A man stood there, like a statue fortified, expecting resistance. He waited for a guardsman to bring their leader, as the other person froze so tense that it wouldn’t be surprising if they had soiled themselves.

Unfazed, he waited, dressed in dirty, tattered clothes, with a mask on his face hidden beneath his fur cloak, barely six foot two, an unnaturally tall human. He fashioned the leather armor together perfunctorily and carried a pistol sword on a makeshift hide belt. Tactical boots crunched on the pebbles beneath his feet as he adjusted his military rucksack. Thick, calloused hands that wore fingerless gloves reached into his pockets to get the ammo. While doing so, the guardsman winced and sweat trickled down his face. With calm composure, he reloaded the pistol, gripping it firmly with both hands. Whether he noticed the response was unknown.

Soon, one of the guardsman came back with the man he sought.

Before Ronan opened his mouth, the masked man lifted his weapon and aimed it at him. The guardsmen readied their weapons for a fight, while Ronan stood unwavering. He had become accustomed to his own demeanor and violent tendencies. He controlled his breathing, as the metal was mere inches from his neck. The man, Stungalm, followed more of baser instincts, closely resembling a bear that faltered for nothing. His sole distinction was his brain and dour tone of speech. They faced each other, the charged atmosphere crackling with electricity. Tension in the air increased tenfold as they remained silent and staring.

“You have it with you. Bring it out.”

Ronan narrowed his eyes. “Have what?” He mimicked the curt tone from Stungalm.

“The Pencari.”

Lifting his hand, he moved the pointed blade to the side. Based on how effortless it was, he understood Stungalm would not make any attempts. If Stungalm had desired, he could have taken Ronan’s life. People feared him greatly. “How about a ‘good to see you’ or ‘It’s been five years, how are the people’?”

Stungalm returned the weapon back to him, keeping his stare through the mask. “Do you plan to give an answer or not?”

‘How do you know we have someone?” The two guardsmen, meanwhile, hesitantly walked back to their post, often looking back at their leader as they got further. Stungalm returned coldly, “nothing to concern you. Where is it?”

Waving his head in disbelief, he acknowledged it was pointless to resist it. Stungalm communicated like a beast, with patience as thin as a hair split in half by an arrow. "First, we are not sheltering a Pencari, but a Draconic Elf. Now, Imma repeat myself: how did you know we have someone?"

Stungalm grumbled, but he obliged, “we noticed it there, along with Rakshasa. Then you took it.”

“We?” Ronan caught that word at once. “Whose we?”

The masked man glanced back and released a sharp, subdued whistle. Ronan leaned to the side, trying to see who he was calling. The bushes rustled, revealing multiple figures emerging from behind the trees. Their clothes were as tattered and dirty as Stungalm’s, and their bodies were so skinny that a blast of wind could knock them prone.

Ronan’s surprise drained the color from his face. He need not speculate about the Guardsmen’s feelings on this matter. Balancing concern for the children, he aimed to act before inquiring about the other adult. “I will let Mrs. Stark know about your arrival.”

Stungalm responded with a gruff snort; at that point, Ronan assumed he did. Not waiting any longer, he hurried back through the cavern tunnels to Mrs. Stark. Afraid of the limited time given to him, he cruised through the wintry fervor with his feet barely touching the ground. Without realizing, he reached Mrs. Stark’s home and opened the door. Standing there were his father and Huon, talking to Kyle. All three recoiled as they focused on a panting Ronan, his father being the first to step forward. “Son? What’s wrong?” Ronan’s father approached, leaning close as his hand was on the son’s back.

“Stungalm....here,” He wheezed between frantic breathing, “He brought children with him”. Huon stared outside, his nose wrinkled at the mention of Stungalm. “Oh? The fuckin’ beast deigns to show himself. Should I kick his barbarous ass outta here?”

