Where the clan reveals its pillars, and fate walks among them with invisible steps.
The days following the exorcism of the child were not filled with celebration, but with a tense calm—like the still surface of a lake before a storm. Zharr-Kael did not forget fear easily, but neither did it forget miracles.
The villagers no longer avoided Ethan: now they looked at him with a mix of respect, need, and fear. To many, he was the protector sent by the gods of the firmament. To others, he was still a mystery they hadn't fully accepted.
The system remained mostly silent, save for brief pulses of energy whenever Ethan neared Indra or certain places within the settlement. Something was stirring. Something deeper than power.
It was the elder who had found him—Garet-Sul—who one morning invited him to meet those who bore the true weight of the clan.
"If you're to be part of Zharr-Kael," he said, "you cannot walk among us as a shadow with a face. You must know the structure that holds this valley together.
Not all trust you yet... but fire does not feed those who do not approach it." He pointed toward the horizon with a staff of metal fragments and braided cords.
They walked for hours through the inner levels of the village, where not only storerooms and workshops were hidden, but also gathering chambers, tribal archives, and sleeping temples.
There, Ethan met Maedra Koln, the Matriarch of Births. An elderly woman with completely white hair and sacred tattoos on her eyelids.
She recorded all births and deaths, and determined unions according to "spiritual and physical compatibilities." Her voice was soft—but unyielding.
"Your aura is unstable," she said without preamble. "As if you carry multiple paths within. But... you do not smell of extinction. That is rare. Very rare."
Maedra examined him with her fingers, touching his forehead, chest, and abdomen. Ethan felt a faint energy travel down his spine. It wasn't psychic... it was something older, a form of ritual reading. The system stirred uneasily—but did not intervene.
Next, he was led to the Furnaces of Whispering Iron, where he met Vorek-Tann, the chief blacksmith. A giant with skin blackened by soot and years, arms reinforced with ancient plating, and a respirator mask built into his throat.
His workshop was carved into the hull of a fallen ship, and every weapon or tool was forged with reverence.
"Your bloodline has left no mark here yet," he said, never lifting his eyes from the glowing metal. "But if it does, my fire will remember. We forge only for those who burn."
Ethan didn't know how to respond. Vorek spoke little, but his words echoed like a hammer striking stone.
The last was Khor-Dalem, the watcher of the borders. A blind man who walked the village's walls as if he saw more than anyone. He claimed to hear "the currents of the air," predicting when scavengers approached or when Pureblood spies lingered in the distance.
"Children are not protected by spears," Khor said. "They are protected by knowing when to hide... and when to scream. You carry many silent screams. I hope you use them well."
Ethan froze at those words. For a moment, the old man's voice sounded almost familiar... as if it echoed in a memory that wasn't his.
During those days, Ethan was invited to join training sessions in the combat circle, where the clan's youth prepared to defend the valley. There he met Kaem-Rul, Indra's cousin and one of the most respected young warriors. Broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, Kaem challenged him often—not with open hostility, but with silent rivalry.
"I don't care where you came from," he said, tossing Ethan a wooden spear. "Respect here is earned—by sweat or by blood."
Ethan barely dodged. His system-enhanced body reacted quickly, but he still didn't know how to fight like them. Still, he stood his ground.
"Then you'll see me bleed," he said. "But I won't back down."
Kaem smiled for the first time.
"That's better than many words."
As the days passed, his bond with Indra also deepened. She trained him in silence, correcting his stances, teaching him how to move unseen, how to hear the language of trees. And at night, they shared half-truths, gentle lies, and silences filled with tension.
One afternoon, while practicing near the dry river that bordered the village, Indra threw him a direct question:
"What do you really want? Don't give me the easy answer."
Ethan looked at the purple sky, then at her.
"I want... to build something that lasts. Something that protects those who come after me."
"A family?" she asked, half-serious, half-curious.
"A bloodline," he said without thinking—and immediately regretted it.
But Indra didn't press. She only studied him.
"That's no small dream, outsider. But maybe... it's not impossible."
That night, the system issued a subtle update:
New collective emotional state: Seedbed of acceptanceTribal compatibility: risingRisk of internal betrayal: lowRecommendation: solidify figure as protector without revealing full psychic nature
Ethan closed his eyes. He still didn't fully trust anyone——but he was beginning to believe that in this forgotten corner of the universe,something might be born that even the gods of Chaos had not foreseen.
And maybe—just maybe—he wouldn't face the darkness alone.
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