Aeron smiled slightly before leaving with the other two. His maid, Myra left as well, but not before promising to return with something to eat…

‘Aeron. A Grand Elder. And a man named Henrik.’ Osias repeated in his head.

‘Are they suspicious of me? But by Henrik’s words… they didn’t seem to be privy to those of the Red Sky.’

Osias put together what he knew of the Tailed Brothers and what he just learned.

Seven years ago…The Red Sky is slowly becoming history. Nothing more than a forgotten foe, replaced by the looming threat from the north. Kiran all those years ago mentioned that with the Red Sky’s demise, the Three Factions would return to war — a great war for dominion over the Wailing Chain. One that may span for centuries before one of the factions arises for supremacy.

‘Wait, if this is a lesser vassal…’ Osias quickly realized now that he could thoroughly reflect on what Aeron mentioned.

Osias then shivered in a cold sweat at his realization.

Two Third Ordeal Path Finders led Clan Grimm. Perhaps not as strong as the elders of the Red Sky, but even so…

‘What is a greater vassal?’

A Fourth Ordeal perhaps? A dozen Third Ordeals? Osias didn’t know.

…It was a little unbelievable that the quarrels that flooded the South in so much blood had scarcely affected this clan. Then Osias recalled what Henrik said:

‘Northwestern reaches’

If the lands under the Tailed Brothers were like a warped square then Osias should be at the northwestern corner, perhaps wedged behind the wall between the Crested and the Tailed Brothers. Thinking of how long it took for Osias and Kiran to travel parallel along the Tailed Brother’s lands using the Outer Valleys, it made sense. Perhaps it wasn’t so far-fetched that they knew little of the blood-born this far away. Much of the Band hasn’t even seen those of the Crest nor the Northern Wind Union until they cross the Wailing Chain.

Yet, faced with another war of greater scale, rallying greater and lesser vassals alike… will this Clan Grimm be pulled along this storm?

But Osias had greater problems. Although he cannot be sure whether or not they had a suspicion of his origin, regardless, he was stuck residing with the Grimm Clan.

He could’ve laughed at how this came to be… one of the last blood-born residing with the vassals of the enemy that brought their fall.

However, his thoughts were cut short, and his maid returned with a huff and a flushed face. Myra seemed to take her duties seriously as Aeron said, as his eyes traced to what she held in her hands.

It was a wooden platter, heavy with the smell of roasted meat and… fresh-baked bread. When was the last time he had bread?

“Quite lavish for feeding a stranger,” Osias said quietly, scratching his head awkwardly. He tried to hide his salivating mouth.

“The clansmen are having a feast in the courtyard. They have one every time they return from an expedition into the mist.” Myra babbled quickly as she set down the platter atop a pale wood table.

“Even the room… what have I done to earn such lodgings?” He said pensively.

“Enough… Osias. If the clan head called for it, just thank him.” She dismissed, grabbing a knife and another utensil. Osias found himself a little nervous at the sight, but it was a needless worry, nothing more than his instinctive distrust.

“Are you well enough to feed yourself?”

“...Yes, I-I should be.” He stammered out. Oddly, he felt a little disappointed at his response, but he quickly quieted the voice in his head.

It was… cumbersome for him to act in such a way. He truly didn’t know what to do in a situation. Let alone with the enemy, even if he was in the same situation in the band, he’d find himself lost for words.

‘She is pretty though.’ Osias thought, his eyes tracing Myra’s figure as she worked. She wore an apron and a weathered dark uniform underneath. There were dashes of flour dust in the faint shape of hands and fingers that dirtied her front. The girl's long brown hair was messily bundled behind with a dainty hairpin. He thought she had a pretty face, sharp eyes like arrows, and soft eyebrows like fletchings.

But her eyes were alert and wary.

Well, why shouldn’t she? Although she said otherwise, he was a stranger to her, someone not of her clan…

She looked to be a little younger than him, perhaps her nineteenth or twentieth moon. Osias hasn’t seen his own reflection yet, but from the words of the three earlier, his appearance was far from normal.

“I’m sorry, even after what you said. You’re here caring for me when there's a feast outside.” He said quietly.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Don’t be. You apologize a lot, you know? It's only been a while since you awoke yet you can’t stop apologizing. Besides, they host one so often… Here,” Myra said, pressing the metal utensil into his open palm. She slid the platter of food atop his lap as he sat up.

“Sorr—thank you.” He uttered quietly, noting to correct himself.

‘What are you doing? Is it because of the mist they said? Urges… must be.’

“Say, do you have to stay with me? If your clansmen have just returned from another expedition, isn’t there more wounded to care for?” He asked between large bites.

But Myra shook her head as she pulled a pale polished wooden chair of her own beside his bed.

“Very few wounded ever return. Don’t you know this? Or is this part of your memory still muddled? They have healers among the Path Finders. Any wounded are healed by them outside. Or they… die if they couldn’t. My duties here are easy, and I don’t have to care for any other clansmen. You’re the only one in these quarters.” She said, rummaging through the pockets in her apron.

“Though… I couldn’t clean you properly. I couldn’t turn you over even when you’re skinny as a spear.”

‘Blood essence refining my body…’

In the next moment, Osias raised a small eyebrow as Myra pulled a block of cheese wrapped in cloth.

“Stole it?” He asked.

