Back in my day, we didn’t have so many blasted cryptids running around in the woods. When I worked for Game and Fish, I took my job as cryptid hunter seriously, and I kept nasty beasts to a manageable level. But things changed after I retired, and hunters started using a “holistic cryptid management approach.”
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Every year, King Hearthsward hosted a grand Midsummer Feast at our royal court. There were games and challenges, boasts and feats of strength, and people traveled from many lands to partake in the celebrations. Even our enemies visited our table, emboldened by the oath of peace during festival-time. If you brought no trouble, none would find you.
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Frigid winds tore through the night, slicing through our thick clothing. I bundled the babe in my arms tighter, shielding the sleeping cherub against the cold. Battle cries rose in the distance, but we stood in silent darkness.
The grim faces of my three human companions were pinched with cold and determination.
“We’ll be late, Harold!” Beatrice scolded as Harold zipped toward the nearby star. “I told you we needed to leave early!”
“We would’ve been fine if it weren’t for that construction on the Tarangian Way!” Harold snapped back, purple facial tentacles writhing angrily. “Who reduces an intergalactic byway to one lane? Traffic was stopped completely!”
“They’re going to cut your funding, Jakk.”
The words slammed into me, but I continued adjusting the excavation bot’s parameters, pretending I hadn’t heard. When I finished, I watched the bot whir into the air, hovering above our floating platform before zipping to the jungle to join its companions at the archaeological site below.
I clung to a thick rope, arms trembling as my breath rasped through my mask. The single torch high on the wall above me sputtered light at the deeper shadows of the night. A guard marched along the top of the wall, and his body briefly blocked the torchlight, but he was soon gone.
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