Reed woke to the sound of low murmurs and the rustle of movement around the commonhouse. The air was thick with the earthy smell of damp wood and the faint sweetness of glowing fungal patches that clung to the walls. He shifted on the woven mat that passed for a bed, his back protesting the lack of cushioning.
“Better than sleeping with one eye open,” he muttered, pushing himself upright. The muted light filtering through the wooden slats overhead told him it was late morning.
The commonhouse buzzed with quiet activity. Members of the Oathbound Kin moved with purpose, their glowing tattoos pulsing faintly like an unspoken language. Reed grabbed his jacket and joined the group near the central fire pit, where breakfast—a thick, porridge-like stew—was being served. He sat down, ignoring the cautious glances from the others.
Astraia, as always, wasn’t far. She leaned against a carved pillar, her glowing eyes never straying too far from him. Reed caught her watching him, and her expression was unreadable—equal parts curiosity and judgment.
“Morning, sunshine,” he called to her, his voice dripping with sarcasm. She didn’t respond but didn’t look away either.
The day’s work came after breakfast. Reed found himself repairing a section of bioluminescent fencing with a group of Kin warriors. They worked in silence, their movements efficient and synchronized. Reed, on the other hand, fumbled with the strange materials—a mix of glowing sap and hardened wood that seemed to have a mind of its own.
“You’re doing it wrong,” one of the warriors muttered, his glowing tattoos casting faint shadows on Reed’s face.
“No kidding,” Reed replied, rolling his eyes. He jabbed the substance harder than necessary, and to his annoyance, it snapped back into place. “See? Easy.”
Astraia appeared again just before midday, her presence announced by the faint hum of energy that seemed to follow her. “Reed,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “There’s something you need to see.”
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Astraia led him to the outskirts of the settlement, where Kaelthar and a group of warriors stood in a semicircle, their weapons gleaming faintly with enchantments. The air was tense, charged with something unspoken.
“What’s going on?” Reed asked, though he already had a sinking feeling in his gut.
Astraia turned to him, her gaze steady. “Strangers near the borders. I felt them. They’ve disturbed the balance.”
Kaelthar barked orders, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. The warriors moved swiftly, their tattoos glowing brighter as they prepared to act. Astraia turned back to Reed.
“It could be your people,” she said quietly. “Maybe you can talk to them. Avoid bloodshed.”
Reed laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. “Sure. Raiders are famously reasonable.”
Kaelthar’s glare could have melted steel. “This is no joke, outsider.”
Reed held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll try to talk sense into them. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when this goes sideways.”
As the first drops of rain began to fall, Reed followed Astraia and the warriors toward the borders. The lush, surreal colors of the Oathbound Kin’s territory gave way to the barren wasteland beyond, the sharp line between the two like a scar.
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They spotted the group at the edge of the border—five raiders and a dragonhorse, its scales gleaming wet in the drizzle. The raiders looked lost, their rough gear and makeshift weapons marked by desperation rather than skill.
Reed stepped forward, his hands raised in a show of peace. “Easy, fellas,” he called out, his voice carrying over the rain. “Looks like you’ve wandered into the wrong neighborhood.”
The leader of the raiders—a grizzled man with a patch over one eye—scowled. “Who the hell are you?”
“Just a friendly guide,” Reed said, his swagger turned up to full. “This land? It’s not for you. Best to turn around and head back.”
The rain intensified, turning the ground slick and treacherous. Thunder growled in the distance, and a jagged bolt of lightning struck a tree nearby, splitting it in a deafening crack. The dragonhorse reared, panicked, and its powerful kick connected with one of the raiders’ heads.
The chaos unfolded in an instant. The fallen raider’s crossbow discharged, the bolt piercing the chest of another. That man staggered backward, grabbing the arm of a third, who slipped on the wet ground and cracked his skull on a rock. The leader shouted a curse, but his words were cut short as the lightning-struck tree fell, pinning him beneath its weight.
The last raider didn’t hesitate. He leaped onto the dragonhorse and galloped away, his terrified cries fading into the storm.
