The fire crackled in the center of the tribe's camp, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls and earthen huts that surrounded the area. Rey sat beside Fianna, still reeling from the earlier moment—her sudden shift to his language, her blade at his neck, and the piercing glare that questioned his very existence.
Now, things had settled. Kindled by curiosity and a hint of shared loneliness, Fianna had agreed to help him speak with the tribe. They sat before the chieftain, a broad-shouldered being with dark green skin like the others, horns curling from his temples, and scars etched like stories across his face. Around him were the tribe's elders, their eyes cautious yet not hostile.
Fianna stood tall beside Rey, speaking in their native tongue. As she translated Rey's story, her voice wavered at first, but slowly grew steadier. Rey began to tell them everything—how his world was consumed by fire, the monstrous gate, his abduction, the fall into the Abyss. He described the monsters, the ruins, the cave he dug to survive. He didn't lie, not anymore. If he was to be accepted, it had to be on truth.
The elders whispered among themselves. The chieftain remained silent for a moment, then finally spoke, his deep voice echoing with authority.
Fianna turned to Rey. "He says... you are a strange one, outsider. But your pain is not false. You are welcome here—as long as you bring no harm."
Rey let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. For the first time in two years, he heard something resembling acceptance.
That night, he was given a place to rest—soft grass and woven fabric beneath a tent. Fianna stayed outside the entrance, silent, watchful. Rey peeked out before sleeping.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Fianna didn't turn, but he could hear her faint reply. "Don't thank me yet. Trust is earned, not gifted."
For the first time since falling into the Abyss, Rey closed his eyes... and dreamed without fear.
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