Finn shifted uneasily in his chair, feeling a wave of bitterness and resentment rising within him. Eva's story sounded noble, almost beautiful—but something in it didn't add up. Memories of those dark days in the cavern, of the miserable crack in the stone that became his shelter, of the endless hours of fear before the hunched beasts—all of it clashed with her words about care and watchfulness.
"W-why…" his voice trembled under the weight of suppressed emotion, "why didn't you save me earlier? I… I spent so long in those caves…" He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "I starved… I nearly died there…"
"Finn." Eva's voice was firm, steady, devoid of any emotion. "We didn't know where you were. When the tomb's doors opened again, we were prepared to meet you, but no one came out. The tomb began to change before our very eyes—centuries seemed to pass in mere minutes, aging it into ruin. You vanished."
Her tone never wavered, her posture unshaken.
"We split into groups and searched every nearby town. We infiltrated merchant guilds, joined mercenary bands, sifted through records in taverns. Adam personally scoured the forests around the mountain. We inspected every orphanage within three days' travel. We investigated every rumor about missing children. But it was as though you had dissolved into nothing."
She spoke with the same measured cadence.
"We even planned an operation to break into the central archive of the Iron City, where records of every subject in the kingdom are kept. But without a name, without an age, without even an estimate of when you might have appeared—it would have been a meaningless waste of time. Only three months later, when you finally surfaced in the nearest town by the forest, were we able to pick up your trail."
Finn sat in silence, turning over her words. His fingers tugged absently at the edge of his sleeve as another question formed in his mind.
"And what about the tomb itself?" he asked at last. "What was that trial?"
"No one knows what lies beyond the tomb's doors," Eva replied, her voice just as steady as before. "Not even Adam. That knowledge belongs to you alone, Finn. And I am certain that, in time, you will recover your memories."
Finn fell silent again, digesting her words. His gaze dropped to the bracelet around his wrist, pulling him back to the events of the previous night.
"Yesterday, the tree gave me this," he said, extending his arm. "What is it?"
Eva studied the ornament carefully, and though her voice remained impassive, a flicker of surprise passed through her eyes.
"It is a bond unlike any seen before. None of us have ever been able to forge such a connection with the tree. It has never shown such care for anyone—not constant nectar, not personal training, and now this bracelet…" She shook her head slightly. "I don't know its properties. The tree remains a mystery even to me—its full abilities are beyond my knowledge. But one thing I do know: it is counted among the eight wonders of the world."
Finn sat frozen, trying to absorb it all. The thought that such a vast and mighty entity had turned its gaze toward a mere child like him stirred something strange inside. Pride? Perhaps. But that was something to wrestle with later.
"Tell me about your clan," he said at last, redirecting his attention. "All this time, I've rarely seen you speak with one another. It's as if you live by the same schedule, and grew so accustomed to it that days melted into years."
Eva straightened in her chair, her gaze distant, as though looking through the walls of her hut, through time itself.
"We are a clan…" She paused. "Truthfully, we have no name. But for you, let us be the Clan of Art, for we are all creations of the great Maker." Her tone remained calm, though faint notes of pride colored her words. "You already know that we have lived since the very birth of this world. The first centuries we devoted to exploring the lands, to training, to building this place. We are a clan with but one purpose: to aid the one who can pass the trial."
"We studied human life in detail," she went on, her voice flowing like an underground river. "How they gather food, how they prepare it, what rituals accompany their meals. We observed their leisure—their festivals, their games, the ways they find joy in simple things. Above all, we studied their arts of war—how they fight, what weapons they favor, and most importantly, what causes they are willing to die for."
She paused briefly, as though gathering her thoughts.
"Our first encounters with humans promised nothing good. We saw how they destroy what they cannot understand, how fear of the unknown twists them into merciless killers. Knowing human nature, we refused to share the fate of our true predecessors—whose ruins now lie buried under layers of earth and oblivion."
Her fingers tightened slightly on the armrest—the only sign of emotion she allowed herself to show.
"That is why we keep our distance from humans. Yes, we could resist them—our art of war surpasses their crude strength. But we are only a hundred, while they are millions. It is far wiser to remain in shadow, to draw no attention to our existence. In this way, we preserve not only our lives, but also the hope of fulfilling our purpose."