“Huon, Ronan mentioned children,” River’s sharp tone redirected Huon’s attention, “Inform Mrs. Stark and prepare the rooms.” As they skipped the steps, Ronan controlled his panting, standing up every few seconds. River sighed, rubbing his temple. “He’s coming.”

Ronan gulped, eyes shut as he reflected on the muscular male approaching the house.

Stungalm was a man of unparalleled strength, endurance, and stature: the sole guard for his family, which traveled between the other settlements. A family of merchants who returned with information and goods. With a substantial cart in tow, continuously hidden by various thick sheets, the father assumed the role of a mobile throne while his children walked alongside. His wrinkled face always had a gleam in his eyes, a crooked smile showing rows of uneven teeth. An eerie overconfidence that child Ronan would feel nauseous and dizzy every time he was there. He influenced his cattle, his children, to perform his bidding whenever he demanded something. Out of them all, Stungalm was his pride and joy, a machination of a perfect weapon he once called him. It was a miracle within himself that River kept his paternal opinions to himself.

During his childhood, Ronan never laid eyes on Stungalm’s face. He always bore a mask, and the reason given was for ‘protection’. It was easy to understand that since they were on the surface often, and they had to avoid the Pencari if possible. Most people preferred to remain ignorant, as they didn’t know what would happen if the family confronted the Pencari.

It wasn’t uncommon for Ronan and Stungalm to have to spar; a sense of boasting for Stungalm’s father when the two boys re-enacted a bullfighting ring. Ronan felt agony as Stungalm thrashed him into the ground time and time again. A beastly man that treated a sparring match as a demented, physical castigation; whether with a weapon or his bare hands. No weapon was worse than one if Ronan somehow got him to drop it. Then it became simulate of a bear mauling. The glowing eyes that shouldn’t belong to a human were enough to give anyone night terrors. After each fight, River would apologize profusely to his son for every fleeting second. A consistent failure that gnawed on him every encounter with the family. Combined with a father’s lament was another’s gloated arrogance; a spirit that Huon fantasized about shattering.

But a cosmic retribution shined upon them five years ago, when Stungalm left the family. When they arrived without him, they made a man with an inflated ego feel less important. When asked where Stungalm was, he responded with grumbling. But one sibling explained privately that Stungalm left to ‘find his mother’. That a woman allowed a man like him to father her children appalled people. A mother who was never in the picture. It was a surprising revelation that a man so barbaric and vicious journeyed away for such a reason. A mere independent thought one wouldn’t believe such a person could have.

His thoughts came to a halt once Stungalm, the mysterious figure, and the children reached the house. River stood up straight, shoulders back, as he approached. “It’s been a long time, boy,” he greeted, giving a smile. However, Stungalm didn’t answer. Instead, his focus was on the stairs, hearing the noises above. Despite the rudeness, River continued, “how’ve you been? I see you have upgraded your weapon since I last saw you.” He pointed to the pistol sword that hung on the belt. “Was that before or after the journey you’re taking?”

“Before.”

As River was talking to Stungalm, Ronan shifted his attention to the hooded figure. “The kids can go upstairs. Mrs. Stark will be ready for them.”

Unlike the bestial man he was so used to, the hooded figure nodded and ushered the kids upstairs and talked to them like he was their babysitter. “Each of you gets a room. And be good. No messes.” He followed behind the children, Ronan nodded to his father & Stungalm as he followed. He caught up to him when the hooded figure peeked into the room; the one where Raygnar would be.

Both peeking in the room, Mrs. Stark was measuring Raygnar with a makeshift tape measure. With his shirt off, the various scales shined in various directions. The Draconic elf kept eye contact with the hooded man, and gulped, “Uuuum... hi?” He peeped.

“Sorry Raygnar, this is umm... I don’t know your name.”

“Best you don’t,” the hooded figure responded. “I will head out soon, anyway.”

“Even if we don’t meet again, I would like to thank you properly,” Ronan smiled. “It’s only courtesy.” After a few seconds, the hooded figure sighed. “It’s Nahele. That’s my name.”

