《Firescale》


 Prologue

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 Chapter One

    aimed low at the approaching man¡¯s legs. But this time it was his opponent who was faster, skipping back out of range of the massive weapon. However, the attack had never been intended to hit.


    Legacia watched the bloody spectacle.


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    Legacian Empire had to offer. One corner of the balcony was occupied by a troupe of minstrels playing traditional music on drums and pipes, though the tune was difficult to hear clearly over the roar of the arena crowd.


    But I hold doubts that any ludus outside the capitol will provide sufficient stock to rival Servius, and no one is going to travel out here from the heart of the empire,¡± he paused on the stairs that lead down and out of the arena, ¡°I shall send word for Domnall. Perhaps he and his little band of mercenaries can round up some fresh blood for us.¡±


    His wife frowned at the mention of the sell sword¡¯s name, ¡°Are you certain? I would not trust that brute to know which end of his sword is sharp, let alone to choose proper gladiators.¡±


    will simply weed out the inferior chattel from the prime candidates. We will have ourselves a new champion in no time at all.¡±


    young Titus Durus is in sore need of gladiators, and he¡¯s hungry for a spot in the games. We¡¯ll house the new stock there until a champion emerges. Then we will have them moved to a proper ludus, and he can keep the cast offs.¡±

 Chapter Two

¡°


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 Chapter Three

    3


    The ancient stone tower stood solemnly at the edge of Borollai, its ivy-covered surface whispering secrets of old times. The morning sun bathed the worn stones in a warm light, illuminating the ivy crawling up the walls of the two-story tower. It was Berro¡¯s home¡ªa place filled with history, knowledge, and mystery. The structure sat close to the Weylore Wood, adding an extra layer of enchantment to its surroundings. The scent of wildflowers drifted from the woods, merging with the scent of parchment and herbs that emanated from inside the tower.


    Rowen hurried up the cobbled path leading to the tower¡¯s heavy wooden door, her heart pounding as she realized she was late. She glanced at the sun¡ªshe was definitely tardy for her lessons. Her bare feet made no noise on the cobblestones, but her flushed face and the slight dew on her red scales gave her away. She was supposed to be attentive, responsible, but Rowen the Firescale always found her curiosity taking her elsewhere. Today, it had been the woods again, a place where she always found her head filled with daydreams rather than her duties.


    Pushing open the door, Rowen was greeted by the comforting scent of old books and parchment. She stepped into the shadowy interior and spotted Bailon immediately. He was hunched over a table, deep in his studies, with scrolls and maps sprawled across it. His blue scales glistened under the dim light filtering in through the small windows, and his slender figure gave him a scholarly air. Bailon looked up as Rowen entered, his bright blue eyes softening.


    ¡°You¡¯re late again, Rowen,¡± Bailon said, though his tone held more concern than reprimand.


    Rowen shrugged, her lips quirking up. ¡°Got caught up in the woods,¡± she replied, feigning indifference.


    Bailon smiled faintly, shaking his head. ¡°One day, you¡¯ll get yourself into trouble with all that wandering,¡± he murmured, his gaze drifting over her face. It was then that Rowen decided to mention what she had overheard at the elders'' hall earlier that morning.


    ¡°Bailon, I heard the elders talking about attacks in the south. Four villages attacked in one month.¡± Her voice dropped, her eyes meeting his. She expected shock, but Bailon only frowned, worry lining his features.


    ¡°Rowen, that¡¯s not something you should involve yourself with,¡± Bailon said softly, leaning back. ¡°The elders handle these matters. Our duty is to focus on our responsibilities¡ªyour lessons, my studies. We should trust the council to protect the village.¡±


    Rowen¡¯s frustration bubbled to the surface, and she shook her head, her voice rising. ¡°I don¡¯t have a place, Bailon! I¡¯m not a craftsman, or a warrior, or a scholar, or an elder. I have no cast, no purpose. What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and pretend everything is fine while everyone else has a role?¡±


    Bailon¡¯s expression softened, and he stood, stepping closer to her. He reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder before he let it drop, his voice gentle. ¡°Rowen, you do have a place. You¡¯re important to me, to all of us. Just because you don¡¯t fit neatly into a cast doesn¡¯t mean you don¡¯t belong. Please, don¡¯t let this make you feel like you¡¯re less than anyone else.¡±


    Rowen looked away, her eyes stinging. She wanted to believe him, but the emptiness inside her was hard to ignore. She sighed, nodding reluctantly, though she didn¡¯t mean it. Bailon¡¯s concern was palpable¡ªhe cared for her, though he¡¯d never say it aloud. She could see it in the way he looked at her, the way his voice softened when speaking to her. But she also saw the fear. Bailon always played it safe.


    Before their conversation could go any further, Berro entered the room. His hunched posture spoke of his age, but his eyes were sharp and discerning. He was the elder blue-scaled drakel who had seen so much, and though his gait was slow, his presence demanded respect.


    ¡°Rowen! Late again, I see,¡± Berro scolded lightly, though there was a playful note in his tone. ¡°Always with your head in the clouds, that one,¡± he added, looking at Bailon with an amused shake of his head.


    Rowen offered an apologetic smile, though she could feel Bailon¡¯s gaze boring into her back, still concerned. Berro gestured for Rowen to sit, and she did so, taking her place near the hearth where the morning sun filtered in, illuminating the room in a soft golden glow.


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    ¡°Today, we begin with the ballad of our people¡¯s migration from Naethar to the White Spire Mountains,¡± Berro said, his voice taking on a rhythmic tone. The old drakel closed his eyes, as though envisioning the journey himself.


    Rowen fought the urge to fidget as Berro began the long, familiar ballad. It spoke of ancient conflicts, hardships, and unity¡ªa history she had heard countless times over her sixteen years of studying under Berro. The ballad seemed endless, and Rowen knew every verse by heart. Berro¡¯s droning voice filled the room, and he frequently stopped to have Rowen recite a verse or two, ensuring she remembered every detail.


    Hours dragged on, with Berro¡¯s rhythmic chanting only interrupted by his pauses to test her memory. The repetition was stifling, and Rowen found her mind wandering despite her efforts. She had recited these words too many times to count, and the familiar verses had long since lost any meaning they might have once held. She knew it was important, that knowing their history was essential, but today her mind kept drifting to the conversation she¡¯d overheard. Her fingers tapped absently on her knee, her eyes wandering to the scrolls on Berro¡¯s shelves.


    ¡°Rowen, pay attention,¡± Berro¡¯s voice interrupted her thoughts, his brows furrowed. He sighed, his gaze softening as he continued, ¡°Our history is who we are, child. Without understanding the past, we are lost.¡±


    Rowen nodded, but her heart wasn¡¯t in it. The hours of repetition and recitation had drained any enthusiasm she might have had, and she fought to keep her focus as Berro continued with the seemingly endless ballad.


    Seeing Rowen¡¯s lack of interest, Berro paused, his expression thoughtful. ¡°Perhaps something different today,¡± he said after a moment. He walked over to one of the shelves and pulled out a scroll, its edges frayed with age. ¡°This,¡± he said, ¡°is a fable song, one nearly lost to time. I thought it might capture your attention.¡±


    Rowen¡¯s ears perked up as Berro began to sing softly. It was a tale of a red-scaled drakel, a hero who protected the drakel people from something called the Elder Power¡ªa force that had threatened to destroy them during their time in Naethar. Berro¡¯s voice carried a haunting melody, and Rowen found herself leaning forward, her curiosity piqued.


    Rowen had many questions as Berro sang. ¡°Does this mean that red scales are some kind of hero cast?¡± she asked, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. ¡°Does it mean I''m meant for something great? Why was I born now, after so many years without any reds?¡±


    Berro gave her a sympathetic look as he finished singing. He set the scroll aside and sighed, his gaze meeting hers. ¡°I wish I had the answers, child. The truth is, we do not know. The old histories are incomplete, and much of what we once knew has been lost to time. What I do know is that you must not get overexcited. The drakel people have not experienced any great conflicts in generations, and it is unlikely that will change anytime soon. You must remember, not every story foretells a destiny. Sometimes, it is simply a tale of what once was.¡±


    Rowen frowned slightly, her enthusiasm dampened by Berro¡¯s words, though her curiosity was far from extinguished.


    ¡°The Elder Power,¡± Berro continued, ¡°was a mysterious force¡ªsome say an entity, others a magic beyond our comprehension. The red drakel led the clans against it, saving our people. But¡­¡± He paused, his gaze meeting Rowen¡¯s. ¡°The song is incomplete. Some verses were lost, and we do not know exactly what the Elder Power was, or how it was defeated.¡±


    Rowen¡¯s eyes widened, her heart pounding as she listened. A red-scaled drakel, just like her. She had always felt different, her scales a rarity among her people. Hearing of a red drakel hero stirred something deep inside her¡ªa sense of connection, of purpose.


    As Berro finished the song, Rowen felt a spark of determination. The missing pieces of the fable, the mystery of the Elder Power, and the red drakel hero all called to her. She had to know more.