Reed stood frozen, rain dripping from his hair and jacket as he stared at the carnage. “What the hell just happened?”
When he turned back, the Oathbound Kin had gathered, their glowing eyes fixed on him. The word came in a hushed, reverent chant: “Zhivra. Zhivra.”
Even Kaelthar, who had been so quick to scorn him, looked thoughtful. Impressed, even.
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The rain hammered down harder, the wind carrying its chill through the surreal landscape. The Oathbound Kin warriors moved in measured silence, tending to the bodies of the raiders. Some muttered soft prayers over the fallen tree and the scorched earth around it, their glowing tattoos pulsing faintly in the dim stormlight. Reed stood apart, his jacket soaked through, rivulets of water streaming down his face. The scene around him felt both absurd and deeply significant in a way he couldn’t quite grasp.
“Reed,” Astraia’s voice broke through the rhythm of the rain. She was standing a few feet away, her green eyes luminous against the storm’s grey backdrop. Rain slicked her dark hair against her face and neck, and her painted skin gleamed under the stormlight. The intricate designs that spiraled across her bare body glowed faintly, accentuating the powerful curves and symbolic patterns that marked her as the living embodiment of their beliefs. She gestured for him to follow.
He didn’t argue, trudging after her as she led him toward a cluster of huts on higher ground. The rain blurred his vision, but he noted the distinctive markings on the hut she entered, its entrance draped with woven vines that glowed faintly in the storm’s dim light. This was hers, he guessed—a leader’s dwelling, set apart but not isolated.
Inside, the space was dim but dry, the air thick with the scent of herbs and damp wood. Astraia moved with unhurried purpose, lighting a small lamp with a flick of her wrist and pulling a folded cloth from a woven basket. She turned to Reed and handed it to him.
“Dry yourself,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, unreadable.
Grateful for anything to cut through the chill, Reed took the cloth and wiped his face and hair, shaking the water loose. When he glanced back at Astraia, he caught her watching him with a faint, almost mocking tilt to her lips.
“What?” he asked, his smirk creeping in despite himself.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she placed her foot on a low wooden stool, the movement fluid and deliberate. The glowing paint on her skin accentuated the toned curve of her calf and thigh as she gestured toward her leg.
It took Reed a beat to realize what she meant. The smirk widened, though he quickly tried to tamp it down. “You’re serious?”
Astraia’s expression didn’t change. Her eyes held his, steady and unyielding, with not a hint of flirtation. This wasn’t a game or a tease—not for her, at least.
“Alright, your majesty,” Reed muttered under his breath, dropping to one knee. He took the cloth and began drying her leg, starting at her foot and working upward with slow, careful strokes. The act felt strangely formal, like part of a ritual he hadn’t been initiated into. Her skin was cool beneath his touch, and the rainwater glistened faintly before the cloth absorbed it.
She shifted her weight slightly as he worked, her posture relaxed but regal. Reed, for once, kept his mouth shut. As his hands moved over her calf and thigh, he couldn’t help but notice the strength in her form, the effortless power she carried even in stillness. Yet there was no tension in her; for her, this was as routine as breathing.
When he finished the first leg, she lowered it and raised the other without a word. Reed’s smirk was long gone now. He worked methodically, his focus narrowing to the task at hand. The storm outside seemed distant, muted by the strange quiet of the hut.
Finally, she lowered her second leg and stepped back, gesturing for him to stand. Reed rose slowly, the cloth still in his hand, and turned to meet her gaze. She was closer now, inches away, her green eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made the air between them feel charged.
Astraia didn’t speak. She lifted her arms slightly, the movement subtle but unmistakable. Reed hesitated for a heartbeat before moving the cloth to her core, dabbing away the rainwater from her stomach and waist. Her breathing was steady, and her expression remained unreadable as his hands moved upward, drying the damp paint that glistened on her chest and shoulders. His touch stayed light, careful, and for once, he kept his usual quips buried.
