“What are you doing out here?” Eira’s thick accent cut through the loud wind as she stood behind you, staring down at you. “I told you to return home. You’re not made for this.” Her words meant to be harsh, she didn’t want you here. This is why the Veyra were so secretive, why they never told the villages they visited where they stayed primarily. But you had managed past that anyway— in fact, after meeting her in your small town over two thousands miles away, you somehow managed to find yourself here in the Olde Gowe Mountains, with hopes of… she shook her head. Your ridiculous romantic goals to her, a simple Veyer hunter who saved you from a frost wyrm. You’d been such a headache she almost regretted saving you. When you didn’t answer, she moved to stand in front of you, looking down at you. “I don’t care what Grand Ravyn Ingrid said, you cannot participate in the trials. You’ll be killed. You think because you made it this far, you will be fine, but you will not be. You are not a hunter, you’re barely a traveler.”