    ¡°Master Berro,¡± Rowen said, her voice unsteady but filled with resolve, ¡°I want to learn more about this. About the Elder Power and the red drakel.¡±


    Berro studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. ¡°Perhaps one day, child. But for now, focus on the lessons before you.¡±


    As Rowen left the tower, Bailon walked alongside her, his expression troubled. ¡°Rowen,¡± he began, his voice gentle, ¡°please don¡¯t get caught up in these old stories. They¡¯re dangerous¡­ and I worry about you.¡±


    Rowen looked at him, her gaze steady. ¡°I can¡¯t ignore it, Bailon. It¡¯s like¡­ it¡¯s calling to me. I have to know.¡±


    Bailon sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He knew he couldn¡¯t stop her, but that didn¡¯t mean he wouldn¡¯t try to protect her. As Rowen walked away, her thoughts were filled with the image of the red-scaled hero. The forgotten song had awakened something within her, and even Bailon¡¯s caution couldn¡¯t extinguish it.


    She wondered, as she looked towards the distant horizon, if the attacks Elder Jenner spoke of were somehow connected to the stories of the past. And deep down, she knew she was meant for something greater.

 Chapter Four

    The village lay in the shadow of the White Spire Mountains, the dying sun casting a pale orange glow over the foothills. Sparse trees swayed in the cold wind blowing from the mountains, their silhouettes twisted and black against the inferno consuming the Chumen settlement. Thick columns of smoke rose from the burning huts, blotting out the sky as flames licked the fragile wooden structures.


    Domnall stood on a ridge overlooking the chaos, his long black hair whipping in the wind. His face, worn from years of violence, bore a grim expression. The ugly scar running across his cheek seemed to darken with the flickering light of the burning village below. He watched silently, taking in the destruction, his mind drifting to the countless other villages he had seen fall in much the same manner. The once righteous fire that had driven him was now a dim ember, replaced by a weariness that gnawed at his bones.


    He lit a pipe, inhaling deeply, the taste of smoke mingling with the acrid stench of burning that filled the air. His eyes moved from the flames to his men¡ªmercenaries armed to the teeth, rounding up the surviving Chumen. Most of the Chumen, large, hairy ape-men, lay dead or dying. Those that survived were dragged from the smoldering wreckage, beaten into submission, and chained, their defiance no match for Domnall''s seasoned warriors. He watched as a Chumen mother was pulled to her feet, her child crying in her arms. One of his men grabbed the child, and Domnall looked away, the sight too familiar, the screams too ordinary to stir anything but a dull ache in his chest.


    He took another drag from his pipe, letting the smoke cloud his vision. The cries of the captives and the brutal laughter of his men reverberated around him. They relished their work¡ªthe spoils, the thrill, the power¡ªwhile Domnall could only feel the hollowness that came after so many years of following orders.


    "Efficient work," came a voice from behind him.


    Domnall turned slightly, his gaze falling on Cara, his second-in-command. She was athletic, her blond hair tied back in a warrior''s braid. Her eyes, calm and calculating, took in the scene below with little reaction. She had always been competent, level-headed in the face of brutality, a quality Domnall had come to both admire and resent.


    "Efficient enough," Domnall said, his voice a low rumble. "Any other villages in the area?"


    Cara shook her head. "Most have either been raided or fled into the higher mountains. There''s not much left to find down here."


    Domnall frowned, his eyes narrowing as he took another drag from his pipe. The raids were becoming unsustainable. Gaius''s constant demands for more captives were pushing them further and further afield, and soon there would be nothing left to take. He exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting upwards, merging with the haze from the village.


    "How much longer can we keep this up?" he muttered, almost to himself. "What will Gaius do when there''s no one left to feed the arenas?"


    Cara''s eyes flickered, her expression unchanged. "He''ll find a way. If not through us, then through someone else."


    Domnall grimaced. He knew she was right. Gaius always found a way¡ªand men like Domnall were always there to do the dirty work.


    As the last of the Chumen were rounded up, Domnall''s thoughts wandered back to the past, to the man he used to be. Sixteen years ago, when Gaius had first recruited him, he had been eager, driven by ambition. The raids had been smaller then, the targets less frequent. But over the years, the hunger for non-human gladiators had only grown, turning small incursions into large-scale campaigns.


    He had scars on his body, and deeper ones on his soul. The violence, the bloodshed¡ªall in the name of the empire and its arenas. He had thought he could handle it, that the ends justified the means. But now, standing here, looking over the burning village, he felt nothing but exhaustion.


    "The Chumen tried to rebel once before. Did you know that?" he said quietly. "But they were never a match for us. Organized, disciplined. They never stood a chance."


    Cara gave a slight nod. "Resistance is futile against the empire. They know that now."


    Domnall sighed. "Aye. But that doesn''t make it any easier to stomach."


    Down in the village, his men were growing restless. Their respect for him was still evident, but Domnall could sense the growing tension. The younger mercenaries, the ones who had only known this brutal life, were becoming more reckless with each raid, their cruelty unchecked. Domnall had noticed some of them whispering, casting glances in his direction, perhaps wondering if they could do better, take more.


    "The young ones are getting out of hand," Cara said, echoing his thoughts. "They''re getting too cruel, too careless."


    Domnall set his jaw, brushing off her concern. "They''re just eager. They''ll learn."


    But he knew she was right. And he knew that his own weariness was beginning to show.


    He took one last look at the village, then turned to Cara. "Send scouts into the mountains. See if there''s anything left to take."


    Cara frowned. "The mountains this time of year? It''s spring, and the melting snows tend to cause mudslides and swell the rivers. Travel in the mountains will be dangerous. We could lose men.""


    "We don''t have a choice," Domnall snapped, then softened his tone. "Gaius demands more. And I intend to deliver."


    Cara hesitated, then nodded, her expression giving away nothing. "I''ll see to it."


    Domnall watched her go, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his orders. He had thought, once, of disobeying Gaius, of finding another path. But he knew the consequences. There was no turning back now.


    As the night deepened, Domnall walked to the edge of the ridge, staring out at the burning village below. The flames flickered, casting long shadows, and the cries of the Chumen grew distant. He smoked quietly, the cold wind from the mountains biting into his skin, his eyes fixed on the dark silhouette of the peaks in the distance.


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    Somewhere up there, there were more villages. More people. More blood.


    The raids couldn¡¯t go on forever. Domnall knew that. And when they ended, when the tide turned, what then? What would become of him, of his men, of Gaius?


    He stared into the darkness, the mountains looming like a wall, and pushed the thoughts away. There was no point in thinking of the future. Not when survival was all that mattered.


    The flames burned on, and Domnall watched, alone, as the village crumbled to ash.


    * * * * *


    The four scouts trudged through the treacherous foothills of the White Spire Mountains, their breath clouding in the cold morning air. Spring had come, but the snowmelt from the towering peaks had transformed the landscape into a mess of raging rivers and muddy quagmires. The going was tough, but they moved with a certain confidence, their excitement unbroken by the challenging terrain.


    Aidan led the group, his eyes focused and sharp, as he navigated through the muddy paths. He was the eldest and most experienced, a natural leader whose practical skills often kept the group on track. Behind him, Baird grumbled loudly, his usual brash demeanor in full force as he complained about the thick mud that clung to their boots. "Bloody mountains," he muttered. "The non-human scum must love living in this mess."


    Finn, ever the quiet one, walked a few paces behind. He had an eye for the smallest details, always the one to spot dangers before the rest. He cast a glance at the swollen creeks that they passed, the water rushing with a ferocity that hadn''t been there in previous years. "The landscape''s treacherous," he said softly, his tone more contemplative than concerned. "The snowmelt is bad. We''ll need to be careful."


    Lowen, the youngest, moved with a spring in his step despite the thick mud and challenging conditions. He was eager, his eyes shining with the thrill of the adventure. He looked up at the mountains towering above them, the peaks capped in white even as the sun began to warm the valleys below. "I don''t see what the big deal is," he called up to Baird, a grin on his face. "We get through this, and we''ll be the first to find a demi-human village. Imagine the loot."


    Aidan shook his head, his lips curving into a small smile. "Focus on getting there in one piece first, Lowen. There''s no glory in slipping into a ravine."


    As they approached a fast-moving river swollen with snowmelt, Aidan stopped and surveyed the scene. The usually manageable stream had transformed into a torrent. He frowned, motioning the others to gather around. "We can''t just wade through this," he said, his voice steady. "We need to find a narrower spot."


    Baird snorted, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Think Lowen can swim across? Maybe we can tie a rope to him."


    Lowen rolled his eyes but didn''t rise to the bait. Instead, he pointed further upstream. "There¡¯s a fallen tree up ahead. We can use it as a bridge."


    They moved carefully, making their way to where the tree had toppled across the water. The trunk was slick with moisture, but it was sturdy enough. Aidan went first, balancing with careful precision, and soon they were all across¡ªthough there was a tense moment when Finn slipped, his boot skidding on the wet bark. Lowen caught his arm just in time, pulling him back upright. Finn let out a shaky breath, and Baird laughed. "Almost took a bath there, Finn."


    "Thanks, Lowen," Finn muttered, ignoring Baird¡¯s jibe.


    "No problem," Lowen replied with a grin. "Just don''t expect me to save you twice."


    They continued their trek, the ground growing muddier and more unstable as they moved higher into the foothills. Baird kept up his grumbling, cursing every step as his boots sank into the thick mud. "This is ridiculous," he said. "Feels like we''re walking through wet shit."


    Aidan glanced back at him, his expression calm. "Keep your eyes on your footing. One wrong step and you''ll be sliding back down to the bottom."


