Fortunately, the hand on my back belonged to someone from the clan.

  A man—middle-aged, or close enough. His skin was rugged and deeply weathered, traced with fine scars that told more stories than most men could. His thick, grey-streaked hair was pulled back with a twisted fate-cord, and his beard was braided with tiny bone chips that clicked softly when he moved. He wore layered leather and a sleeveless cloak marked by faded star-stitching—the kind only a Zaydeno would bear.

  When I turned and saw him, I nearly bolted—kid or not, I almost left Linto behind in the dust. My heart said run. My legs disagreed.

  But then I looked closer.

  He radiated that quiet, cold edge. The kind of man who didn’t flinch when things got bloody. He looked like the type of character you unlock late in a game—scarred, betrayed, and way too strong for his level.

  Then he spoke. His voice was low. Calm. And just sharp enough to pin me in place.

  “Enjoying your little stroll in the dark, Sprout?” He didn’t even glance at me. “You’ve been gone near an hour.”

  His eyes flicked to my clothes—torn, stained, halfway shredded—and lingered.

  Yeah. I definitely looked like I’d been chewed on and spat out.

  But I wasn’t about to say anything reckless.

  Not to him.

  As far as I knew, I was still the weakest of Halsen’s children—and the clan didn’t exactly hide how they felt about that. And if my instincts were worth anything, they were telling me to watch my words around this man.

  Especially since I couldn’t even remember much about him.

  I forced a smile—half playful, half defensive. “Those boys knew exactly what they were doing,” I said, voice light.

  I nudged a stone with my foot, trying not to sound as bitter as I felt.

  “Wasn’t exactly an accident.” My eyes dropped to my ruined clothes, then flicked to Linto—who was already shaking his head slowly, guilt written all over his face.

  “Seers’ boys, huh?” the man said.

  It wasn’t a question. More like confirmation. Like he already knew.

  Not that I planned on telling him the full story.

  Truth was, I didn’t even know what happened. I’d only just known about it because of Linto. So every time the man looked at me, I instinctively glanced toward the kid—like he had the answers I didn’t. Because, honestly?

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  He probably did.

  Linto finally nodded and spoke—and just seeing him speak, hearing his voice again, actually made me feel a little more grounded.

  “They asked Tagen to play, Raal Otis,” he said, voice low and hesitant. “So I figured it was fine. I mean… they looked normal.”

  He trailed off for a moment, then added, “But when they came back without him, I thought something might’ve gone wrong. So… I went back. Just to check.”

  “Clothes tellin’ a story, Sprout,” the man said, his tone dry but not unkind. “You planning to share it?”

  So that was him.

  Raal Otis.

  I forced a steady breath, then nodded—only partly lying, but still.

  I told him I woke up while we were playing. That everything had been normal until a huge wolf—an Azotyl—came out of nowhere. The other boys ran. I got left behind. I panicked. Prayed. Ran like hell.

  “Didn’t think you’d outrun an Azotyl,” Otis muttered. “Guess I owe my doubt an apology.”

  Yeah. That made two of us.

  I nodded quietly, adding that most of the scratches on my clothes came from crashing through branches and tumbling down a rocky slope while trying not to die. Linto, bless him, didn’t question it. Didn’t even blink. He just nodded along, agreeing with everything like we’d practiced it in advance.

  Raal’s hand landed on my shoulder, not hard, just a light tap. A nudge, really. Barely pressure at all. But I felt the weight of it anyway.

  “You don’t want your father hearin’ about this… do you?”

  His voice was calm. Not threatening. Just matter-of-fact. The hand stayed where it was.

  “Yeah… no. I really don’t.” I scratched the back of my neck, glancing away. “He’d probably shave my head or something.”

  “He won’t.” Raal’s eyes swept the treeline. “But knowing and not knowing... both come with a price.” He let out a faint grunt. “For now? Best stick to staying out of trouble, Sprout.”

  He released my shoulder and adjusted his belt with a subtle shift, already turning as we began walking again. His stride was quiet, confident. He didn’t look back.

  As we moved, he gave Linto a short glance. “Same goes for you kid”

  Linto nodded, walking a bit straighter after that.

  The deeper we went, the narrower the path became. The earth underfoot turned firm, almost packed flat. Cold air clung to my skin, carrying the scent of wet grass and mossy bark.

  Eventually, the trail widened again—and up ahead, stretched between the treetops, I saw some wooden canopy walks. Bridges of rope and timber. Suspended high. Woven through the branches of trees. From the memories I’d recovered, I already had a glimpse of how the Zaydeno lived.

  They moved. Constantly.

  No permanent homes, no fixed cities. Just a rhythm of travel embedded in their blood. To me, that sounded—well, kind of insane. But strangely enough, it felt... familiar.

  Probably because the body I now lived in carried that same blood. The blood of the clan leader’s line. That much, I knew.

  The moment we crossed into the clan’s main camp, the system chimed softly in my head.

  Territory: Zaydeno Clan

  Encampment: Veyhala

  Status: Entered Homeland

  You have stepped into the land of your bloodline.

  Welcome home, Tagen of Zaydeno.

  The camp itself stretched out before us, quiet but alive.

  Large stone monoliths stood in an orderly row near a wide clearing. Around that space, tents were arranged in a loose, circular formation. Each one was dusky in color, decorated with hanging charms that clinked in the breeze—some looked ceremonial, others purely personal. Maybe both.

  At the center sat a firepit. A low, worn stone ring cradling a blue flame. Not large, but bright enough to light the entire space with an eerie, gentle glow. There was something strange about it. Something sacred.

  As we moved deeper into the camp, heads began to turn.

  People looked. Watched. A few gave small nods—more like silent acknowledgments than greetings.

  They weren’t bowing to me though. They were bowing to the man walking in front of us.

  Raal Otis.

  I hadn’t realized how respected he was until then.

  Though… I should’ve guessed.

  The deeper we moved into the camp, the more I started to grasp just how vast this place really was.

  Tents continued to stretch out ahead of us. Dozens. Maybe more. And they weren’t just clustered—they were organized, layered across the forest clearing like someone had built a wandering city without walls.

  For a clan that never stayed still, they sure had numbers.

  That thought didn’t get far.

  “Stay put. Don’t get clever,” Otis said flatly as he kept walking while we stayed behind.

  I caught a glance at Linto’s face. He looked uneasy, lips tight, shoulders drawn in. Maybe he was regretting following me out into the forest. Or maybe I was just overacting. Hard to say.

  Still, the way Otis said it was enough to make my chest tighten.

  He didn’t even explain anything.

  My body was already reacting before my brain caught up.

  People passed by, dressed in near-identical layers of cloak and cloth. Pale breaths curled into the cold air with each exhale. They didn’t look hostile. They didn’t even glance our way.

  But my hands still trembled. My legs felt light.

  And I couldn’t tell if it was me or the body I was in.

  Maybe both.