The village awoke to distant echoes of horns—low, rhythmic, and not of their own. From the watchpost on the hill, young boys cried out with excitement. Travelers had arrived.
Charlisa stood beside Kael, watching as the wagons approached. Unlike their own tribe's utilitarian wooden carts, these were beautifully adorned—covered in patterned hides and brass rings that chimed softly with motion. The beasts pulling them were tall and sinewy, their manes braided with beads.
The merchants were striking. Skin tones ranging from ash-gold to sunset bronze, their garments flowing and vibrant. Some wore circlets on their brows, others tattoos of stars and vines. Their language danced in the air, a melodic blend that resembled old Greek. One merchant woman stepped forward.
"We come from Aetherion," she said. "From beyond the Cloudridge Pass. We trade in stone, silk, spice, and scroll."
Charlisa's heart fluttered. Aetherion. She had heard the name whispered around the fire last moon—spoken like myth.
Kael's brow furrowed. "Few cross the Cloudridge this time of year. What drives your journey?"
The woman smiled. "A thirst for trade. And stories."
As they set up their wares in the village square, Charlisa wandered among their goods. She found dried tea leaves, hammered silver earrings, dyed cloth in indigo and saffron. But what caught her most were the scrolls—carefully wrapped, with sketches of plants she had never seen.
"From Eleus," one merchant explained. "Our sister city beyond the river. Known for her garden academies."
"And Thalos," said another, "where the ground is warm year-round and stone temples touch the clouds."
The cities—Aetherion, Lysandra, Myrinthos, Thalos, and Eleus—were all marvels of civilization built upon ancient wisdom. Though the language echoed Greek, the architecture spoke to something deeper: Charlisa recognized elements strikingly similar to ancient Indian design. There were descriptions of stepped wells for water conservation, homes built along the sun's path for natural lighting, intricate ventilation shafts in stone corridors, and temples aligned with solstices.
That evening, the village gathered for a shared meal. Fire-pit roasted tubers, herb-baked fish, honeyed roots, and wildberry wine flowed freely. The merchants sang a song of the sky map—stars that guided them, cities built in their image.
One elder merchant leaned close to Charlisa.
"You have eyes like the scholars of Lysandra," he said. "Curious, grounded in earth, but always looking up."
"I want to learn," she admitted. "About the world beyond. Your cities… the knowledge you carry. It feels familiar."
The merchant nodded. "Some of the best minds came from your kind of soil—rich with silence, patient enough to listen."
That night, Charlisa sat beside Kael outside their hut. She rolled the silk map open again, staring at the lands beyond.