    Finn nodded in agreement. "The terrain''s unpredictable. The melting snow makes it worse this time of year. We need to stay alert."


    When they reached a steep ridge that still held patches of snow, Aidan paused, eyeing the slope critically. "Lowen, you''re up," he said, gesturing to the rocks. "Find us a way up."


    Lowen''s grin widened, and he moved forward eagerly. He was the best climber among them, his reckless energy serving him well in moments like this. He scrambled up the ridge, finding handholds in the rocks and navigating the slippery snow with ease. The others followed, more slowly, their muscles straining as they pulled themselves upward.


    Baird cursed under his breath, his fingers slipping on a wet rock. "Bloody snowmelt. This whole mountain''s a swamp."


    "Just keep moving," Aidan called back, his voice steady. Despite the difficulty, they all made it to the top without incident, and they took a moment to catch their breath, looking out over the landscape below.


    They rested on the ridge, the wind whipping around them, and Baird broke the silence with a laugh. "You know, for all the complaining, there''s something about this life I wouldn''t trade for anything. Raiding those demi-human villages, taking what we want... it''s better than rotting away in some village."


    Lowen nodded, a mischievous grin on his face. "You have to admit, those demi-humans are tough. Living up here, they have to be. Makes it all the more satisfying when we take them down."


    Aidan listened, his gaze distant. "Better than being a peasant," he agreed, though his tone lacked the enthusiasm of the others. He turned his eyes to Finn, who was quieter, his expression more reserved.


    "It''s a dangerous life," Finn said finally. "But it''s what we chose. Just remember that danger goes both ways."


    Baird smirked, changing the topic with a glint in his eye. "Speaking of demi-humans, you see those Revia we took a couple months back¡ªthe fox-like ones? Exotic, aren''t they? Wouldn''t mind getting my hands on one of their women."


    Lowen burst into laughter, howling like a wolf. "Beast-loving Baird! Want to cuddle up with a fox, do you?"


    Aidan chuckled, shaking his head. "We''re here to find a village, not fantasize. Stay focused."


    Baird waved him off, still grinning. "I know, I know. Just saying, there''s more to life than following orders."


    They began their descent from the ridge, entering a dense, ancient forest that loomed ahead of them. The air grew still, and the forest floor was thick with dead leaves and underbrush. The towering trees, wrapped in moss, blocked out the sun, casting long shadows that made it feel as though night had already fallen.


    The atmosphere shifted, the group moving more cautiously now. There was something different about the forest¡ªan almost oppressive quiet that made the hairs on the back of Aidan''s neck stand on end. He glanced around, noticing the others'' unease.


    "This place is too quiet," Finn said softly. "It''s like the forest is watching us."


    Lowen, ever eager, looked up at one of the larger trees. "Want me to climb up? See if I can spot anything?"


    Aidan nodded. "Do it."


    Lowen quickly scaled the tree, his agile form disappearing into the thick branches. The others waited below, their eyes scanning the darkened woods. Baird shifted uncomfortably, his usual bravado subdued by the strange atmosphere. "Don''t like this place," he muttered.


    "Stay focused," Aidan said. "Lowen will tell us what he sees."


    After a few tense moments, Lowen''s voice called down from above. "Smoke to the northwest! Not far¡ªmaybe half a day from here."


    Excitement rippled through the group, the prospect of a potential village shifting their mood. Aidan''s expression hardened, his mind already planning their next steps. "We move cautiously. Scout the area first, then report back to Domnall. We can''t risk being detected."


    Lowen descended, and the group set off toward the smoke, moving with renewed purpose. Baird and Lowen were eager, their anticipation palpable, while Finn''s cautious gaze swept the forest around them. The tension grew as they moved deeper into the dense woods, the promise of their next target driving them forward.


    Aidan led them onward, his mind focused on the mission. They had a job to do, and he intended to see it through¡ªno matter what waited for them in the shadows of the White Spire Mountains.

 Chapter Five

    The evening air was alive with excitement as the Festival of the Black Moons was in full swing. The village of Borollai seemed to shimmer with joy, the sounds of laughter and music filling the cool breeze. Drakel and Mehrat alike roamed the festival grounds, their voices and movements blending together in a jubilant celebration. Tents and stalls lined the edges of the grounds, filled with trinkets, food, and colorful wonders that drew in crowds from all corners of the village.


    The Mehrat convoy, a group of rodent-like people with sharp eyes and nimble hands, had set up a vibrant array of tents and stalls. The edges of the grounds were decorated with silks in vivid hues of red, orange, and blue, and strange symbols from their distant homeland adorned the tents. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, casting flickering light across the silks and filling the festival with an exotic, mysterious ambiance.


    At the center of the grounds, huge bonfires crackled, their orange flames reaching high into the night sky. The warmth of the fires illuminated the gathering, and the smell of roasted meats and sweet pastries wafted through the air. It was intoxicating¡ªan evening filled with merriment, with every sense overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells of the festival.


    Nearby, a small stage had been set up where Mehrat musicians played lively, exotic tunes on their reed flutes and stringed instruments. Master Berro and Bailon had joined the musicians with their own instruments, their music flowing through the grounds and setting a festive mood. A crowd of drakel and Mehrat danced wildly in front of the stage, their forms blending as they spun and swayed, their laughter rising above the music in a joyous chorus.


    On the edge of the festival grounds, Rowen stood by her small stall, watching the festivities with a mixture of longing and determination. Her stall, draped with a bright red cloth, seemed plain in comparison to the elaborate and vibrant displays of the Mehrat traders. But she had worked hard to set it up, and she was proud of what she had to offer.


    Carefully laid out in front of her were her handmade jewelry¡ªdelicate silver necklaces, polished rings, and intricately woven bracelets. Each piece had been crafted with care, her hands working late into the night to perfect them. She watched as the crowd moved by, her heart sinking slightly as few people paused to look at her work. The Mehrat stalls, filled with exotic fabrics, spices, and trinkets, seemed to draw the festival-goers with ease, while her jewelry sat mostly unnoticed.


    Rowen sighed, her frustration growing. She had hoped tonight would be her chance to stand out, to prove that she could create something valuable. She watched as people flocked to the brightly lit Mehrat stalls, their eyes wide with wonder, and felt a pang of disappointment. She knew her work was good¡ªperhaps not as exotic, but still beautiful. Yet, it seemed to fade into the background amidst the excitement of the festival.


    Just as Rowen was beginning to feel disheartened, her black-scaled clutch siblings arrived. Haath, Taal, and Daani approached her stall, their faces flushed from the warmth of the bonfires and the excitement of the festival. Taal, clearly tipsy, stumbled slightly as he laughed, his arm around Haath''s shoulder. Daani had a gentle smile on her face as she waved at Rowen.


    ¡°Rowen! Come on, you¡¯ve got to join us!¡± Taal called out, his voice loud and cheerful. ¡°The festival¡¯s in full swing¡ªdancing, drinks, everything! You can¡¯t just stand here all night!¡±


    Rowen shook her head, smiling despite her disappointment. ¡°I will, just¡­ not yet. I want to sell at least half my stock before I join in. I promised myself I¡¯d do that much.¡±


    Haath rolled his eyes, though he smiled. ¡°Always so serious, Rowen. You know you deserve to enjoy yourself too, right?¡±


    Daani stepped forward, her eyes softening as she looked at the jewelry laid out on the table. ¡°I think it¡¯s all beautiful, Rowen. Here¡ª¡± She picked up one of the delicate silver bracelets, slipping it onto her wrist. ¡°I¡¯ll take this one. How much?¡±


    Rowen blinked, her heart warming at Daani¡¯s gesture. ¡°You don¡¯t have to, Daani¡ª¡±


    ¡°I want to,¡± Daani insisted, her smile kind. ¡°Consider it my contribution to your success tonight.¡±


    Rowen hesitated, then nodded, her smile widening. She accepted the coins Daani offered and watched as her clutch siblings wished her luck before heading back into the festival. Their laughter echoed behind them, and Rowen felt a renewed sense of determination. She wasn¡¯t ready to give up¡ªnot yet.


    As night settled in, the sky became a dazzling display of stars, the moonless darkness turning into a canvas filled with glittering light. Rowen paused, looking up at the sky, her breath catching at the beauty of it. The stars looked like diamonds scattered across black velvet, and for a moment, she felt a sense of peace. But it was fleeting, replaced by the growing weight of disappointment as she looked back at her stall.


    The evening had not gone as she had hoped. She had only sold a single ring to an elderly Mehrat woman who had kindly admired her work, and Daani¡¯s bracelet. The rest of her jewelry remained unsold, and as the festival continued around her, Rowen knew it was time to pack up. She had dreamed of success tonight¡ªof proving herself, of showing everyone that she could create something of value. But the reality had fallen short of her expectations.


    With a sigh, Rowen began to pack up her stall. She folded the red cloth carefully, wrapping each piece of jewelry and storing it away. She tried not to let the disappointment overwhelm her, but it was hard. She had wanted so much for tonight to be different.


    Once her stall was packed away, Rowen decided to explore the festival. She still had time to find her clutch siblings, to join in the celebration, even if her dreams of success had not come true.


    As Rowen wandered through the festival, her eyes caught sight of an exotic tent tucked away from the main grounds. It was adorned with shimmering white and silver fabrics, the lanterns outside casting a soft, inviting glow. Strange symbols were woven into the cloth, and there was something about the tent that drew Rowen in¡ªsomething mysterious, something that whispered of secrets waiting to be uncovered.