When she was dry, Astraia took the cloth from his hands and tossed it casually over her shoulder. The motion was so smooth, so confident, that it felt almost rehearsed. Reed’s heart thudded in his chest as he realized just how close they were now, her face inches from his.
She didn’t step back. Neither did he. The moment stretched, the storm outside a distant murmur against the hut’s walls. Her gaze bore into his, and for the first time in his life, Reed couldn’t read a woman. Was this a prelude? An invitation? Or some unspoken test he didn’t know the rules for?
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The corner of Astraia’s mouth lifted into a faint smile, a hint of satisfaction in her eyes. She didn’t move closer, but she didn’t pull away either. The silent tension between them hung like a drawn bowstring.
And then, as if deciding something unspoken, she turned and walked to the other side of the hut, her movements as fluid as ever. Reed exhaled, realizing only then that he’d been holding his breath.
“What the hell just happened?” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his still-damp hair.
Astraia didn’t answer, her back to him as she busied herself with something he couldn’t see. But her smile lingered, and Reed was left wondering—not for the first time—just what kind of game he was playing, and who was winning.
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The rain thrummed against the roof of Astraia’s hut, creating a steady rhythm that seemed to press pause on the world outside. Reed stood near the doorway, half-turned as though considering whether to leave. He glanced at the storm, then back at Astraia. She sat cross-legged by the hearth, the warm glow of the fire illuminating her painted skin, the runes etched in her body seeming to shimmer with life in the flickering light.
“You should sit,” she said without looking up, her tone casual yet unyielding. “The storm won’t pass quickly.”
Reed hesitated, then sighed and stepped fully into the room. He set his jacket on a nearby chair to dry, the soaked fabric hitting the wood with a wet slap. Dropping onto a low stool opposite her, he let the warmth of the fire begin to seep into his skin. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence filled only by the crackle of flames and the rhythmic drumming of rain.
“Alright,” he said finally, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Since we’re stuck here, mind telling me what the hell this ‘Zhivra’ business is about? And while we’re at it, what’s the deal with your gods? Oathbound to who, exactly?”
Astraia looked up, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her green eyes gleamed in the firelight, both amused and contemplative. “You’re curious,” she said, more an observation than a question.
“Call it passing the time,” Reed replied with a shrug. “You’ve got a whole tribe treating me like some reincarnated trickster god. Figure I deserve an explanation.”
Astraia’s smile widened slightly as she shifted her posture, leaning back with an elegance that made the room feel smaller. “Very well. I’ll tell you the basics. But remember, our gods are not like yours. They are not omnipotent overseers but manifestations of the forces that shape existence.”
She gestured to the runes on her arms, her fingers tracing the glowing patterns as she spoke. “At the beginning, there were three: Ka’os, Atra, and Shura. Chaos, Order, and Time. Together, they created everything—a dance of potential, structure, and change. From them came the Elemental Lords, who embody the natural world: Vael of the storm, Oshar of the oceans, Ignar of fire, and Murna, the Mother.”
“And Zhivra?” Reed asked, raising an eyebrow. “Where do they fit into this happy family?”
Astraia’s expression turned thoughtful. “Zhivra is… complicated. They are the trickster, the shapeshifter, the agent of change and chaos. Not evil, but not bound by morality as we know it. They create as much as they destroy. Their meddling often brings growth, but always at a cost.”
She leaned forward slightly, her voice softening. “One of our most important myths is the Spiral of Deception. Zhivra, in their infinite curiosity, tricked Murna into giving up the Heartstone, the artifact that keeps the land fertile. Taking the form of a lost child, they led her into a maze, feigning helplessness. But every step Murna took weakened her connection to the earth, until she reached the center and saw Zhivra’s true form. In her rage, she cursed the maze, collapsing it into a desert.”
Reed’s smirk returned, sharp and skeptical. “And you think I’m that much of a jerk?”
Astraia’s faint smile didn’t waver. “Not entirely. But you must admit, your arrival and the events that followed have… uncanny parallels.”
“If you’re so convinced I’m this chaos god, shouldn’t you be more careful around me?” Reed asked, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Or are you planning some revenge for what happened in that story?”
