Bromwyn Thundham Earthloch sat impatiently on a tree stump on the peak of a small grassy hillock. The giant Dhionne looked back at his people with eyes full of both pride and apology.

He had done it. They had done it.

He made them risk their lives, almost a quarter of both oceanic hunters and delvers left at the shire outside the Lochuir township, for what most would consider a fool's errand.

Any misjudgement on their part throughout the ordeal would have cost them much more than just their lives.

But here they were, returning home proudly after barely three-quarters of a day, with rich bounty and, more importantly, medicinal herbs which could hopefully heal his newborn daughter's inner core.

No lives were lost, and the limbs could be re-attached if treated soon. It was a fortune on a rainy day that the Geistrums native to that stratum of the Elkvines preferred bladed offence rather than the other nastier kinds.

"Chieftain, the watches are in sight!" A terse winged man, shorter by a head than most other men present, quickly ran over to report to him. "Runner Iau should be there by now."

"Good," Bromwyn said while remaining seated. He gestured at part of their haul, "Tell Talfryn to take three hunting parties with all the carcasses. Cadwell, you take the rest of the haul to the alchemy pavilion."

As he set out tasks for two of the four delve leaders, his hands subconsciously reached out to a pouch tied to his belt. The smooth texture of the sack betrayed its leathery look.

Even now, he could taste the blood in his mouth and the scent of the rot when he had removed the contents of the sack from the eye-sockets of the 4th stratum guardian. He had almost lost his own eyes, if not for his companions' rescuing him on the brink of time.

Many drops of blood, tear, and sweat had been shed in the process just to get these mulberry-red seeds.

'It was all worth it….' He tried to reassure himself. 'Because if not-'

Bromwyn calmed his breath, unclenching his fists from the pouch. All the pride he felt from the successful delve could not overcome the deep-rooted terror he tried so hard to hide in the depths of his soul.

His newborn daughter, the culmination of his love with the woman of his dreams, was dying.

It would do no good to show his men the sight of a weak Chieftain; he knew that. But maintaining his façade even now was hard.

Cadwell had, of course, noticed. They had been sworn brothers for too long, while by blood, they were cousins.

Yet, the winged man tactfully ignored Bromwyn's inner turmoil before leaving for his task.

Bromwyn wasn't sure about the rest of his men, but he prayed that they hadn't gleaned of his weakness. Every cycle, these people lost those dear to them to one fateless cause or another.

He had been the lucky one all his life, pardoned from losing anyone of significance in an untimely manner. So he took a deeper breath, his chest rising and falling with the mantra in his heart.

Whatever may happen, will.

He, no, they had tried their best in the short window of time they had. The uncertainty of the situation didn't lessen the pain and worry, of course, haunting him of visions if the worst comes to pass.

Not to mention his wife, who was already weak from a past injury and went through a difficult childbirth.

Collecting his thoughts through the short respite, Bromwyn looked up at the dark skies covering the disc as if to search for answers to his plight among the stars.

It was then that Runner Iau sprinted into the temporary camp with all the huffing and puffing of a farm beast.

"Chieftain!" He shouted, gasping for breath, almost falling over, "G-Good news!"

Bromwyn held the young boy up by his arms, "Steady lad."

He then ordered one of the hunters to get the runner a skin of manna infused freshwater.

"Drink, and calm yourself. Whatever news you have, it won't do us any good if you faint before you can tell us." The Chieftain asked with a little bit of hope and unease, "Whatever made you run back seventeen miles in less than a quarter-hour should be significant enough that you are steady when you speak it."

The lad thanked the Chieftain, slowly gulping down the offered water. A few breaths later, he spoke, "The Grand Elder is waiting for you at the watches, your grace."

"What!" Bromwyn shouted. His father was just as worried about the newborn as he was, if not more. So why was he a hundred miles away from the clan township at such a time?

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"There is more," Iau exclaimed, this time a well-intentioned grin forming on his face. "Uncle, Elder Croneira is with him too! They say the princess is well!"

Bromwyn waited no more. The words had barely left Iau Tudur Earthloch's lips when the other man practically bolted off the disc towards the nearby watchtower with the speed of the north wind, leaving a bewildered trail of hunters and a tornado of grass and leaves in his wake.

***

"Father!" Bromwyn shouted as he slammed open the door to the sentry house; the whole tower below seemed to rock at the force.

Of course, that was just an illusion playing tricks on his unsettled mind. The towers were built too sturdy to be rocked by the feelings of a distressed father.

There were four people in the room.

An old man was looking out of the northern window towards a vast lake beyond; the lake itself could only partially be seen with its more significant part hidden behind the lush mountains.

It was his father, the grand elder. He had grizzled white hair and a short yet flowy beard. The reed hat on his head gave off a rustic scent, giving other's the impression he was but a fisher or farmhand servant. Yet the sharp glint in his aged lilac eyes told a different story.

Elder Croneira was seated by the table, drinking aged fruit pulp out of a shell cup. She looked worse for wear, with fatigue visible on her already decrepit face. Yet the signs of worry were long gone, Bromwyn noticed, replaced by something else.