    Outside the tent stood a white-furred Mehrat woman, her eyes sharp and knowing. She met Rowen¡¯s gaze and smiled, gesturing for her to come closer.


    ¡°Would you like to know what the future holds?¡± the woman asked, her voice smooth and inviting. ¡°I am Illinca, and I read the runes of fate. Come, sit with me, and I shall tell you what lies ahead.¡±


    Rowen hesitated, her curiosity piqued. The disappointment of the evening still weighed on her, but there was something about Illinca¡¯s words that pulled her in¡ªa promise of something more, something beyond the mundane struggles of selling jewelry. She nodded, stepping forward and following Illinca into the tent.


    Inside the tent, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The air seemed to grow thick, heavy with a sense of mystery. The flickering lanterns cast strange, shifting shadows across the shimmering fabrics that lined the tent walls. The fabrics were adorned with intricate, swirling designs, and the symbols stitched into them seemed to pulse with a life of their own. Strange scents filled the air¡ªincense, herbs, something sweet but with an underlying bitterness. Rowen felt as though she had stepped into another world, far removed from the laughter and noise of the festival outside.


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    Illinca led Rowen to a low table covered with a deep blue silk cloth. The cloth shimmered in the lantern light, as if it were woven from the night sky itself. In the center of the table lay the rune stones¡ªsmall, polished, and engraved with symbols that seemed ancient, their meanings lost to time. Illinca moved with a quiet grace, her white fur catching the light and giving her an ethereal glow. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, met Rowen''s, and for a moment, Rowen felt as if Illinca could see straight into her soul.


    ¡°Sit,¡± Illinca said softly, gesturing for Rowen to take her place across from her. Rowen did as she was told, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Illinca¡¯s presence was almost hypnotic, her movements slow and deliberate, her voice low and calming.


    Illinca began by picking up the rune stones, her fingers moving deftly as she held them in her hands. She closed her eyes, murmuring something in a language Rowen did not recognize¡ªsoft, melodic words that seemed to hang in the air. Then, she opened her eyes and began to cast the runes, letting the stones fall onto the silk cloth. They landed with soft clicks, their symbols facing up, and Illinca studied them with an intense gaze.


    ¡°At first glance, I see a path of light,¡± Illinca began, her voice smooth and melodic. ¡°I see happiness, love, and fulfillment in your future. You will find joy in unexpected places, and your heart will be filled with warmth. There are those around you who care deeply for you, and their love will guide you through the challenges ahead.¡±


    Rowen listened, her heart lifting slightly at the fortune. It was what she wanted to hear¡ªsomething simple, something comforting. Illinca¡¯s voice was soothing, and Rowen allowed herself to relax, her shoulders loosening as she took in the fortune teller¡¯s words.


    But then, Illinca¡¯s hands stilled, her eyes widening slightly. The room seemed to darken, the lantern light flickering as if caught in a sudden breeze. Rowen felt a chill run down her spine, the sense of warmth and comfort vanishing in an instant. Illinca¡¯s gaze grew distant, her eyes glazing over as if she were looking at something far away. Her voice, when she spoke again, was different¡ªlower, almost a whisper, but filled with an eerie resonance.


    ¡°I see scales kissed by fire,¡± Illinca said, her words coming slowly, as if pulled from her against her will. ¡°Standing against a great darkness, a black lion whose shadow stretches across the world. It will not strike you first¡ªit will come for those you love, seeking to devour their light and pull them into its endless hunger.¡±


    The temperature in the tent seemed to drop, and Rowen shivered, her eyes widening as she watched Illinca. The fortune teller¡¯s face had gone pale, her eyes unseeing, her body rigid as if she were no longer in control of herself.


    ¡°You will face the lion, but not in strength alone,¡± Illinca continued, her voice growing stronger, though still filled with that eerie resonance. ¡°It is your heart, fierce and untamed, that will keep you standing when all else falls away. Ancient fire born anew in your will.¡±


    Rowen¡¯s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest. The words filled her with a sense of dread, but also something else¡ªsomething she couldn¡¯t quite name. It was as if Illinca were speaking directly to her soul, revealing truths that she had always known but never wanted to face.


    ¡°The lion will rise and with each roar, the world will grow darker. Whether you can stop its jaws from closing, none can say. But know this¡ªyour fate, and the fate of those you hold dear, are entwined with the beast. One must fall, and the world will never be the same.¡±


    The words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. The lanterns flickered again, and for a moment, the entire tent seemed to shudder. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the trance ended. Illinca blinked, her eyes clearing, and she looked around in confusion. She seemed disoriented, her earlier confidence gone, and her gaze met Rowen¡¯s with a hint of uncertainty.


    ¡°I hope that was helpful,¡± Illinca said, her voice quiet. She seemed unsure of what had just happened, as if she couldn¡¯t remember the words she had spoken. Rowen forced a smile, though her heart was still pounding, and she nodded.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Rowen said softly, standing and stepping away from the table. She felt a strange mixture of emotions¡ªfear, confusion, a sense of inevitability. She thanked Illinca once more, her voice barely above a whisper, and then turned and left the tent.


    As Rowen stepped out into the festival once more, the noise and light of the celebration hit her all at once, a stark contrast to the strange, otherworldly atmosphere of the tent. But the sense of unease lingered, the words of the prophecy echoing in her mind. The black lion, the darkness, the danger to those she loved¡ªit was all too real, and it left her shaken to her core.


    As she walked, Rowen couldn¡¯t help but think of the fable Master Berro had shared with her¡ªthe tale of the red-scaled drakel and the Elder Power. Could this black lion be tied to that darkness? Could it be the same threat, rising again after so many years?


    The prophecy spoke of her fate, but also of those she loved. Rowen felt a growing sense of responsibility, a weight pressing down on her shoulders. The festival continued around her, the laughter and music blending together, but Rowen felt apart from it all. What awaited her, her siblings, her village? What was this darkness that threatened them?


    Rowen looked up at the sky once more, the stars still shining brightly, and took a deep breath. Whatever lay ahead, she knew she could not ignore it. The path before her was uncertain, but she would face it¡ªno matter what it took.


    Feeling a need for comfort, Rowen decided to seek out Gallen. She found him near one of the bonfires, talking with some of the villagers. His green scales glinted in the firelight, and his warm smile made her heart feel lighter, if only for a moment.


    ¡°Master Gallen,¡± she called softly, and he turned, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.


    ¡°Rowen, my dear,¡± Gallen said, stepping away from the group and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. ¡°You look troubled. Come, sit with me.¡±


    Rowen sat down beside him on a low bench, the warmth of the fire chasing away some of the chill that had settled in her bones. She hesitated for a moment, then spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I went to see a fortune teller tonight. She¡­ she gave me a prophecy. About a black lion and a great darkness. It spoke of danger, not just to me, but to those I love.¡±


    Gallen¡¯s eyes softened, and he listened intently as Rowen recounted Illinca¡¯s words. When she finished, there was a moment of silence between them, the crackling of the bonfire filling the space.


    ¡°Rowen,¡± Gallen said gently, ¡°prophecies can be¡­ tricky things. They often speak in riddles, and it¡¯s easy to let them weigh heavily on our hearts. I know you¡¯re feeling scared, and I won¡¯t dismiss your belief in a greater purpose. But I also want you to understand that the future is not set in stone. We make our own paths, one step at a time.¡±


    Rowen looked down, her heart sinking. She had hoped for something more¡ªsome confirmation that her fears were valid, that her sense of destiny was real. But Gallen¡¯s words, though kind, were cautious. She could tell he didn¡¯t truly believe the prophecy was anything more than a vague tale meant to stir her emotions.


    Gallen squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. ¡°You¡¯re strong, Rowen. Whatever comes, you¡¯ll face it, and you won¡¯t be alone. But don¡¯t let a few cryptic words overshadow the joy of tonight. You deserve to celebrate, to be happy.¡±


    Rowen forced a smile, nodding. ¡°Thank you, Master. I appreciate it.¡±


    He smiled back, his eyes filled with warmth. ¡°Always, my dear. Now go, find your siblings, and enjoy the festival. We¡¯ll face whatever comes when the time is right.¡±


    Rowen stood, bidding Gallen goodnight. As she walked away, the sense of isolation deepened. Gallen¡¯s words, meant to comfort, had instead made her feel more alone. He didn¡¯t understand¡ªno one did. The weight of the prophecy, the fear for those she loved, rested solely on her shoulders. She had to figure out what to do, how to protect her people, and she had to do it alone.


    The stars above still shone brightly, but the path before her felt darker than ever.

 Chapter Six

    The village was alive with excitement. Vibrant stalls lined the village square, the colorful fabrics of their awnings flapping in the evening breeze. The bonfires scattered around the square flickered warmly, casting light and long shadows across the faces of Drakel and Mehrat alike. Music filled the air, mingling with the laughter of the villagers and traders who had come to celebrate the Festival of the Black Moons. The sky above was clear, stars glittering like scattered jewels.


