In the canopy far above, the leaves of the great trees rustled calmly in the refreshing breeze. Small beams of light escaped through the serene shade, pouring out on the forest floor below. The creek nearby seemed to embrace all it could, sparkling in all its mundane brilliance as it flowed over the smooth stones that had long accompanied her through the ages of her existence. The brilliance danced along the surface as the leaves above shifted in the wind, alternating from covering one beam of light to another. Jericho could not feel her, did not know her, and could not explain his urge to refrain from referring to her as "it." His eyes wandered from her beginnings a few feet higher upon the top of a small hill and then to the ending at which Jericho could see no more. A smile seemed to impress upon him, and he could not help but allow a small grin to slip by.

The day was still young, the air fresh, and the wildlife as jubilant as ever. Depression, Jericho had theorized after many observations, was an invention of human design and existed in only in their imaginative minds. For some time Jericho and his Master had searched for the perfect area to rest from their weary travels that had taken them from the northern extreme of the known land to where they were now, not terribly far from the southern tip of Midgard, as his people called it; or as Jericho had often over heard his master say, Rinvaen. The meaning of which Jericho's master had alluded answering each time he sought it. For a moment, the subtle breeze that had been cooling Jericho from the summer heat calmed to a still, and in merriment, the birds took the chance to seize the world around him as theirs with their songs of dance and peace.

Ahead of Jericho but eight feet or so from him lied the sheer cliff that began its ninety degree slope to the ground below. They appeared miles above the land around them, atop the edge of some mountain Jericho had been unaware of being upon until the sight before him was shown. His master had explained it to be the only remaining mountain's edge we were to see on our journey south, as we would soon be amongst the seemingly endless expanse of a land level and flat as far as the eye could see. The view was astounding, and had earlier kept Jericho's attention in an awed trance. Midgard, as far as Jericho understood and had seen from experience, was covered in the great forests of Silva Terra. During their travels, as Jericho's master led him deeper into the forests of the world, further from his village in which lied his home during his childhood, he witnessed trees with the width of as many as four men. Jericho had heard such stories from fatigued travelers and in the Stories of Old told by his elders but never truly understood the meaning of their words.

Jericho shifted his position upon the large stump on which he had been sitting for countless hours, supposedly attempting to learn to meditate. His Master was a patient mentor, but at times Jericho felt as if he was very likely not a patient student. For an indefinite amount of time, Jericho's master could summon the will to lie still in some meditative stance, one with such great complexities in its definition that Jericho could only imagine the secrets and truths it held. He was cautious with his movement and emotions, learning from his mistakes in the past. Although he could not explain it, Jericho found his master knowing more than should be possible when in such a trance as he was now, if Jericho wasn't careful with his thoughts.

Once again, Jericho admired the area they had been resting in for more than a few hours, now. He had insisted on several other locations that seemed quite perfect at the time to rest and to perform his master's "meditation lessons." Even so, his master refused each time without supplying any reason behind his choice. Beside him a few feet away lied another stump, which his master quietly occupied. Two perfect seats to meditate upon, a clear creek for plenty of drinking and the filling of canteens, and they had enjoyed a small meal of fresh fruit that, from what he could decipher, had only fallen from the branches above moments before their arrival. His master always seemed to possess some sixth sense of a supernatural kind, and it often made Jericho uneasy. There had been several incidents in which Jericho had the honor of fighting beside him, and in turn had twice seen him wield a power he refused to place a name on.

The wisdom beyond even his master's years, an inexplicable power Jericho had seen throw a man like a rag doll with a mere thrust of a fist without making any physical contact, and an intuition that seemed to cross the boundaries of possibility and courtesy shook him to the bone. Unnatural it did not seem, however. On the contrary, it only unnerved Jericho due to his lack of understanding, but there never seemed to be any corruption in his master's demeanor that Jericho had heard stories of when his elders spoke of the Mages and Sorcerers that scour the land. They dealt with spirits of another place, another warped existence outside from this world. Who or what Jericho's master dealt with seemed to be less extreme and far less violent. He pondered again if that was the reason why his subconscious felt pressured to follow him as it had for so long, to receive training from him and submit to him as an apprentice would to a master.