The last two were servants, with one being Feylis, whom he recognized as one of the maids tending to his wife during the labour. She was standing to the side with a dazzling younger man wearing a hunter's garb, the servants' sigil visible on his exposed arms with a bone blade hung to his back.

His posture was steady, yet the clenching fists did nothing to hide the young man's inner turmoil.

Feylis was alternating her gaze between these three people until Bromwyn's loud boom jolted her straight.

"Bromwyn, you've come." The old man spoke, but his gaze was not removed from the glistening lake water.

"Father, I've heard the news from Iau. Is it true?" Bromwyn impatiently asked. "Is my daughter's ailments really cured?"

The grand elder didn't respond; the old man simply stroked his silky beard.

It was Elder Croneira who spoke up, "Chieftain, if I may interject. It wasn't an ailment. There was nothing to cure."

"Then what was it that almost took her life?" Bromwyn was taken aback.

He wondered if they had made a big fuss for nothing. That would indeed be embarrassing. But it was better than his daughter catching an untreatable fatal curse, worse yet than her inner core born cracked.

"It is hard to explain, my lord. To put it bluntly, it was our lack of immediate judgement that-"

"What! Are you telling me you almost messed up the childbirth!" Bromwyn uncharacteristically raged, slamming the table with his giant palms.

"Silence!" His father yelled, warning the burly chieftain sternly with a raspy voice. "The elder has explained to me the details. No one should be held responsible for what was but fate's fickle design."

Bromwyn calmed, pulling himself apart from the darker thoughts. He immediately apologized to Elder Croneira for his slight.

The old woman didn't seem to be offended as she continued her explanation, "Your daughter has been born with a unique condition, my lord. Whether it is advantageous or detrimental, I do not know yet."

"And that condition caused her to almost die?"

"No, it was the place where the lady gave birth that is to be blamed. And please don't interrupt; let me finish." The old lady said exasperatedly, seeing Bromwyn acting up again.

"Your daughter, or rather, her soul, didn't come into this world alone. It was tethered to another's even before the light of the disc saw her. It was because the tether was stretched so thin that manna was continuously leaking from her body to repair it."

Bromwyn was confused, "I don't understand."

Elder Croneira thought for a while, then asked. "Do you know of those high-level slave sigils used on other discs?"

"Yes. They say it is a much stricter form of the servants' sigil we use here. It comes with many heartless restrictions. Though, what does it have to do with my daughter?" Bromwyn asked back.

"Your daughter was born with something similar to the slaves' sigil imprinted in her soul. Closer to Geist or spirit contracting sigils than slaves actually, if I were to be accurate. But the functions are similar without the restrictions for forceful obedience.

Yet one of those restrictions must've been about distance. She and her contracted were too far apart when she was birthed. We have moved them closer together now. Hence, she was cured."

Realization finally dawned on Bronwyn's face. But it didn't give him the peace of mind he wished for. "So my daughter is a slave now? No, A beast of burden for this other person, this soul witch?"

The elderly woman denied with vexation, "I doubt both of those, my lord. From what I have seen, this sigil-like-tether—not any sort of soul manipulating magic, goes both ways. I reckon it occurred naturally. Past cases testify to this, at least.

Before the two were brought closer together, the other party was also at death's door. However, we might need to do some more auguries to better our knowledge of the situation."

"Truly? Then, her well-being?"

"Is assured, my lord. Both the princess's and your wife's health has been improving. It may be belated, but please accept my heartfelt congratulations." Elder Croneira smiled at last. As if with that statement, she had officially declared the crisis mitigated.

Bromwyn shared her sentiment. His shoulders slumped down in relief; the fatigue he had hidden behind a stone exterior burst out on his face before quickly morphing into unbridled joy.

He almost slumped on the floor as he roared a cry in relief. "Thanks to the manna, oh spirits of the hundred thousand lakes, custodian of our lives. Allow me my gratitude, for my daughter is well!"

A few more breaths of happy outbursts later, Bromwyn noticed an important detail he had forgotten to ask.

With the gait of a Clan Chieftain that finally returned, he asked through a grim voice, "And what of this other party? Who should I blame for almost taking her away from me?!"

Elder Croneira looked troubled at that. But she still firmly spoke out her thoughts, "No one, my lord. It was a naturally occurring phenomenon, as I have mentioned. A talent of sort for both parties, similar to the martial spirits or soulbound armaments used on other discs, yet in this case, they are both dhionne. Though what results this tether ultimately brings remains to be seen. As for the other parties' identity…."

Elder Croneira sighed, then turned her gaze to the other two participants in the room. Specifically, the young man who had been listening to their conversation with a confused face. Before Bromwyn could punch the poor man's face in, she continued.

"Stay your hands, my lord. It is not him." She paused, confirming that the Chieftain didn't go through his actions towards the man who somehow managed to look positively incensed rather than fearful at the clan Chief's actions.

But her following words simply shifted Bromwyn's rage down a generation, "It's his newborn son. Born a quarter-hour before the princess."