    Rowen stood alone, away from the crowds, her arms wrapped around herself, the sounds of celebration seeming to dull in her ears. She gazed out at the festival, her mind elsewhere, still reflecting on Illinca''s prophecy. The question of her place in the clan and her destiny weighed heavily on her, creating a sense of disconnect from the joy around her. Illinca''s prophecy weighed on her mind, a whisper of coming danger that made the joyous festivities seem distant and fragile. The sight of her clutch siblings playing and laughing with the others brought her a bittersweet smile, yet her heart was heavy with the knowledge that something dark was approaching, something that could take it all away.


    "Hey, Red!" Haath called out, pulling her from her thoughts. He approached with Haath, Taal, and Daani, as well as Bailon, who looked slightly uncomfortable. The blue-scaled scholar clearly did not enjoy partying like the others, but Daani had a mischievous grin as she nudged him forward. "Why are you just standing here? The night is young, and there''s fun to be had!" He gestured toward the square, where a group of villagers had begun dancing, their movements wild and carefree.


    Rowen tried to return his smile but could feel her lips faltering. "I... I don''t know," she muttered, glancing away. "I''m just not in the mood, I guess."


    Daani stepped up to her, concern etched in her eyes. "What''s wrong, Rowen? You''ve been like this all day. We''re even forcing Bailon away from his books to have some fun!" She placed a hand on Rowen''s arm, squeezing gently. "You should come dance with us. Forget whatever is worrying you for a while."


    Haath nodded, a rare softness in his normally stoic expression. "Yeah. It''s the festival, after all. We don''t get many nights like this."


    Rowen looked at each of them, her heart aching. How could she explain the sense of dread that had settled inside her? The prophecy, the ominous feeling that something was coming¡ªit all seemed too abstract to burden them with. She gave a small nod, hoping it would ease their concern.


    "Alright," she said, forcing a smile. "Maybe just for a little while."


    Together, they moved toward the square, the music growing louder, the laughter infectious. For a brief moment, Rowen let herself be caught in the rhythm, her feet moving alongside her clutch siblings, the warmth of the bonfires almost comforting.


    Haath was the first to grab her hand, pulling her into the dance circle. His movements were exaggerated and clumsy on purpose, drawing laughter from Rowen as he spun her around. She could feel the tension in her chest loosening as she moved with him, her body finally letting go of the unease that had gripped her all day.


    Taal jumped in next, taking over from Haath with a playful twirl that made Rowen nearly stumble. He caught her, laughing, and she found herself laughing too, the sound genuine and freeing.


    Even Bailon, who usually shied away from anything remotely social, was not spared. Daani grinned mischievously as she shoved him forward, and Rowen wasted no time in grabbing his hand. "Come on, just one dance!" she teased, pulling him along despite his protests. Bailon''s cheeks flushed, and his awkward steps only made Rowen laugh harder. He moved stiffly at first, clearly out of his element, but soon he relaxed enough to at least attempt a spin, which ended with both of them nearly colliding with Haath.


    "You''re hopeless, Bailon!" Haath shouted over the music, his voice full of mirth.


    "Leave him alone! He''s trying!" Rowen shot back, her grin widening. For a few precious moments, it was as if nothing else mattered¡ªno prophecy, no foreboding sense of doom. It was just her and her clutch siblings, laughing and dancing under the stars. She felt the most normal when she was with them, their presence grounding her in a way nothing else could.


    Daani joined in, dancing alongside Bailon, her infectious energy making even the scholarly blue crack a reluctant smile. They all took turns¡ªspinning, twirling, even attempting some ridiculous dance moves that had them all doubling over with laughter. Rowen''s heart swelled with warmth, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel genuinely happy.


    She knew these moments wouldn''t last forever, but for now, she held onto them, letting the joy wash over her like the warmth of the bonfires.


    The moment of peace was fleeting.


    A sudden, deafening explosion rocked the village square, and the joyous music was replaced by screams of terror. Rowen''s eyes widened as chaos erupted around her. She turned just in time to see a stall engulfed in flames, the acrid smoke stinging her eyes. Humans in dark armor swarmed the square, their swords glinting ominously in the firelight as they moved, throwing nets over fleeing villagers. The stall next to Rowen burst into flames, shards of wood flying through the air, and chaos erupted.


    "Rowen!" Bailon shouted, grabbing her arm. "We have to go!"


    Rowen''s heart pounded, her senses overwhelmed by the screams and the clash of weapons. She scanned the chaos for her clutch siblings, her eyes darting frantically as she tried to find them amidst the melee. Her mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of the scene unfolding before her. Panic clawed at her as she saw Haath and Taal desperately trying to fend off the attackers.


    Haath fought with a ferocity that seemed to surprise even the mercenaries, but there were too many, and they moved too quickly. The humans moved swiftly, cutting down anyone who resisted and capturing those who ran. Rowen''s vision blurred with tears as she saw familiar faces¡ªneighbors, friends¡ªfalling beneath the human¡¯s blades, their bodies crumpling to the ground. She felt an unbearable weight settle over her, the helplessness pressing down until it was hard to breathe.


    She saw Haath swing a piece of broken wood at a human, his teeth bared in a snarl, but it was hopeless. Daani was beside him, her fists raised, but they were no match for the armored men. Within moments, nets were thrown over them, their struggles futile as they were dragged down. The roar of the flames drowned out their cries, and Rowen''s heart twisted in agony.


    "No!" Rowen screamed, her voice raw as she tried to pull away from Bailon. Her eyes locked onto Haath and Daani as they disappeared beneath the weight of the nets. She felt her heart shattering, every instinct screaming at her to fight, to save them. But Bailon''s grip was unyielding, his eyes wide with fear as he dragged her away. The chaos seemed to blur around her, the colors of fire and shadow blending into a nightmarish haze.


    Rowen''s eyes found Illinca, who was being dragged away by a mercenary. Rage and desperation surged through her, and without thinking, she rushed forward, shoving the mercenary away from Illinca with all her strength. The force of the impact sent the mercenary stumbling back, but pain shot through Rowen''s arm as she collided with his armor. She winced, but ignored it, her only focus on getting Illinca out of the net. With frantic hands, she untangled the white-furred Mehrat fortune teller, her heart pounding in her chest.


    "Go!" she yelled, pushing Illinca away. Just as she turned, Bailon grabbed her arm, his eyes wide with fear. "Rowen, we can''t fight them! We have to run!"


    Domnall watched from a vantage point at the edge of the village, his expression hard as he directed his men through the chaos. Beside him stood Cara, her eyes scanning the scene with an intensity that matched his own. Domnall''s initial confidence had begun to fray at the edges as he saw the state of his mercenaries. They were supposed to be disciplined, focused¡ªbut what he saw was far from that.


    The men were reckless, charging into homes, dragging villagers out with a savagery that made Domnall''s stomach twist. The laughter that echoed through the burning village was not the laughter of victory; it was wild and cruel, a sound that belonged to lawless bandits, not trained mercenaries. Domnall clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword as he watched a mercenary overturn a cart and set it ablaze, the flames rising high into the night sky.


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    "They''re getting out of hand," Cara said, her voice low, her gaze fixed on the scene before them. There was no judgment in her tone, but Domnall could hear the concern beneath her calm demeanor.


    Domnall grunted in agreement, his eyes narrowing as he watched one of his men shove a crying villager to the ground, the blade of his sword raised high. He wanted to shout, to pull his men back, to remind them that they were supposed to be soldiers, not savages. But the words caught in his throat. He had set this in motion, and now it was slipping away from him. The thrill of power, the promise of victory¡ªit all felt hollow as he watched the village fall to chaos.


    "This isn''t what I wanted," he muttered, more to himself than to Cara. She glanced at him, her brow furrowing, but said nothing. Domnall''s gaze swept the village, landing on a red-scaled Drakel girl fighting against the tide of mercenaries. Her defiance, her desperation¡ªit stirred something inside him, something he had long buried. He had once admired courage like that, had once believed in something more than gold and power.


    But now, what was he? A leader of men who had forgotten what it meant to be honorable. A commander whose soldiers had become nothing more than marauders.


    As the flames spread and the screams of the villagers echoed in his ears, Domnall felt a weight settle over him¡ªa weight he could no longer ignore. He had chosen this path, and now, for the first time, he was questioning if it was truly worth it.


    Rowen''s eyes darted around, desperation clawing at her. She watched as Taal grappled with an attacker. But even as the big black seemed to be gaining the upper hand, another human raised a blade, and in an instant, Taal fell, his body crumpling to the ground.


    The world seemed to slow, her scream caught in her throat as she watched the life leave his eyes. The sound of metal slicing through flesh echoed in her ears, louder than the screams or the crackle of flames. Her heart shattered, her breath catching in her throat as she screamed his name, her voice lost in the chaos. She felt Bailon pulling her, dragging her away, but her legs felt like they were made of stone.


    "Please, Rowen!" Bailon pleaded, tears streaming down his face. "We have to go!"


    Just as they turned to flee, a group of humans closed in on them, their weapons raised. Rowen''s heart raced, her eyes darting around for any escape. Suddenly, a figure stepped between them and the mercenaries¡ªMaster Gallen. The old green-scaled Drakel stood tall, his eyes fierce as he brandished a staff, striking at the mercenaries with surprising strength.


    "Run!" Gallen shouted, his voice filled with authority. "Get Bailon out of here!"


    Rowen hesitated, her heart torn. She wanted to stay, to fight, but Gallen¡¯s gaze met hers, and she saw the determination in his eyes. He was buying them time. With a sob, she turned, pulling Bailon with her as they ran, her legs feeling like they could give out at any moment. The last thing she saw was Gallen, standing his ground, his staff swinging as the mercenaries closed in on him.