Finally, the only words to escape his master's lips after an eternity of silence were, "You are troubled." Jericho's eyes glanced nervously to his master to study his appearance. His eyes remained closed and his facial features were still nothing but calm, his knees bent to either side so that the bottom of his feet met one another, sole to sole, and his hands rested upon them, palm downwards.

"Yes," Jericho swallowed dryly, realizing he was parched. "Yes, Master Shigento. I…I am simply distracted." Again silence dominated them and the forest, besides the breeze and the chirping of joyous birds. The wind danced amongst the folds and creases of Master Shigento's white robes that held an elegance in its sheer simplicity. A small flash of light glowed along the side of his master's bald head, the reflected light testament to the degree in which he shaved his head. Though he had never witnessed it himself, upon asking, Shigento claimed to have done it every night possible. Even after then, Jericho had continuously failed to catch him in the act.

At even a position such as his, sitting upon the stump, Master Shigento was an intimidating figure. Normally his baggy robe hid any features one would usually see, but from time to time he had seen his master roll his sleeves for a brief moment to show lean muscle that rolled along his arms as if they were the very rock that comprised the Great Mountains of the North, themselves. His height Jericho had guessed some time back at just below six feet, but had long grown unsure, constantly re-evaluating his wise master. His focus upon his master soon dissipated as Jericho noticed a small rabbit exploring behind Shigento, curiously wandering the area around them. Jericho's mouth watered, lacking any essence of control over it, or even the desire to do so. His nagging stomach that had been complaining for some time had been ignored long enough, apparently.

"Do not think of it." Shigento sternly warned, smiling with his eyes still shut. Jericho relaxed did his best to relax, for he was strongly contemplating rising and stealing away the rabbit for perhaps lunch or dinner that day.

"Yes, Master." Jericho grunted, disappointed.

"You, my friend, may very well be the definition of unfocused; or perhaps at least an example for its entry in one of the many dictionaries." Shigento smiled. Such a thing was a rarity, and caught Jericho off guard. Again, he admired his master's undying intricacy, wondering if the challenging amusement it created for Jericho would ever stop. A friend he always called him, and along with the smile, it warmed him to know such a wise man to name him as such, even if it was in actuality a fake courtesy to help better their trust through some theory of psychological maneuvering.

"Well, Master, I hardly understand the importance of sitting here with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs so that I may learn, though it is doubtful to begin with as we both know, some technique to calm myself. A technique, as a matter of fact, that seems rather pointless to me." The apprentice complained to his master. Jericho wondered for only a miniscule moment if Master Shigento had once been an apprentice and asked similar questions.

"Of course you do not understand." Shigento said and then paused. The silence dragged on until Jericho, reanalyzing what his master had uttered unto him, realized that perhaps he expected him to finish his master's statement. Instead, Master Shigento finished, "That is why I am your mentor. What good would a mentor be to a student who has more knowledge within himself?"

Jericho hesitated and then, "I suppose none, Master. But I do not even understand the purpose of this practice. Could you not at least attempt to explain that to me?"

"Or, you could find a bit of trust somewhere in the deep corners of your soul and excavate it to the surface, and perhaps, if you're feeling rather daring, so that you may direct it towards me." At first, Jericho thought it to be another joke and glanced again to his master's facial appearance. On the contrary, he found his master's face stern and in hindsight, Jericho thought he might have sensed a tinge of disappointment.

"Yes, Master." Jericho whispered in shame of himself. He should have known not to take advantage of the brief moments Shigento actually displayed some level of humor. Instead, Jericho ruined the opportunity, and he knew it all too well.

