The Novel’s Dad?

Leora’s fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, her expression hardening with each click. The familiar glow of the laptop screen illuminated her face in the dim room, casting shadows that flickered like the memories she thought she’d left behind. Years had passed since she last tapped into the Hunter’s Net, the hidden and highly encrypted network used by those in her line of work. She had hoped she’d never need it again.

But that hope was shattered the moment her home was attacked.

Leora the Bright. Leora of the Guiding Light. Those were the names they had given her back when she was a well-known hunter, feared for her relentless pursuit of justice and retribution. She had fought to protect the innocent, guided by her moral compass, but the cost was steep. The world of hunters had taken its toll, and when Reynard came into her life, she thought she’d finally escaped its clutches.

Now, it seemed the past had come back to claim her.

“Who are they?” she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing as she sifted through the sparse information she could find. The attack on her family hadn’t been random. It was too calculated, too precise. They knew where to find them. They knew when to strike.

Her mind raced, thinking back to the countless enemies she had made over the years. Hunters who had been corrupted by power, organizations that thrived on chaos and death, even the rogue entities who used aura for their own twisted purposes. But this group… they were different. Organized, but invisible. She had no memory of ever crossing paths with them before.

The Hunter’s Net wasn’t giving her much, either. Most of her old contacts were dead, retired, or had disappeared from the scene entirely. The few she managed to reach out to had only vague hints—rumors of a new faction rising in the shadows, targeting former hunters with vendettas from a forgotten past.

But why her? And why now?

Leora clenched her fists, her frustration building. Whoever they were, they had nearly taken Reynard and Leon from her. She couldn’t let that go. She wouldn’t let that go.

Her thoughts turned to Reynard. He had always been more cautious, more calculated, and she knew he wouldn’t be reckless in dealing with this threat. But that wouldn’t be enough. Not now. Not with enemies like these. She needed to protect her family, and for that, she had to step back into the world she had left behind.

Her fingers paused over the keyboard. She hated what she had to do next, but there was no other choice. One last contact. One last favor. A name from her past that she never thought she’d have to call on again.

Taking a deep breath, Leora opened an old chat window and typed a single message:

Leora_Bright: I need information. Meet me where it all started.

She hit send, her heart heavy with the knowledge of what this request would cost her.

Her past wasn’t done with her yet. And this time, she wasn’t going to run.

Leora had always known this world was full of dangerous things and dangerous people. The Forbidden Region teemed with terrifying creatures, but the Claimed Lands weren’t much better. Random spatial tears that connected to the Forbidden Region could appear anywhere, adding unpredictability to an already perilous existence. Yet, even worse than the tears were the hunters.

What exactly were hunters?

They were people who sought out and hunted danger. Their reasons varied—some for glory, others for survival, and many simply for profit—but hunting had been a part of this world since time immemorial.

“I’m going to hunt them down,” Leora muttered to herself, her voice low and resolute.

She tied her blonde hair into a ponytail, securing it before sliding her helmet into place. In a practiced motion, she packed up her gear, carefully removed herself from the dingy motel room through the window, and darted through the narrow alleys. The streets were empty, bathed in the cold, indifferent light of the moon.

Reaching her bike, Leora swung a leg over it and revved the engine, the mechanical growl echoing through the night. Without hesitation, she sped off, her mind focused on the meeting with her contact.

Leora’s heart pounded as she sped through the darkened streets, her mind racing faster than the bike beneath her. The night air was cool, crisp, and quiet—too quiet for her liking. The hum of the engine, the only sound accompanying her thoughts, seemed to drown out the distant echoes of the life she’d left behind. But there was no turning back now. She had made her decision.

The random spatial tears between the Claimed Lands and the Forbidden Region were becoming more frequent, complicating things. It wasn’t just the dangerous creatures slipping through those tears that worried her. It was the people who were using them as cover—hunters or worse. The same people who had come for her family.

Leora leaned into a sharp turn, her eyes scanning the dark alleys as she approached the meeting point. It had been years since she had reached out to any of her old contacts, and the risk of walking into a trap wasn’t lost on her. But there were few people left she could trust, and even fewer who would have the kind of information she needed.

She arrived at a rundown warehouse on the outskirts of the city, the perfect meeting spot for someone who preferred to stay in the shadows. She parked her bike in a hidden corner, cutting the engine and slipping silently into the alley beside the building.

It didn’t take long before she spotted him—an older man with a rugged face, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He stood under a flickering streetlight, the soft glow illuminating the deep lines on his face.

“Leora,” he said, exhaling smoke as he caught sight of her. His eyes, sharp and knowing, hadn’t changed since the last time she’d seen him.

“Stefan,” she replied, stepping out from the shadows.

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, sizing each other up like old rivals who’d somehow become allies. She had called in a favor, and Stefan wasn’t the kind to let something like that go lightly.