“I ate before I came earlier, but I nabbed it from the kitchen when I came for your food. The baker’s cheese from the inland! I think he said it came from the milk of a Path Beast… I thought he was lying about how rich it was until I took a bite. Do you want some?” She boasted proudly at her pilfered cheese.

Osias chuckled a little. This was… different. Unfamiliar. But it wasn’t bad. He lifted his chin as he took another bite of his lavish meal, and he noticed her wary gaze had lessened slightly.

“I’m fine. Speaking of Path Beasts… is this meat from one?” He asked, stabbing a cut with his knife.

“Mm. Earlier today they hunted it. They hunt and bring back the corpses. We keep the meat and some other parts, but most of the valuable materials we send back to the inlands — to the Tailed Brothers.” She hummed as she nibbled at the cheese.

‘Preparations for the coming war?’ He wondered silently with a slight frown.

“Do you want some of this? It's great with the bread” She said as she motioned with the cheese in her hand.

He nodded reluctantly, and then she broke off a bit and gently tossed it to him.

Catching it with his free hand, he was slowly reminded once more of Kiran’s manners, even from the meals they shared.

…Slowly without his knowing, he stopped frowning. The ends of his lips curled into a faint smile as he pulled apart pieces of the bread and ate it with the Path Beast cheese.

‘It’s good.’

Noticing his smile, Myra asked:

“It's great, right?”

“Mm.” He hummed before adding, “There was this sauce made from the people of my mountain. They crushed bloodworts, taking the red sap from it. Ah-Do you… know of bloodworts?”

Osias stammered as he realized how far away from home he was.

Bringing a curious and pensive hand to her head, she replied:

“No, it’s name doesn’t remind me of anything. Is it a fruit…”

“It’s a flower — fields of white petals would bloom on the hills below our mountain in season. I thought they looked nice, even though I couldn’t leave and descend the mountain so much. My mother would plant them in a vast bed by our home so I wouldn’t have to travel too far… I think she crafted an excuse as to why she had a bed of a common flower to the others because she wanted to make the sauce fresh.” He said with a faintly sad smile.

“If I ever find the same kind of flower, I’ll show you how to make it as my mother had. I think it’ll make this cheese and bread even better.”

She nodded and her face beamed as she continued to take small pecks at her mishappened block of cheese.

“...I’ll remember and take you up on that, Osias.”

As he finished his lush meal, making sure to clean off the wooden platter, he thanked Myra as she began to reach for it.

But once again, she shook her head and said:

“Thank the clan head instead!”

She took the wooden platter from him, heading to return it to the kitchen — perhaps help herself to another piece of that Path Beast cheese, though not before pointing out that he needed to rest again as the sun began to set.

He obliged her commands as his caretaker. He reclined and lay back against his soft bed, but he noticed something he should’ve been aware of earlier.

‘My sides, they don’t hurt anymore.’ He thought with glee. Just how many times has he conceded to sleeping on his back instead?

Turnt over to rest on his side, he faced the distant setting sun outside his window. The black of night was approaching — perhaps a little ominous as his mind was reeled towards the thought of war.

If Clan Grimm was to be pulled into this storm… where would he and Kiran be? They were nothing more than ghosts — separated ones at that. He needed to reunite with Kiran. However, the scale of the land itself had just opened so much larger than he could think. From Aeron’s and Henrik’s words, Osias suddenly found himself much further north than he thought, and if they were bickering about their ‘friend’ in the wall.

It must’ve been the Grand Warden of the Wall — Isin of Greyscales, a figure in Garm’s tales of the Band’s early nomadic days.

Kiran could be anywhere below that northern wall… deep into the mist of the Outer Valleys or within the inlands of the Tailed Brothers and its myriad of cities.

He had to decide and commit to a choice that may take years before he yields any clues. But above all, he needed some weight of his own.

Strength, he needed strength. He could feel it, the allure of power that he so desperately needed. Though Kiran failed to recount his Ordeals and given his teachings of them, Osias was finished waiting. His circumstances do not allow such as well.

Perhaps if he just blinks once more, it’ll be too late.

…If the bud for strength was in front of him, he wouldn’t wait years to grasp it — just a second more was already unbearable. He’ll recover here with Clan Grimm for as long as he can until he’ll undergo his First Ordeal. Obtain his Ordeal Ability and see where that will take him.

And if his First Ordeal wasn’t enough he’ll rise through perhaps a second, a third, even a fourth. By that time perhaps Kiran will be at his fifth, and together they’ll be unrivaled below the heavens told in tales and myths.

‘Ah, what am I thinking…’ He thought was a grim smile.

Osias still couldn’t get over his habit of worrying about an unknown future. In over his head… Worrying about such a grand war and his place in it? The Fourth Ordeal?

He silently laughed to himself at how audacious he was. If Kiran was here he’d beat him with the butt of his spear and tell him to worry about getting stronger than he was yesterday.

‘Kiran…’

That was what Osias needed. He needed to find Kiran, reunite with him, and worry about everything afterward. A blood-born cannot survive alone — something Garm once said, which made more sense now when Osias knew of Garm’s past…

Tiredly, he simply gazed outside his window, slowly succumbing to rest.

However, as he watched Laria and Dyrus rise into the boundless sky… despite all his worries and plans, his mind trailed towards something long since been buried.

He blinked, wearily, but the memories continued to surface.

‘What was her name… back in Garm’s selections?’ He fleetingly thought as his eyes slowly closed and the sweet black bliss of sleep finally embraced him.