Another hour passed by silently and without incident. Shigento seemed unwilling to speak another word to his rather bored apprentice who had begun to ponder on the idea of sleep. Jericho did his best to stifle a yawn that insisted on intruding his otherwise indifferent posture at the thought of a comfortable slumber. He had grown used to the lack of sleep a life with his master seemed to entail, but lately its frequency had begun to increase. With one opened eye, Jericho glanced over to Shigento who still had disciplined himself to refrain from any movement. The only evidence of his master being alive was the few trickles of sweat making their way down his brow.

Jericho sighed quietly, torn between his options. For some time now Shigento had proceeded to initiate these "lessons of meditation" and had consistently failed, from what Jericho understood. So far, he had learned nearly nothing. The only actual lesson he had received was that of the first day of their meditating. "To breathe calmly, to not focus on nothing – not one thought, dream, imagination, or physical attribute of one's surroundings – and to reach into the soul of your being," Jericho recollected. At the time, his master had appeared quite serious and had even convinced Jericho that the lessons would bring him to the next step of his apprenticeship. Instead, the lessons had thus far only concluded in his disappointment.

Another glance was thrown in Master Shigento's direction as Jericho checked to be sure his mimicked meditative stance was still satisfactory. Being content, Jericho again closed his eyes and wondered on his apprenticeship, as he did often during these lessons. Jericho remembered his small village in the northern mountains amongst the snow-covered pine forest. For a moment, he thought he could smell the sweet, mouth-watering scent of meat over the nearby fires and could hear the merry singing of the drunkards in the nearby inn. He recalled how he was so anxious to grow to be old enough to join the men of his village in their adventurous hunting, the stories that hailed from them, and the celebrating that followed. How things have changed.

Shigento had been the village cleric, one could say. Jericho's people had few religious opinions and pondered on the topic even less, besides the usual superstitions of the unknown multiples of divine pantheons that circulated about. Shigento had long been respected by Jericho's elders, and even his parents, but understood little of the reason why. Supposedly, his bravery required admiring and his usefulness as a healer could not be denied. Indeed, Jericho couldn't help but smile upon the memory of breaking his leg after falling from a tree he had been climbing and Shigento's calm composure upon finding the small, injured boy. An instant later, after a brief chant of words with a meaning Jericho couldn't even begin to imagine, his leg was healed to its old self.

Then, the seething fire filled his senses through the next grim memory. Screams of pain echoed throughout his mind. Jericho could see his mother dead, lying on the floor not far from him and his father with his axe, fighting that which took his wife's life with a bravery his son would never forget. Jericho remembered being able to nearly taste the rage in his father's battle cry as he swung his axe at those before him, taking many with him before he succumbed to the strike of the beast that opposed him. Jericho flipped to the next memory, Shigento and his impeccable timing as he leapt through a window to fight the monstrous intruders that had shrugged their way through the doorway and past my mutilated father.

The graceful moves and a power that seemed to pulsate all around him in an aura that was all but invisible, save a hint of steam rising from his muscular build and a mysterious rift that encompassed him, distorting his features. Only an immense fire could heat the air to the point of its distortion that Jericho recalled, and the steam that engulfed him only furthered the mystery. Yet, to Jericho's surprise when Shigento had lifted him from the corner in which he had cowered and wept for his people and his own threatened life, Shigento's hands were slightly cooler than a man's hands should have been, even without the signs of being light aflame.

Jericho had not initially noticed the lone tear that had escaped, speeding down his rough cheek. Swiftly, he wiped it away. The spirits of his ancestors, family, and his very people would not be pleased. Jericho balled his hands into a tight fist, angry with his lack of control of his despair. Life was not to be wept over, but to be taken control of by force. His emotions cast aside the teachings Shigento had long lectured to him and regained the old ways and principles of his people in the northern mountains, saturated in glory and honor. His people were a proud race, bred in the rough living of the northern forest and lived to obtain the greatness of an honorable death. His people were the embodiment of anger, battle, and courage. Jericho trembled quietly, though his mind warned him of his thoughts, his emotions' call seemed to overwhelming to cease the ignoring of his reason.

