when they’re angry, and you can tell when they’re sad, and you can feel the happiness that makes the corner of their mouth twitch upwards. But there’s a depth to them that you can’t 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 aren’t a cold spot anymore; now a forest fire in human form, a storm of strength and indomitable will. You know when they’re 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 they’re so… There isn’t even a word for it. Just a feeling.
Imagine being hyper aware of them. You know they’re 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 they’ve always been there because that’s where they belong, just as you belong at theirs.
Then one day they are late. They don’t come home that night, or the night after that, or the night after that. They don’t come home. You’re trying to find them, to feel them across that distance, but it’s too far to reach, they’re too far away. They don’t come home.
That cold spot is back in the room. But it’s you now, you’re the one that’s hollow, and when people try to help, they can’t find you in the chasm. You’re bleeding out, something broken within you, a severed link, and you’re screaming but it’s swallowed up in that big, empty cavern in your chest. There’s something missing, and it’s terrifying and it hurts and it’s wrong.
And you can feel all of it.
