Vozz Stabtoe's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

Dawn came cold and sharp. Vozz arrived at the lodge before the sun cleared the trees. The Hunter from yesterday stood waiting, his breath misting in the air. He led her around back where the mixing stations sat in a cleared area. She saw what he meant—large workspaces built for field preparation. The cauldrons were twice the size of anything she'd used in the workshop. Metal containers lined wooden shelves, each one labeled with ingredients she recognized. The Hunter gestured toward the setup. "Field teams need charges mixed on location," he said. "Too dangerous to carry them pre-made through rough terrain." Vozz stepped closer, running her fingers along the rim of a cauldron. This was real Hunter work. The kind that required trust and precision. The kind that would earn respect. The Hunter led her past the mixing stations to a clearing where morning light broke through the branches. A blackened figure stood mounted on a stone base—a goblin frozen mid-scream, its features charred and twisted. "That's from the Fire Ridge mission three years back," the Hunter said. "Team used concentrated charges to collapse a cave system. Saved the eastern farms." Vozz stared at the scorched statue. Other Hunters had done this. They'd earned their place through bold explosive work, and now everyone remembered them. The Hunter watched her face. "You want to be on this team, you need to think bigger than practice targets," he said. "You need to make moves that matter." Vozz pulled her gaze from the monument and nodded. She understood now. Greenhaven didn't just need demolition work—it needed someone willing to take the big risks. Someone who could pull off the jobs others talked about for years. That was how she'd earn her place. That was how she'd make them remember her name. He walked her back toward the lodge entrance. Near the front doors stood a wooden structure she hadn't noticed before. Fireworks hung suspended in a frame—bright reds, blues, and golds captured mid-burst. "We built this after the harbor defense last year," the Hunter said. "Shows what happens when someone gets the job done right." Vozz moved closer, studying each frozen explosion. The display drew attention from every Hunter who passed through. This was proof. Proof that explosive work mattered here. Proof that the bold ones earned their stories. The Hunter turned to face her. "There's a bridge west of town that needs clearing. Rock shelf underneath is cracked and dangerous. You collapse it clean, you'll have your first real mission on record." Vozz's fingers twitched toward her vest pockets. This was it. Her chance to start building her own display. Her own monument. She met his eyes and nodded once. She was ready. The Hunter pushed open the lodge doors and led her inside. The hall stretched wide, filled with long wooden tables and benches. Torches flickered along the walls, lighting crude carvings of past hunts. Hunters sat together, eating and talking about their latest jobs. This was where the team gathered after missions. Where they shared stories and celebrated the wins that mattered. Vozz could picture herself here after the bridge job, the other Hunters listening as she described the collapse. She'd have her story then. Her proof that she belonged. The Hunter gestured to an empty seat. "Eat something. We leave in an hour." Vozz sat down, her heart pounding. Everything she wanted was right here in Greenhaven—the tools, the missions, the respect waiting to be earned. All she had to do was prove herself.