The next morning began with tension in the air. The usual tribal chants were quieter, the energy subdued. Rey noticed warriors moving faster than usual, their faces grim, armed for battle.
Fianna approached, wearing her full combat gear—dark bark-like armor over her chest and shoulders, a curved blade strapped to her waist. Her eyes met Rey's, serious.
"Something happened?"
She nodded. "One of our scouts—Torik—returned this morning. He's badly injured."
Rey followed her to the healer's hut, where a small group had gathered. Inside, the air was thick with herbal smoke. On a bed of moss lay a tall Elysian man, his dark green skin covered in jagged wounds. His left leg was gone, torn off at the thigh. Blood still seeped from beneath the wrappings.
Rey felt his stomach twist.
Torik was murmuring in a low, broken voice. Fianna leaned down to hear.
"…shadows… they took them… twisted ones… bones… growing out of eyes… not monsters… something worse…"
Fianna clenched her fists. The tribe's leader, an older woman named Saerva, stepped forward. "He was scouting west. Near the Ridge of Howls. Something's stirring there. Something that used to sleep."
The words hung heavy in the air. Rey could sense it—fear, real fear, even in these powerful warriors.
Rey pulled Fianna aside. "What does he mean by 'twisted ones'?"
Fianna's face darkened. "Some say the Abyss changes things. Not just monsters—people too. There are places so deep, so cursed, that even light forgets how to reach them. Some who go there… come back broken."
She took a breath. "Sometimes they come back wrong."
Rey remembered the strange shadow that had grabbed him on the cliff. The chill that ran down his spine. Something about it had felt different—too precise. Too intelligent.
Suddenly, Saerva turned toward Rey. "You. South-born. You claim to be a wanderer. Today, you'll show us your truth."
Rey blinked. "What do you mean?"
"A trial," Saerva said. "If you truly want to be part of our tribe, then face what threatens us."
Before he could reply, Fianna stepped forward. "He's not ready."
Saerva raised an eyebrow. "Neither were you at his age. But you learned."
Fianna's jaw tightened, but she didn't argue. Instead, she looked at Rey, eyes fierce. "Do you want to do this?"
Rey didn't answer immediately. A year ago, he would've run. Even a month ago, he would've hidden.
But now… something was changing.
He gripped the short spear that had chosen him. "I'll go."
That night, under the red glow of twin moons, Fianna found him sitting alone near the edge of the village. She sat beside him, silent for a moment.
"When I was a child," she said quietly, "I lost my mother in the dark woods. We were attacked by beasts. I survived. She didn't. That's when I first heard the Rhythm. That pain—it taught me to listen."
Rey turned to her. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you'll need to listen too."
She reached into her pouch and handed him a thin green crystal. "This is a Seeker's Stone. It will hum when danger is near."
Their hands brushed. Neither moved for a second.
Fianna finally whispered, "Don't die out there."
Rey gave a faint smile. "I'm not ready to die. Not yet."
And with that, the wind carried their unspoken promise into the night.
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