"Calm yourself, my friend." Shigento unexpectedly broke Jericho's silent seething, "Delving into the past will do you no good, and anger as a weapon will only lead to its betrayal to who wielded it." At first, Jericho nearly cursed his master in his silent fury and Shigento's insult to his people and their legacy. Yet, calmness, from some crevice in his soul, that of which Jericho had not realized existed, overtook him and his emotions. Logic again prevailed and regained its foothold within Jericho's troubled mind. Leave it to Shigento to remedy an ailment.

"Yes, Master." Jericho struggled and reached for his canteen to refresh his rough throat, "I apologize."

"No need. I know of the great strength and noble courage that runs through the blood of you and your people." Shigento paused as if collecting his thoughts and choosing his words carefully, "It is unfortunate such a magnitude of anger and hatred seem to be included in such an interesting quality."

"Are you saying it is in my nature to hate?" Jericho questioned his master's words, taking a quick swig from his canteen, enjoying the cold water.

"Indeed. I hope one day you learn to take control of it."

Jericho was stunned; the words had stopped Jericho's mind in its tracks. He had not expected such an answer, and did not appreciate the implications it made. Jericho was proud of his people, but perhaps due to his traveling with Shigento for much of his life, he had come to see himself as a believer in compassion, not hatred and killing. The idea of looking at himself, his inner self, and proclaiming his soul as that of a killer and hater made Jericho uneasy. He took another drink of water and failed to resist the silence that again fell upon him and his master. The lessons of meditation again filled his mind, narrated by Shigento's deep voice with its usual tone that seemed so inundated with wisdom.

Once again, Jericho attempted to calm himself, to steady his breathing. A few moments passed until he felt his breathing reaching a more rhythmic serenity, drawing in the warm air deeply and patiently. He closely observed his thoughts, restricting their flexibility to perhaps avoid dwelling again on the past. Soon enough, though, as all minds do inevitably, Jericho's thoughts wandered elsewhere to pointless topics and meaningless ideas. These random interests ranged in their brevity, but none could be considered as complex imaginings, ranging from a mere instant to a matter of a minute or two. Not until another breathless act of the breeze dancing between the rustling leaves of the great trees around him did Jericho realize he had again lost control of his meandering mind. This cursed imagination. How is the human mind to focus on nothing with such a clever nuisance?

Anger probed Jericho's mind again and probed its theoretical questioning that only helped worsen the situation. He did his best to quell his frustration, but his failure to see any point in this meditating that his master put forth such worth towards was nearly impossible to ignore. Jericho had witnessed his master's power more than once, but so connection with meditation. He couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't training to fight, to perfect his balance, or sparring with his master so as to keep his skills sharp and prepared. No, instead he and his master sat upon two stumps in the middle of the Great Forest with no signs of civilization for tens of leagues for some pathetic self-reflection process.

Focus on nothing. Focus…nothing. Focus…nothing. Jericho cringed. The thought resounded through his head as an echo of Shigento's tone with a frightening likeness. He found nothing in his thoughts that may have sparked the memory of those words, or the power in which they reverberated through the halls in his mind. Like a spear thrown in the dark, the thought had struck him by complete surprise and Jericho couldn't shake the sense of pain at the words' entry into his thoughts, as insane as it sounded.

"Jericho?" Shigento called out barely above a whisper. Being addressed surprised Jericho, who broke away from his thoughts as he opened his eyes to face his master in response. Shigento had broken his meditative stance, finally, and now sat upon the stump with his feet placed on the ground below him. His inquisitive brown eyes studied him, the small encirclement around his pupils of yellow seemed to glow in the shadows cast by the sun and canopy above.

"Master Shigento? What is it?"