“You’re in trouble,” Stefan said, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “What’s it this time?”

Leora didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Someone attacked my family. I need to know who they are.”

Stefan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “You’ve got some serious enemies, Bright. Always did.”

“I need information,” she pressed. “Now.”

He sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. “I’ll see what I can dig up. But I can tell you this much—whoever came after you, they aren’t amateurs. You’re dealing with professionals. They’ve been hitting hunters all over the place, picking them off one by one.”

Leora’s jaw tightened. “I’ll handle it.”

Stefan chuckled darkly.

“You always did have a death wish. Be careful, Leora. This isn’t the same world we used to hunt in. Talks about expeditions on the Forbidden Region is on the rise and as someone who belonged to the last generation, I can tell you with confidence… they’d fail and then a calamity will then befall us.”

Stefan’s chuckle faded, leaving a heavy silence between them as his warning hung in the air.

Leora’s jaw tightened, but her face remained composed, hiding the storm that brewed inside her. The mention of the Forbidden Region brought back memories—terrifying stories of past expeditions that ended in disaster. She knew well enough that it was a place of unfathomable danger. Hunters went in with bravado, only to return broken, if they returned at all.

But she wasn’t here to entertain old ghost stories.

“It’s irrelevant to me,” she said, her voice cool.

Stefan’s expression darkened. “Your husband is a mundane, correct?”

The silence that followed was louder than any answer she could’ve given. Stefan knew exactly what button to press. He always had.

“Then it is relevant to you,” he continued, his voice dropping an octave. “Last time they failed, they brought something back. A plague. The kind that tore through the cities like wildfire. Do you know how many bodies were buried the week after? Enough to build a mountain, Leora.”

She’d heard about the plague. Everyone had. The devastation it wrought had become legend, a grim reminder of the consequences of tampering with the Forbidden Region. But no amount of warnings could change her mind. Not this time. Not when they had threatened her family.

Stefan took a step closer, his gaze hard but not unkind. “Take it as advice from an old friend, Bright. Go home. Be there for your husband while you still can. You know how fragile mundanes are.”

Leora clenched her fists, biting back the surge of anger that threatened to escape. She didn’t need this lecture. She didn’t need to be reminded of how vulnerable Reynard was, or how easy it would be for someone to take everything away from her. She lived with that knowledge every day.

But Stefan’s words had struck a nerve. As much as she hated to admit it, there was truth in what he said. The world beyond their doorstep was changing, and not for the better. The Forbidden Region was a ticking time bomb, and the next expedition could very well bring about another calamity. One that would reach even the most sheltered of mundanes.

Still, she couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’ll go home,” Leora said, her voice steady. “But not until I punish those who dared have designs on my family.”

Stefan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re as stubborn as ever.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Without waiting for a response, Leora turned on her heel and walked back toward her bike, the weight of Stefan’s words lingering in her mind. She knew the risks, she always had. But vengeance burned too hot in her veins to ignore.

As she mounted her bike and revved the engine, she cast one last glance back at Stefan. His silhouette stood motionless under the dim streetlight, watching her with the same grim expression.

The hunt wasn’t over. And she wouldn’t rest until those who had threatened her family were dealt with.

No matter the cost.

Leora’s instincts had never failed her before. She released her bike just in time, watching as it hurtled forward into a net trap, which instantly ignited in flames. Her sharp eyes narrowed—mundane technology, not aura. These weren’t hunters. They were mercenaries. Mundane, but still dangerous in numbers.

The sudden hail of bullets from the windows above confirmed her suspicions. Automatic rifles. The air buzzed with the sharp whine of metal as it tore through the space she’d just vacated. Leora rolled to the side, her body moving fluidly, instinctively, as she used her aura to enhance her speed. She was a Seeker-type, able to heighten her senses and reflexes far beyond the norm. It made her faster, sharper—deadly when combined with her years of experience.

The mercenaries, however, weren’t her real concern. Their auras were weak, practically nonexistent compared to the hunters she had fought before. She darted between alleyways, losing them with ease, her boots barely making a sound as she sprinted through the maze of narrow streets. The city’s shadows swallowed her whole, and the hail of bullets became a distant clatter.

But even as she evaded the gunfire, something gnawed at the back of her mind. Mercenaries didn’t act on their own. Someone had sent them. Someone who knew what they were doing.

As she turned the corner into a darkened alley, she stopped abruptly. Her senses flared. Someone was waiting for her.

A figure stood at the end of the alley, cloaked in shadows. Leora’s eyes narrowed as she took in the aura radiating from the figure—it was unmistakably a hunter. Strong, but not overwhelming. They weren’t here to kill her, at least not directly. This was a message.