    They ran through the village, the once-vibrant square now a scene of carnage. Bodies lay scattered, the bonfires now feeding on the wreckage. Rowen''s heart pounded, her breath ragged as they fled toward the forest''s edge, her mind numb with shock and grief.


    But there was no escape from the horrors behind them. As they reached the edge of the village, more humans appeared, blocking their path. Rowen felt her strength failing, her body trembling as she tried to protect her clutch brother. But it was too late. The attackers surrounded them, their nets were thrown over Bailon, pulling him away from her.


    "No!" she screamed, reaching out for him, but strong hands grabbed her, yanking her back. She struggled, kicking and thrashing, her vision blurred by tears. She could see Bailon, his eyes wide with fear as he was dragged away, his cries echoing in her ears.


    Then a human struck her on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword, and everything went dark.


    Domnall''s gaze remained fixed on the red-scaled Drakel girl, though he wasn''t entirely sure why her struggles drew his attention. There was something about her¡ªher desperation, her frantic attempts to fight back¡ªthat kept him watching, even as the chaos raged around him. The scene before him was a blur of fire and blood, and yet she stood out, fighting with a fierceness that belied her youth.


    Cara, standing by his side, noticed his interest. She followed his gaze, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. When she saw the mercenary knock the drakel girl unconscious, she stepped forward, her expression hardening.


    "Stop," Cara barked, her voice cutting through the noise. The mercenary hesitated, his blade still raised, poised to finish the girl off. Cara moved closer, her eyes cold as she glared at him. "We take captives, not corpses. Leave her."


    The mercenary lowered his sword, glancing at Domnall as if seeking confirmation. Domnall gave a small nod, his gaze flickering between the unconscious girl and Cara. There was a silent understanding in Cara''s eyes¡ªa recognition of something in Domnall''s expression that she understood, perhaps even shared. Without a word, Domnall moved toward the fallen girl.


    He crouched down, his hands working quickly to pull a fallen tent over her, hiding her from view. It wasn''t much, but it was enough to ensure she wouldn''t be noticed by the others¡ªnot captured, not killed. A small act of mercy, a decision made on instinct rather than logic. Domnall stood, his chest heavy with conflicting emotions. The thrill of power had faded, replaced by something else¡ªsomething that gnawed at him, a question he wasn''t ready to face.


    "Let''s go," he muttered to Cara, his voice rough. Cara nodded, and together they moved away, leaving the village behind. As Domnall glanced back one last time, he knew that something had changed within him tonight. He wasn''t sure what it meant, but for the first time in a long time, he felt the stirrings of something other than the cold drive for power.


    When Rowen awoke, it was dawn. She was lying on the ground, her body aching, her heart heavy with the weight of loss. The village was quiet now, the fires smoldering, the air thick with the stench of smoke and blood. She pushed herself up, her body trembling as she looked around. The village she had known, the people she had loved¡ªthey were gone. Taken or killed. Her heart felt like it had been ripped from her chest, her mind unable to comprehend the magnitude of what had happened.


    She stumbled to her feet, her legs weak beneath her. She had to find them. She had to do something. But as she took a step forward, her vision blurred, her head spinning. The carnage around her came into sharp focus¡ªthe bodies of her friends, her neighbors, strewn across the festival grounds, blood soaking into the dirt. The sight of it made her stomach twist, and she doubled over, vomiting as the stench of death and smoke overwhelmed her senses.


    She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her entire body trembling, but she forced herself to keep moving. She had to find her clutch siblings, to find Bailon, Haath, and Daani. Her heart pounded with a mixture of desperation and fear, her eyes darting around as she took in the shattered remnants of the village she had known her whole life.


    Rowen stumbled forward, trying to push through the grief, her legs carrying her almost on instinct. But then she saw him¡ªMaster Gallen, lying crumpled on the ground, his body broken and bloody. His staff lay beside him, splintered and useless, and his eyes were closed, his face frozen in pain.


    A strangled sob escaped her lips, and she fell to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over his body as if she could somehow bring him back. The weight of her failure pressed down on her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She had let this happen. She hadn''t been strong enough to protect him, to protect anyone. The world around her blurred, her tears falling freely as the grief finally broke her, leaving her hollow and lost.


    She didn''t know how long she stayed there, her tears falling into the dirt. All she knew was that she couldn''t stay. She had to get away, had to find somewhere¡ªanywhere¡ªthat wasn''t filled with the echoes of her loved ones'' screams. With a trembling breath, she forced herself to her feet, her legs barely supporting her. As she stood there, lost and broken, a gentle voice called out to her.


    "Rowen... child."


    She turned, her tear-filled eyes meeting the kind gaze of Elder Merda. The elder''s face was lined with sorrow, but there was warmth in her eyes, a sense of calm that seemed to cut through the despair.


    "Elder Merda," Rowen whispered, her voice cracking. She could barely hold herself together, her grief threatening to consume her.


    Elder Merda moved closer, wrapping an arm around Rowen''s shoulders. "Come, child. You''re not alone."


    Rowen let herself be led away, her legs moving almost mechanically as Merda guided her through the wreckage of the village. The elder spoke softly, comforting words that Rowen could barely hear over the pounding of her heart. She led Rowen to the elder''s hall, where the rest of the survivors were gathered.


    Inside, the hall was quiet, the air heavy with the weight of loss. Only a few dozen Drakel villagers remained, huddled together, their faces etched with grief and exhaustion. Among them were the surviving Mehrat, their fur stained with ash and dirt. Rowen''s eyes scanned the room, her breath catching as she saw familiar faces¡ªMaster Berro, sitting against the wall, his body bruised but alive, and Illinca the fortune teller, her eyes wide with fear and grief.


    A sob escaped Rowen''s lips, and she moved toward them, her heart aching. Berro looked up, his eyes softening as he saw her. "Rowen," he whispered, his voice filled with relief. She knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch his arm.


    "I thought... I thought you were..." she couldn''t finish, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes.


    Berro gave her a weak smile, shaking his head. "I''m still here, child. And so are you."


    Illinca moved closer, her hand resting on Rowen''s shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You saved me."


    Rowen nodded, her tears falling freely as she looked around at the others. The village was in ruins, and so many were gone, but in this small hall, there was still hope. They were broken, but they were not defeated.

 Chapter Seven

    The morning was foggy, a heavy mist hanging over what remained of Borollai. The village was a hushed echo of what it had been, the devastation stark in the cold dawn light. Broken homes lay scattered, their walls collapsed, the charred remains of once-vibrant stalls casting dark shadows on the ground. Fallen trees were strewn across the village square, and the few survivors moved quietly, their voices low and solemn as they picked through the wreckage, gathering what little they could salvage.


    Elder Merda moved among the Drakel survivors, her gold scales dulled but her presence comforting. She placed a gentle hand on each villager, offering words of solace and hope. The survivors clung to her strength, her calm demeanor a beacon amidst the sorrow. Master Berro, though hunched with age, was similarly comforting, his blue-scaled form always surrounded by children and young Drakel, his voice a steady reminder of resilience.


    Many Mehrat traders were also among the survivors, and it was Pyramus who took charge of their efforts to repair what could be salvaged. With his silver-streaked fur and wise eyes, he gave directions, his knowledge of the mountain trails and survival keeping the Mehrat focused. Under his guidance, two damaged wagons were repaired, their wooden wheels bound with leather and rope. Children and the elderly were loaded into these wagons, the few remaining supplies gathered and secured.


    The survivors were preparing to leave Borollai, their destination a hidden valley nestled deep within the White Spire Mountains. Pyramus spoke of it in hushed tones, describing it as a safe haven, a secluded refuge that only the most knowledgeable of mountain travelers could find. It would be a place to heal, to rebuild.


    Rowen sat near Gallen''s abandoned forge, her face streaked with tears, her hands clutching a piece of Gallen''s last work¡ªa small, unfinished blade. She traced her fingers over the rough metal, her heart aching with the weight of all she had lost. She barely registered Illinca''s approach until the white-furred Mehrat knelt beside her, her hand resting gently on Rowen''s shoulder.


    Without a word, Illinca extended her hand, and Rowen took it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. Together, they walked to a quiet patch beneath a wide tree, where they began to dig. The earth was cold and unyielding, but Rowen forced herself to continue, her muscles aching with each movement.


    As they dug, memories of Gallen filled her mind¡ªhis weathered, green-scaled face, his hands always covered in soot and ash, the smell of iron and smoke that clung to him. He had been her mentor, but more importantly, he had been family. The steady warmth he radiated was something she would never feel again. Tears blurred her vision, but she did not stop.


    Her thoughts drifted to Taal, her clutch sibling. She remembered his laughter, the way he teased her about her ambitions, his stubborn streak that often mirrored her own. The ache of his absence settled like a stone in her chest, heavy and suffocating. They were gone¡ªboth of them¡ªand all she could do was give them the burial they deserved.


    When the graves were finally dug, Rowen knelt beside them, her grief nearly overwhelming. She closed her eyes, a memory surfacing¡ªGallen, his voice low as he taught her in the forge. She had been young then, barely able to see over the edge of the forge, her eyes wide with curiosity. He had told her that strength was forged through adversity, that the strongest hearts were those tempered by fire and hardship. The memory brought her a measure of comfort, a reminder that her grief was part of her journey, that it would shape her as surely as fire shaped iron.