"Do you recall what I had told you of control?" Jericho smiled. He forgot little of what his master mentioned to him. Although the man's riddles drove Jericho insane with confusion when he answered as such, he did his best to carefully store every word in his memory. When his master spoke, Jericho had come to find that it normally meant his words were to be of importance. Rare was it for Shigento to allow idle chat leave his lips, besides the joke or two he allowed himself every year and half or so.

"Yes, Master. Control is an illusion. A simple delusion creatures – such as ourselves – have fabricated to provide our minds with some security and ease our innate paranoia." Jericho mindlessly muttered his master's comment on the subject of control immediately. He could still remember what had incited the conversation and his master's passion for the topic that day and smiled at the memory.

"Exactly. So, why follow the philosophy of control when it is a false ideology? Why allow control to become an addiction nearly impossible to identify as such and harder still to rid yourself of?" Shigento's stare pierced Jericho's heart, or so said the sensation that suddenly came to him.

"I…I don't think I understand. What have I done?"

"You know. Do as I have instructed, do not attempt translate my lessons in the euphoric haze of control. Translate them literally."

"I…" Jericho's words stumbled in confusion. He did not understand his master's sudden outburst on the matter of control. They hadn't discussed it in months, and even then, it had only been slightly mentioned as a reminder shorter than the one his master was giving him now. At least then Jericho understood why it had come up.

"You will have understood by the time you are needed to." Shigento sighed, returning to his meditative stance as if nothing had occurred. Again, the quiet of nature dominated within seconds. Jericho's master relaxed in his ecstasy of meditation, whatever that might actually be.

Focus on nothing. Focus…nothing. Focus…nothing. This time the thought had not intruded his mind so rudely as before, but more as a whisper now. Jericho recognized it from Shigento's lesson on his precious meditation. He quietly scowled at his master's riddles and all riddles that would surely come soon enough in the near future. Frustrated, he returned to his mimicked meditative stance and dwelled in his irritated thoughts for a moment. He was careful not to fuel it further, but he couldn't help but enjoy its comfort, as if another frustrated being was relating to him as a friend would.

The moan of the bowing trees to the cool breeze dissipated and the chatter of the many insects were silenced. The merry songs of the birds flying by ceased altogether and Shigento's steady breathing that had been barely audible to Jericho yielded to that of an alert man, filled with a sudden burst of adrenaline. Jericho followed in suit as he watched his master leave the comfort of his stump and stand upon the soft ground below. The serene atmosphere that had sewn together the mood of bliss had gone, and Jericho was surprised to not have noticed its departure, but instead hadn't realized its transition until it was long gone. Jericho's instinct rose from deep within himself, awakened by the adrenaline beginning to rush through his system and the tensing of his muscles. It couldn't be.

"Master…how deep in the forest are we, exactly…?"

"Not deep enough for-" Shigento's words were cut off by a deep roar emanating throughout the great trees of the forest, echoing past the cliff Jericho and his master had rested near so comfortably. The sound was rough with a deep, boasting power that brought chills to every creature, no matter the degree of bravery nestled in their beating hearts. Jericho felt it, the roar so enveloping that he could practically feel it in his very bones as dread gripped his lungs, laboring his breathing further. Every fiber in his body hollered ear-splitting frenzied screams of absolute fear for him to run, run as far as his legs would take him until they collapsed from exhaustion. The roar passed and was answered to a variety of howls in numerous directions, as if the wielders filled the forest with an impossible quantity.

"We need to go." Shigento muttered. Shigento swiftly threw on his yellow cloak, neglecting to use the hood. He quickly turned to his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and then firmly grasped his tall oak staff. For a brief moment, Jericho couldn't help but admire the intricate carvings on and through which the light danced with a silent grace as he lifted the ancient weapon. Breaking from his trance, Jericho followed suit and thanked whatever gods that may have existed for the first time for not having the burden of a staff of his own as he followed his master as best he could. Jericho had heard those howls before, and he knew what they signaled. For the first time in decades, the hunt was on.