It takes me some time before I muster the strength to return to the camp. Thankfully, none of them tried to seek me out.

As it turns out, they did not even move out of their respective sits. All eyes are on me the moment I sit back down. I make use of all my self-control to keep my features as calm and composed as possible, my gaze never straying from the campfire.

No one utters a word, Kayin and the two seniors exchange unsure glances, their eyes seem to silently debate on what to do next. In the end, it’s Kayin who goes initiates with the conversation. He tentatively turns toward me, as if not to scare me.

“I donot imagine wuhat hiu mustbe filing… I donot noh wuhat tosai, rwilly—” He hesitates before adding, “—Hiu are Nchāren, are hiu not?”

I don’t say anything for a few seconds, letting the question sink in. For an instant I wonder if I should be truthful or come up with a lie, but then… Does it matter?

“I am.”

This time, they all share the same expression—Disbelief. Even that calm spear guy is no exception. Maybe they don’t believe it, that someone of a bygone era still lives, I would be sceptical too if I was in their shoes.

Kayin releases a shaky breath.

“How… How do hiu live still?” asks the senior man. “Can hiu—”

He is interrupted by the tall spear guy who says something—that of course I don’t understand. And from the general reaction, either from what he said or the act in itself, it must be quite unusual or pertinent, if no one tries to contradict him. Kayin appears reluctant, he looks at me once more then sighs in resignation.

“Hau discortius of us, assaulting hiu withso many kuestions,” he says apologetically. “Hiu mustbe quite tired”

“Please allau us to give hiu atent tosleep for the night.”

I am grateful for the respite, so I don’t object. I nod in confirmation.

Kayin leads me to a tent, the largest one, and I assume it might be his. The whole tent smell of ink and old paper, and there are books positioned about everywhere—Did he not place the tent barely an hour ago, how did he manage to mess up the area so quickly?

There is a thin mattress and blanket laying at the corner of the tent, which I make beeline toward on sight. As I sit on it, I realise Kayin has yet to leave, he’s still at the entrance of the tent. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words seem to have died in his throat. He shakes his head and leave.

I can’t sleep.

I have been laying completely still for hours already, searching for a slumber which I think is running away from me.

I tried not to think of my homeland and the fact that I will never see it again… that I will never see Teacher again. I now wish dearly that Sabar and Zaylany were here, with me.

I usually quite liked my solitude, but now… Now it feels oppressing, I would give anything to not be alone here, at the mercy of my own thoughts.

I gave up searching for sleep. All that I do now is lie on my back and absentmindedly staring at the roof of the tent. From the quiet outside, the other occupants must all sleeping now. The only noise breaking the silence being the wind hurling in the tunnel and the crackle of the fire outside.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

What would Teacher do in my place?

Why did this happen?

What should I do now?

I allow my mind to wonder on the day everything went wrong.

The Propagation. That is the cause of everything.

Which means that I need to know what happened. But with so many years having passed will I even find any clue?

My only solution then is that strange lot out there. The white—Kayin did say he was a historian so he definitely has more information about what happened, and even if he does not his people must have collected and recorded some information about it.

Leaving me with the minor problem that is language barrier… I could ask Kayin about it. He might want something in return, though.

I wouldn’t mind, as long as he’s reasonable of course.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After spending fruitless hours laying without a wink of sleep, I finally decide to explore my temporary shelter—by which I mean snooping around Kayin’s stuff.

I’m usually not the type of person who touches other people’s belongings without their permission, but since I’m on unknown territory surrounded by strangers … I guess this counts as a pass. It is necessary to understand exactly what kind of company I am in the presence of.

If Kayin ends up being offended by it… well, he only has himself to blame. No one asked him to just drop his belongings around like that. Additionally, he gave me his tent, so he has no right to be angry that I encroached on his privacy.

Hence, I stack a few books laying around and make myself comfortable on the mattress.

I can’t help but gasp as I open the first book, then the second, then the rest of the stack.

These are Nchāren literature books.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Kayin is in possession of these, he said that he’s a historian after all.

What is funny, though, is that most of the books are copies

What is funny, though, is that most of the books are some of the more popular novels that were available at the time, fiction, non-fiction, and some contemporary tomes.

The rest, I believe, are notes written by Kayin himself, since I am utterly unable to read them. He must have cross-referenced our books to come up with these.

Seeing the familiar scripts of my homeland makes me feel strange, it’s like there is something stuck in my throat. Maybe it is nostalgia, or sorrow… perhaps a mix of the two.

Now my eyes begin to sting.

Not wanting to return to a state of self-pity, I decide to put the books back in their place. And with nothing else to do I opt to go out instead. By this time, everyone might still be sleeping, which is fine by me.

I was wrong, not everyone is asleep. A few meters away, at the campfire, sits the stoic spear guy doing nothing but drinking from a gourd—and I doubt it’s water. It appears that he’s the first to be wake up—or he didn’t sleep at all.

For a moment I find myself hesitating, wondering if I should instead return to the tent. But then why should I do that? I’m not scared of him. Sure, he is intimidating and definitely someone not to mess with, especially with the strange power he possesses.

So what?

Thus, with a reinvigorated determination I walk straight toward him—the campfire, I mean—and take sit on a stool directly in front of him. He looks up and acknowledges me with a nod, which I return.

We sit in a comfortable silence, him quietly drinking whatever alcoholic beverage he has and me observing him.

At least him and I would love to ask him about the inhuman strength his congener and him have. Where and how did they get it? Or maybe it’s hereditary.

The fact that I have been staring at him for a while now must have made him uncomfortable because he questioningly glances at me, then raises his gourd as he tilts his head.

Is he asking me if I want a taste of his beverage?

I am tempted to accept but knowing myself and my dislike of alcohol, I don’t think he would take it well if I accepted his drink only to make .only to make weird faces once I had a taste. So, I decline as respectfully as a non-verbal gesture can.

The silence goes on but is soon broken by the other occupants of the camp who are leaving their tents.