Vozz Stabtoe's Arc

Chapter 7 of 8

Vozz climbed the hill behind the training yard when doubt crept in. From the top, she could see the whole camp spread below—the practice ranges, the storage bunkers, and the old craters turned into ponds. Beyond them, the forest stretched green and wild where her team cleared paths and removed dangerous obstacles. She sat on a flat rock and watched three Hunters set charges near a fallen tree. Their work looked smooth and careful, just like hers would be again. The wind chimes she'd made from her failed detonator rang softly behind her hut far below. Every mistake taught her something. Every blast brought her closer to earning the respect she wanted. She stood and headed back down the hill, ready to try again. The old lodge sat at the camp's edge, smoke rising from its chimney. Vozz pushed through the heavy door and found the common room warm and dim. Several Hunters sat near the fire, talking quietly over cups of hot tea. Shelves lined the walls, filled with small carved figures that past Hunters had left behind. She walked slowly along the rows, studying each one. A green-skinned figure with pointy ears caught her attention—a swamp Hunter crouched low like it was tracking something dangerous. The carving looked old, its edges worn smooth by many hands. She picked it up and felt its weight. Someone else had struggled once, worked hard, and earned their place here. They'd left this behind so others would remember that the path was hard but possible. Vozz set the figurine back on the shelf and turned toward the fire. An older Hunter nodded at her from across the room. She nodded back and sat down, letting the warmth sink into her bones. Tomorrow she'd return to the mine entrance with better measurements and steady hands. She left the lodge as the sun dropped low and walked into the forest alone. The path wound between thick trees until it opened into a clearing she'd heard others mention but never seen. A pool sat at the center, its surface reflecting colors that shifted and moved—blues, greens, reds that danced like flames. The water held something different, something that made the air feel charged. She knelt at the edge and stared into the depths. Stories said the greatest blast ever made in Greenhaven had cracked open the ground here and released water touched by fire and stone together. The Hunter who set that charge had become a legend, someone every recruit heard about during training. Vozz touched the water and felt it cool against her fingers. One day her name would mean something too. One day other Hunters would tell stories about her work. She stood and headed back to camp, the colored reflections still burning in her mind. The path curved past a stone that sat alone among the ferns. Vozz stopped and ran her hand across its flat surface. Moss grew thick on one side, and small flowers pushed through cracks in the rock. She sat down and looked up through the branches at the darkening sky. The lodge had reminded her she wasn't the first to struggle. The pool had shown her what was possible. This stone gave her something else—a place to think without noise or watching eyes. She thought about her next attempt at the mine entrance, about the measurements she'd redo and the fuse timing she'd check twice. Her chest felt lighter than it had all day. The Hunters would see her succeed. She'd earn their respect through work that mattered, through blasts that helped the whole camp. Vozz stood and brushed dirt from her pants, then walked back toward the lights of the training yard below.