The hunter stepped forward, revealing a lean figure, their face hidden beneath a hood. "You’ve been making waves, Leora the Bright," they said, their voice calm but edged with menace. "It’s time to stop."

Leora’s hand drifted instinctively to the hilt of her blade, concealed beneath her coat. "Who sent you?" she asked, her voice cold, unwavering.

The hunter didn’t answer immediately. Instead, they raised a hand, and the air around them began to hum with power. Their aura was crackling, electric, a Trickster-type, judging by the subtle shifts in the air. Illusions, deception. Leora’s least favorite opponent.

"You’ve been digging too deep," the hunter said, his voice low and threatening. "It’s not you we want. Walk away, and maybe we’ll let you live."

Leora didn’t flinch. Her sharp gaze locked on the man, and her mind raced, calculating the distance between them. She didn’t need to hear more to understand what this was. They had been sent by the same people who had attacked her home, the same ones who had nearly killed Reynard and Leon.

And now, they wanted her to back off.

It was ironic.

“If you didn’t want me poking around, you should’ve left my family alone,” she said, her voice steady, but cold with anger.

Leora knew the type she was dealing with. Tricksters were typically illusionists, skilled at distorting perceptions. But against a Seeker like her, they were at a great disadvantage. She could see through the lies.

The man before her wore a hood, his face partially hidden in shadow. Without hesitation, Leora reached for her knife, pulling it from under her jacket. A brass knuckle slid smoothly over her other hand. With a single breath, she reappeared beneath her foe, moving faster than the eye could follow.

But before she could strike, a sharp crack echoed in her ears. Her helmet split, the impact barely missing her skull as she jerked back just in time.

Her opponent’s fist crackled with energy, a surge of raw power. "I didn’t come alone," he said smugly, his voice dripping with arrogance. "And yes, I’m a fighter."

Leora’s eyes narrowed. She had been tricked.

Behind her, another hunter appeared—this one a woman clad in a revealing outfit. But Leora wasn’t fooled by appearances; the aura around her hinted at something more dangerous than a simple Fighter-type. Knowing her ‘senses’ were being fooled and making her misinterpret their aura-types, she decided to focus on her defense and react when she could.

Her combat style focused on counter-attacks after all, thus she chose a more passive style.

That had been a mistake.

The woman raised her hands, and before Leora could react, a sphere of airless space enveloped her. Her chest tightened as the air was sucked from her lungs, and she fell to her knees, struggling for breath.

It was a Caster.

Leora's vision blurred as the air was ripped from her lungs.

The oppressive pressure of the airless sphere constricted around her, pulling her to her knees. Her mind raced, calculating her next move as the woman—the Caster—smirked, her hands still raised in the air as she maintained control over the suffocating trap.

Leora's instincts screamed at her to act quickly. Her aura flared, but the sphere blocked any attempt to draw air into her lungs. Stay calm. Her Seeker-type aura told her everything she needed to know: the woman was controlling the air around her, and there was no escape until she broke the Caster's focus. The fake Trickster had only been a distraction. They had prepared for her.

Her knife was still in her hand, gripped tightly despite the growing weakness in her limbs. The brass knuckle pressed against her skin. She could feel her heartbeat slowing, her body crying out for oxygen, but she didn’t let it show. There was no fear in her eyes, only cold determination.

Leora remained conscious despite the crushing pressure bearing down on her. Every breath felt like a battle, but she wasn’t about to give in.

The Fighter, whom she had mistaken for a Trickster, removed his hood, revealing an older man with a scar etched beneath his right eye. His expression twisted into a mocking grin.

“Hey, hey, having a tough time?” A voice rang out from above.

Leora forced her head upward, her vision blurry from the suffocating spell. She spotted a young man in his early twenties standing on a nearby ledge. His face was unremarkable, one that would easily blend into a crowd, and he wore glasses with a casual sweater. He was the real Trickster, the one who could manipulate auras to deceive even her senses.

“So, this is Leora of the Guiding Light,” the young man mused with an air of amusement. “You started around thirteen, right? That’s awfully young. I only began recently myself.” He adjusted his glasses nonchalantly. “I’m putting together a team, you see. And to build a team, I need funds. My current job is retrieving a certain boy for this organization... hmm, what was his name again? Ah, Leonard. Yes, your son, isn’t he?”

Leora’s body tensed. Fury surged through her, momentarily pushing the suffocation aside. “Leave my son’s name out of your mouth—”

“Oh, that won’t do,” the Trickster interrupted with a smirk. He glanced toward the Caster, the woman still maintaining the airless sphere around Leora. “Sarah, dear, would you mind increasing the pressure, please?”

Leora felt the crushing force intensify, her lungs burning as the air continued to escape her. Her vision dimmed, but her rage kept her conscious. She couldn’t let them touch Leonard. Not him. Never him.