Astraia’s laughter was soft, almost musical. “We have free will, Reed. Manifesting aspects of a god does not mean we are bound to repeat their mistakes. Kaelthar and I, the tribe—we choose our actions. Whatever power lingers within you, it’s yours to command, not the other way around.”
Her gaze met his, steady and unflinching. “And if you are Zhivra, perhaps you will use their gift for more than mischief. Change is not inherently bad, Reed. It is necessary.”
Reed ran a hand through his damp hair, letting out a dry laugh. “You do understand that what happened to those raiders was an insane coincidence, right? I didn’t wish it on them by some power.”
Astraia tilted her head slightly, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Coincidence or not, it happened around you. The storm, the fear, the chaos—perhaps it’s not about wishing but about what your presence stirs.””
Reed held her gaze for a moment, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. Then he smirked, though it lacked his usual swagger. “You’ve got a lot of faith for someone who barely knows me.”
“I have faith in balance,” Astraia said simply. “And balance requires every element, even chaos.”
The rain continued to fall, the steady rhythm filling the silence between them. Reed shifted on his stool, his smirk fading into something quieter, more contemplative. For once, he had nothing to say.
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The rain continued its steady drumming as Astraia’s voice wove through the flickering warmth of the hut. Her stories drifted like smoke, filling the space with vivid images of gods and elements. She spoke of Vael’s thunderous rage, of Murna’s boundless nurturing, and of Ignar’s fire that forged both destruction and rebirth. Her voice was soothing, like the rhythm of the rain itself, and Reed found himself leaning into the tales despite himself.
The stories stirred something in him, a strange ache that settled in his chest. If he had known his mother, maybe she would have told him stories like these. Maybe she would have filled his childhood with vivid worlds of gods and heroes, instead of leaving him with only scavenger instincts and a survivor’s edge. For a fleeting moment, Reed imagined himself as something other than what he was: not a scrapper picking through the remnants of the old world, but someone with roots, with a place and a purpose.
Yet this feeling coexisted uneasily with something else entirely. Astraia’s painted body caught the firelight, the runes on her skin seeming to pulse faintly as she moved. She was a symbol of life, of fertility and strength, and her beauty was undeniable. Reed was keenly aware of the tension between them, the way her presence filled the room not just with wisdom and grace, but with something raw and magnetic. It was as if two parts of his mind were at odds—one yearning for the comfort of a home he never had, the other acutely aware of her as a woman, and the charge that seemed to hum between them.
The rain stopped closer to evening, right before twilight. The sudden stillness outside was almost startling after hours of unbroken drumming. Astraia stood and stretched, her movements fluid and unselfconscious, and gestured for Reed to follow her.
As they stepped out of the hut, the air was cool and damp, carrying the earthy smell of rain-soaked ground. The sky was painted in the bruised hues of twilight, and the village seemed to hold its breath in the fleeting calm before nightfall. Standing just outside the hut was Kaelthar, his usual stern expression firmly in place. His piercing gaze flicked between Astraia and Reed, lingering on the latter with an air of measured judgment.
“I believe it is time,” Kaelthar said, his voice low but commanding.
For a brief moment, Astraia’s expression softened, a trace of sadness flickering in her eyes. Then she nodded, composed once more, and gestured for Reed to follow them both. Together, they walked toward the village square, where the Oathbound Kin had already begun to gather. The fire in the center crackled and popped, its glow casting long shadows across the waiting faces.
Kaelthar stepped forward, his imposing presence commanding the attention of the crowd. His voice rang out, clear and unwavering. “Reed has completed his penance. He has proven his resilience and faced the consequences of his actions. He is free to leave, should he choose.”
Reed’s stomach tightened. He glanced at Astraia, but her face revealed nothing of her thoughts. Then, as Kaelthar stepped back, it was Astraia who moved forward, her voice carrying a different weight—softer, yet no less powerful.