    With trembling hands, she placed her first crafted piece of jewelry into Gallen''s grave¡ªa small trinket, simple and imperfect. It was her tribute to him, to all that he had taught her.


    The next morning, the survivors gathered at the outskirts of Borollai. The fog still clung to the village, the air thick with moisture. The ground was damp beneath their feet, and as they stood there, ready to leave, the weight of what they were leaving behind settled heavily on their shoulders.


    Elder Merda raised her hands, her voice carrying over the quiet, fog-drenched village. Her eyes glistened as she spoke, her words steady even as the sadness weighed them down, "People of Borollai, today we leave behind our homes, our memories, and our loved ones who have passed into the beyond. But we take with us the spirit of our village. The love, the strength, the courage that defined us still lives within each of us. Though our homes are gone, we remain. Together, we carry the fire of our ancestors, and we will endure.¡±


    "May the spirits guide our steps and protect us on our journey. May they watch over those we have lost, and may we find the strength to honor them by continuing on, by rebuilding what has been taken from us. We will not be defeated. We will find hope even in the darkest of times, and we will build again."


    The survivors bowed their heads, tears slipping down their cheeks as they cast their final glances at their burned homes and the graves of their loved ones. The survivors bowed their heads, tears slipping down their cheeks as they cast their final glances at their burned homes and the graves of their loved ones.


    Rowen bent down, grasping a small piece of stone from the village well. She held it tightly in her hand, her fingers brushing over its rough surface. It was a piece of home, a reminder of the life they had shared here. She slipped it into her pouch, alongside Gallen''s unfinished blade, a silent promise to herself¡ªshe would remember, she would honor those they had lost.


    The journey through the mountains was grueling. The path was rocky, narrow, and treacherous, the fog thickening as they ascended. Pyramus led the way, his knowledge of the hidden routes keeping them safe. The survivors moved in near silence, their steps careful and deliberate, the air filled with the sound of their footfalls and the creak of the repaired wagons.


    Rowen and Illinca spent much of their time walking side by side, the shared experience gradually deepening their bond. On the third day, as they sat around a small campfire beneath a blanket of stars, Rowen turned to Illinca, her voice barely louder than a whisper, "Illinca, about the prophecy... I need to know more."


    Illinca glanced at her, her white fur glowing softly in the firelight. She nodded, her gaze shifting to the stars. "I wish I could tell you everything. But my visions¡ªthey''re not something I can control or even remember afterward. When I have them, it''s like I''m not really there. I see things, speak things, but when I come back... it''s gone."


    Rowen frowned, her frustration evident. "So, you can''t remember anything at all? Not even a glimpse?"


    Illinca shook her head. "No, not directly. But there are feelings, impressions that linger. I remember the fear, the urgency. I remember seeing you, standing against something dark¡ªsomething powerful." She paused, her eyes meeting Rowen''s. "I know that whatever is coming, you are meant to face it."


    Rowen let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding. "You mentioned a black lion. The human empire... could they be behind this? I remember you saying something about a black lion."


    Illinca''s gaze darkened, and she nodded. "Yes. The black lion on a gold field¡ªthat is the emblem of the human empire. I have crossed their borders before, traded with their people. They are powerful, and their reach is vast. If they are involved, it would explain much of what has happened."


    Rowen clenched her fists, her anger simmering beneath her grief. "Then they are my enemy. They took everything from me. And I won''t rest until I make them pay."


    Illinca reached over, placing a gentle hand on Rowen''s arm. "We will face them together, Rowen. But remember, we must be smart about this. The empire is vast, and we are just two. We need to gather allies, learn all we can. Rushing in without a plan will only get us killed."


    Rowen looked at Illinca, her eyes filled with determination. "I know. But I can''t do nothing. I have to act. And I will, no matter what it takes."


    Illinca gave her a small smile, her eyes filled with understanding. "And I will be with you every step of the way."


    As the journey continued, Rowen and Illinca found themselves sharing more about their lives. One afternoon, while taking a brief rest near a mountain stream, Rowen turned to Illinca, her curiosity getting the best of her.


    "What''s it like, being a Mehrat trader?" Rowen asked, her tone softer than usual.


    Illinca smiled, her ears perking up slightly. "It has its challenges, but it''s rewarding. We travel a lot, always moving from one place to another. We see many different cultures, meet all kinds of people. There is a freedom to it, but also a sense of responsibility¡ªto my family, to my people." She paused, her gaze turning thoughtful. "I''ve crossed the border into the human empire a few times. Their cities are large, overwhelming even, but there''s also a sense of order that I find fascinating."


    Rowen nodded, her eyes thoughtful. "I''ve always felt like an outsider, even among my own people," she admitted quietly. "Being a red scale... it comes with expectations. Expectations I was never sure I could meet. I wanted to prove myself, but I never quite fit in."


    Illinca looked at her with empathy, "It''s difficult, feeling like you don''t belong. But I''ve seen your strength, Rowen. You care deeply for your people, and that alone makes you worthy. You are more than capable."


    Rowen smiled, a hint of gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you. I guess... it''s just hard to shake that feeling sometimes. But having you here¡ªit helps."


    Illinca nodded, her expression warm. "We help each other. That''s how we''ll get through this."


    There were also moments of levity between them, brief respites from the heaviness of their journey. One evening, as they camped beside a small grove of fruit trees, Illinca climbed up to pick some of the ripe fruit. She tossed one down to Rowen, who caught it with a raised eyebrow.


    "You know, I didn''t take you for a climber," Rowen teased, a rare smile tugging at her lips.


    Illinca laughed, her eyes twinkling. "There''s a lot you don''t know about me yet. I''ve always loved climbing trees." She reached higher, pulling herself onto a sturdier branch.


    Rowen grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I can climb too!" she declared, moving toward the tree. She grabbed onto a low branch and pulled herself up, trying to match Illinca''s agility. But as she reached for the next branch, her foot slipped, and she tumbled back to the ground, landing with a thud.


    For a moment, there was silence, and then Rowen burst into laughter, her face flushed. Illinca climbed down quickly, her eyes wide with concern, but when she saw Rowen laughing, she couldn''t help but join in.


    "Are you all right?" Illinca asked, still chuckling.


    Rowen nodded, her laughter subsiding as she sat up. "Just my pride that''s bruised," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe I''m not as good at climbing as I thought."


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Illinca smiled, her eyes filled with warmth. "Here, let me show you how it''s done." She climbed back up the tree, her tail wrapping around a branch as she hung upside down, passing another fruit down to Rowen. "See? It¡¯s all about balance."


    Rowen took the fruit, her smile widening. "Show-off," she muttered, but her tone was light, the joy of the moment clear in her eyes.


    For a while, they laughed and shared the fruit, the warmth of companionship pushing back the cold of grief, even if just for a little while.


    But there were also moments when the pain of their losses was too much to ignore. One night, as they sat by the fire, Rowen stared into the flames, her thoughts turning to Gallen, to Taal. The ache in her chest was almost unbearable, each memory like a blade cutting into her heart. She remembered Gallen''s kind smile, the warmth of his presence, the way he always knew what to say to calm her fears. She remembered Taal''s laughter, his teasing, his unwavering belief in her. The emptiness they left behind was overwhelming.


    "I miss them," she whispered, her voice barely audible, almost swallowed by the crackling of the fire. "I miss them so much. It''s like... a part of me is missing too. I don''t know how to fill that space."


    Illinca moved closer, her presence a quiet comfort beside Rowen. She placed her hand gently on Rowen''s arm. "I know," she said softly. "I miss my people too. But there''s something we mehrat believe, Rowen¡ªsomething my mother used to tell me when I was a child. We believe that the spirits of those who have passed never truly leave us. They become part of us, of who we are. Their love, their strength, their essence¡ªit all lives on in us, shaping us, guiding us. A piece of them is always here."


    Rowen turned her head slightly to look at Illinca, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "You mean... Gallen and Taal, they''re still with me?"


    Illinca nodded, her expression tender. "Yes. They are you. In every choice you make, in every bit of courage you find, they are there. They live on in you, Rowen, just as my family lives on in me. It''s how they continue to be a part of this world¡ªthrough us. And they would want us to keep moving forward, to keep fighting."


    Rowen''s gaze returned to the fire, her heart heavy but no longer quite so alone. The idea that Gallen and Taal were still with her, that they were a part of her, brought a measure of solace. She could almost feel their presence, like a whisper in her soul, urging her onward.


    She nodded, her eyes glistening with tears. "I just hope... I hope I can make them proud."


    Illinca placed a hand on her shoulder, her touch gentle and reassuring. "You will, Rowen. I know you will. And I''ll be here to remind you of that, every step of the way."


    Illinca leaned against her friend, giving her a comforting hug.


    Rowen''s mind turned to the prophecy¡ªher anger at the ones responsible for the attack on Borollai simmering beneath her grief. She felt her resolve solidify, her purpose becoming clearer with every step they took. She would find those who had done this. She would make them pay.


    The journey was not without its challenges. A narrow mountain pass tested every ounce of their courage, the sheer drop below disappearing into a thick, swirling mist. The ledge was barely wide enough for the wagons, and each step felt like a gamble. Rowen took the lead, her heart pounding with each careful movement as she guided the livestock along the edge. Illinca stayed close, her eyes sharp for any sign of loose rocks.


    When the ground crumbled beneath Rowen¡¯s feet, her heart lurched, but Illinca¡¯s quick reflexes saved her, pulling her back from the precipice. They exchanged a look of shared relief, knowing they would need each other to overcome these dangers.


    They soon reached a swollen river, its waters roaring with the power of snowmelt from the mountains. Crossing seemed almost impossible at first glance. But Pyramus devised a plan, directing everyone to build a makeshift bridge using fallen logs. Rowen and Illinca were among those who worked tirelessly, their hands aching as they maneuvered the heavy logs into place. The cold, rushing water soaked them, its icy grip sapping their strength, but they persisted.


    When a log threatened to drift away, Rowen lunged after it, her fingers barely closing around it before it escaped. Together, she and Illinca managed to secure it, the two of them exchanging tired but triumphant smiles. Slowly, each of the survivors crossed, and tension eased only when the last wagon made it safely to the other side.


    A steep, rocky incline presented yet another obstacle, requiring all their strength to push the wagons up the treacherous path. The loose rocks shifted constantly underfoot, threatening to send them sliding backward. Rowen and Illinca took turns at the front, their muscles straining, sweat beading on their brows. The incline seemed never-ending, every inch gained a battle of endurance. The others joined in, lending their combined weight to the effort, and at last, they crested the top.


    As they reached flat ground, they collapsed in exhaustion, and laughter broke out among the group¡ªlaughter born of relief and the simple joy of having accomplished something together.


    The hardships bonded the Drakel and Mehrat in a way nothing else could, their shared struggle bringing moments of connection¡ªhelping hands offered when someone stumbled, shared meals eaten in silence but with a deep sense of unity. Rowen felt herself growing stronger, her spirit toughened by each trial they faced. Each challenge they overcame was a reminder that they were survivors. Together, they could endure anything, even in the face of overwhelming adversity.


    After days of travel, the caravan finally reached their destination¡ªa narrow passage opening onto a lush, green valley, surrounded by high cliffs. The valley was untouched, serene, an oasis amidst the rugged mountains. Clear streams wound through the meadows, groves of fruit trees offering shade and sustenance. The survivors'' relief was palpable, a collective sigh escaping as they beheld the haven before them.


    The Drakel and Mehrat immediately set to work, their movements filled with a renewed sense of purpose. It was time to put down new roots, to rebuild what they had lost. Pyramus pointed out the natural features of the valley¡ªa cave where they could store food, a hidden waterfall that would provide fresh water, and flat, fertile areas where they could eventually plant crops. The sense of unity between the Drakel and Mehrat was evident as they worked together, side by side, their focus now on survival and renewal.


    Rowen watched as a group of Mehrat carefully unloaded the repaired wagons, handing out blankets and food while a few Drakel worked on constructing a makeshift pen for the livestock they had managed to save. The children, who had been silent and fearful throughout the journey, began to explore the valley, their laughter echoing through the meadows as they chased each other under the watchful eyes of their elders. It was a sound that brought a small measure of warmth to Rowen''s heart¡ªa reminder that hope still lingered, even after all they had lost.


    Nearby, Elder Merda spoke gently with a group of survivors, her words encouraging as she helped them plan where to set up their tents. Master Berro gathered the young Drakel around him, his voice calm as he began to tell them a story¡ªone of resilience, of hope amidst despair. The children listened, their eyes wide, their expressions slowly softening as the old storyteller wove his words into a comforting tapestry.


    Rowen worked alongside the others, her hands busy as she helped to set up tents and gather firewood. She watched as the valley slowly transformed into a small settlement, the survivors¡¯ efforts bringing life to the once-empty space. The fires crackled as night fell, and a sense of community began to take hold.


    For the first time since the attack, Rowen allowed herself to feel a sliver of hope. This valley was their chance¡ªa place to heal, to grow, to remember those they had lost while still finding a way forward.


    As she looked around, seeing the survivors beginning to settle and find small moments of peace, Rowen''s heart felt lighter. The valley was not just a refuge; it was a promise that they could endure, that they could rebuild. They were not defeated, and this place, with its clear waters and fertile grounds, was proof that even in the face of darkness, there could still be light.


    But as the others began to settle, Rowen¡¯s mind was elsewhere. She thought of Bailon, Haath, Daani¡ªall those who had been captured. Her grief turned to resolve, her heart hardening. She couldn¡¯t stay here, not while her loved ones were out there, suffering. She knew what she had to do.


    That night, as the fire burned low, Rowen approached Elder Merda, Master Berro, and Pyramus. They sat around a fire, their faces weary but attentive as she knelt before them.


    "I have to go after them," Rowen said, her voice steady but emotional. "I have to find my clutch siblings. I can¡¯t stay here, not when there¡¯s a chance I could save them. I can''t just sit and do nothing."


    Elder Merda¡¯s eyes softened, her concern evident. She leaned forward, her hands resting gently on her knees. "Child, I understand your pain and your desire to act," she said, her voice soothing but firm. "But you must understand that you¡¯ve been through so much. Your body, your spirit¡ªthey both need time to recover. You are precious to us, Rowen. We cannot afford to lose any more of our people. There is wisdom in temperance, in waiting until the time is right."


    Rowen shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. "But Elder Merda, they¡¯re out there¡ªsuffering, maybe worse. I can''t let that happen without doing something. I have to try."


    Merda sighed, her expression one of deep sympathy. "I approve of your courage, child, but courage without caution can be dangerous. You need a plan, allies, and most importantly, you need to be at your best. If you rush in now, you risk everything¡ªnot just your life, but theirs as well."


    Master Berro spoke then, his eyes filled with a mix of pride and worry. "Rowen, you are strong, stronger than many your age. I¡¯ve seen the fire in you, the potential of a red scale. But strength alone is not enough. You need wisdom, the ability to know when to act and when to hold back. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is wait, to prepare and gather the tools you need before stepping into the unknown. I know you wish to live up to your potential, but true strength is not just about bravery¡ªit is about endurance, about protecting not only others but yourself as well. Rushing in without thinking will only lead to more loss. Be patient, Rowen, and remember that there is more to heroism than action. It is also about survival and returning to those who depend on you.""


    Rowen¡¯s face tightened, her determination clear. "I understand what you¡¯re saying, Master Berro. But I can''t ignore this. I can''t sit here while they need me. I may be young, but I¡¯m not helpless. Gallen told me that strength is forged through adversity. I can¡¯t turn away from this. I have to fight for them, even if it means facing the impossible."


    With those words, Rowen planted her fists on the ground, bowing her head until her forehead touched the earth. "Please," she said, her voice trembling but resolute, "I beg for your blessing to go."


    Rowen clenched her jaw, her heart pounding in her chest, waiting for the elders'' final answer, her resolve unshaken. Before they could respond, Illinca stepped from the shadows beyond the camp fire, her white fur illuminated in the dancing light. "I''m going with her," she said, her voice clear and unwavering. "Not because of any vision, but because Rowen is my friend, and I cannot let her face this alone. I will use my skills, and my knowledge of the empire, to help her."


    The elders exchanged glances, a mixture of emotions passing between them. Elder Merda''s eyes, though still filled with concern, softened as she looked at the two young women. She let out a long breath, her expression one of reluctant acceptance. ¡°You are both determined, I can see that,¡± she said quietly. ¡°I may urge caution, but I cannot deny the strength of your conviction. Go, but be careful, and remember that you carry our hopes with you.¡±


    Master Berro nodded slowly, his gaze shifting from Rowen to Illinca. His eyes held a blend of pride and sorrow. ¡°You have courage, both of you. Rowen, I see the fire in you, and Illinca, your wisdom is beyond your years. But remember, heroism is not recklessness. Temper your actions with wisdom and patience. Promise me you will take care of each other.¡±


    Pyramus sighed, but there was a glimmer of respect in his eyes. He reached out, touching Illinca¡¯s arm. ¡°You have my blessing, child. May the spirits guide you both. The path ahead is not an easy one, but if you truly believe this is your calling, then I will not stand in your way. May our ancestors watch over you and guide your steps, always.¡±


    Rowen and Illinca spent the rest of the night gathering supplies¡ªfood, blankets, a map that Pyramus provided, marked with trails leading southward. Rowen took Gallen''s unfinished blade, the one she had kept in her pouch. Using her skills in jewelry making, she fashioned a simple leather cord to hang the blade around her neck.


    Illinca noticed and remarked, a hint of amusement in her voice, "You know, that unfinished lump of steel makes an ugly medallion."


    Rowen smiled, her eyes softening. "It''s the worst piece of jewelry I¡¯ve ever made," she said, her voice filled with emotion, "but I''ll never take it off."


    As dawn broke, the two young women stood at the edge of the valley, their figures silhouetted against the rising sun. Elder Merda embraced Rowen, her voice soft but firm as she whispered her blessing, "May the spirits guide you, child. May your path be clear, and may you always find your way back to those who love you."


    Master Berro stepped forward, his eyes filled with both pride and concern. "Remember, both of you," he said, his voice steady, "you always have a haven here with your people. No matter what happens, this place will be waiting for you. You are never alone."


    The survivors watched as Rowen and Illinca began their journey, their steps sure and determined as they disappeared into the mountains, the next chapter of their quest just beginning.