“However, there is another choice,” she said, her eyes locking onto Reed’s. “You can stay. Become one of us. A scout, a warrior, or perhaps something else entirely. You’ve seen what we are. You’ve felt it. This is not a path we offer lightly. But it is a path we offer to you.”
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to the space between them. Reed felt the weight of the choice pressing down on him, heavier than any storm.
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Reed stood in the flickering firelight of the village square, the eyes of the Oathbound Kin watching him intently. The weight of their expectation pressed on him, but it was Astraia’s gaze that held him steady. His decision churned in his mind, a storm of conflicting desires and responsibilities.
Part of him longed to say yes. To stay. To embrace the life they offered him. Here, there was safety and purpose. No more scavenging ruins or haggling with sleaze traders. No more dodging raiders or hunting for scraps in monster-infested wastelands. The Oathbound Kin had order, sustenance, and strength. They defended what was theirs and grew their own future. And there was Astraia. The unspoken connection between them, the quiet charge in every glance and word. What could that become if he stayed?
But the other part of him pulled away, back to the world he knew and the unfinished business that tied him to it. There was Laura, still out there, and the caravan he’d left behind for this “shortcut.” She had trusted him to return, and instead, he’d wasted days wandering into a detour. Was she safe? Had Elias and his caravan moved on? And then there were the maps—the prize he’d stolen from Jenny and Vigdis, a theft born of necessity and desperation. Those maps weren’t just scraps of parchment; they were keys to fortune, promises of a future he’d bargained everything for. Each thread pulled him back, a web of loose ends that refused to let him settle.
The silence stretched, and he realized they were all waiting for him to speak. Reed inhaled deeply, steadying himself, and when he finally voiced his decision, his eyes never left Astraia’s.
“I can’t stay.” His voice was quiet but firm. “There are… too many loose ends I need to deal with. People I care about who are still out there. I owe them that much.”
Astraia listened without interruption, her expression calm. It was impossible to tell what she truly felt, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of understanding, perhaps even approval. Or maybe that was just Reed’s own mind trying to make peace with his choice.
“It’s not forever,” he added, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it. “But for now, I have to go.”
The preparation was brief. The Kin provided him with food and drink for the road, and when he was led to his dragonhorse, the creature looked far better than he remembered. Its scales gleamed in the fading light, and it nickered in greeting, nudging him as if to complain about his absence. Reed chuckled, scratching its neck.
“Looks like you’ve had the time of your life here,” he muttered, swinging up into the saddle.
They returned his weapons as well: the makeshift rifle, pieced together with care but still resembling an ancient Mosin-Nagant, and the ornate dagger he’d taken from the cannibals’ cave. Both had been cleaned and sharpened. Reed slung the rifle over his shoulder and sheathed the dagger at his hip.
As he prepared to leave, Astraia approached, her movements unhurried but deliberate. She removed one of her vine-woven bracers and held it out to him.
“A reminder,” she said softly. “That you have a place to return to.”
Reed stared at the bracer for a moment before taking it. It was warm to the touch, pulsing faintly as if alive. He slid it onto his wrist and tightened it. The weight of it felt both grounding and unbearable, like an anchor to something he wasn’t sure he deserved.
He forced a grin, letting his sarcasm mask the turmoil inside. “How do I look? Like a god already?”
Astraia chuckled, a soft, genuine sound, but quickly tempered herself under Kaelthar’s sharp gaze.
“You look ready,” she said simply.
And then there was nothing more to say. Reed guided the dragonhorse forward, the villagers parting to let him pass. The twilight deepened, shadows stretching long across the ground as he rode out of the village and into the unknown.
The road was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of the dragonhorse’s steps. The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth. Reed’s thoughts churned as he rode. He didn’t know if he’d ever see the village again, or if this bracer on his wrist would become just another relic of a path not taken.
He turned his focus forward. The caravan’s trail was long gone, but Glasspine—the ex-raider haven—wasn’t far. If Laura wasn’t there, it would at least be a place to gather information, maybe even find a new lead.
The evening deepened into night, and Reed rode on, the weight of his choice settling in with every step. He hoped he hadn’t made the wrong one.