Feeling fulfilled, Ronan redirected his attention to Mrs. Stark. “What’s with the measuring tape?”

Mrs. Stark brought wrapped the tape back up into her hands. “Seeing your dear friend’s clothes being ripped, I planned on crafting him some replacements. But the ones he has are... something to behold.” She altered to see the shirt that laid on the chair next to the bed. Ronan noted the what he believed was a woolen shirt; but...it was different. Then he realized it was a dark-blue embroidered shirt of some kind. “A Kaftan,” Raygnar answered to the curious looks. “It’s actually a coat as I have an undershirt underneath all that; real good for those chilly nights in the forest. And no worries about it. I’ll have it replaced when I head on back home.” He grabbed the clothes from the chair and puts it back on. Where Huon had swung at him was very obvious though, as a huge gash on the clothes exposed his slender stomach. “I’ll hide this behind the cloak, no worries.”

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“Draconic elf... hmm, not a Pencari.” Nahele uttered, “Our mistake then. I can let the one down below know.” He backed away. “I will go then.”

“Hold on. At least stay tonight.” Ronan offered, “And answer some questions as well. I’d like to know where you found the kids?”

“Speaking of the kids, I will head over to look at them.” She tucked the measuring tape in her pocket. “And you seem to be alright Mr. Raygnar. I’d say refrain from overexerting yourself and opening up your wounds, understood?”

Raygnar nodded, met by her smile as she left the three men to tend to the children. As the room was quiet, Nahele mumbled. “I cannot give you the specifics on how I found them; but I will say this: they survived a Pencari attack. Any more than that, you can ask the kids if they are willing.”

“I figure that. But how did you meet Stungalm?”

Nahele faced Ronan, “he was there when the Pencari attacked; We agreed it was more beneficial to work together momentarily; since I have knowledge of the monsters.” He stared at his dark clothes, dirtied from the long journey. “We even found the group of Rakshasa, which I led away so I could kill them off.” Once saying that, Ronan blinked and examined the man. He then checked Nahele’s weaponry; a longbow... with a quiver full of arrows. And a sword that was unfamiliar to him caught his attention; He didn’t need to say anything; he understood. “Well, we can at least provide you with supplies for the journey tomorrow if you’re willing to trade with us. You seem to be a capable hunter, and your knowledge of the Pencari will help us, even if small.”

Nahele tipped his head, almost thinking. “Maybe... I’ll think about it.” He then walked out of the room. “In the meantime, I need to handle a few things on my end.” Raygnar headed off as well. “Do you think Mrs. Stark will mind if I read some books downstairs?”

“Should be fine, just put them back when done.” Ronan shrugged, as he too left the room. Once downstairs, he noticed Huon and Kyle there with River & Stungalm. I must’ve not heard them walking past, Ronan thought as he came forward. “Hey,”

“Welcome back,” River greeted, taking notice of Raygnar, who made a beeline for the bookshelf. “I take it that is Raygnar?”

“Oh yeah,” Ronan confirmed, “He’s not a Pencari, so he should be fine.” That was toward Stungalm, who sat down on the chair and scrutinized the Draconic Elf who brought out three books. Nahele made their way to Stungalm, and they engaged in conversation amongst themselves. After some time, they proceeded to the entrance door. “What? You will not stay?” Huon mocked, “I thought you had a purpose here.”

“I did.” Stungalm grunted, “Is that a Pencari?” He pointed with his finger at Raygnar.

“No-”

“Then I don’t care,” Stungalm interrupted before leaving for good. Nahele nodded to them once more before he too exited. Huon growled, “Fuckin’ bear shats can’t even--” He muffled his words while talking to himself as Kyle shrugged. Once they were gone, River patted Ronan on the shoulder as he approached the Draconic Elf. “So you’re Raygnar? And your people are... Draconic elves?”

Raygnar was already skimming through the pages of the book, fascinated by the entries. He didn’t realize he was being addressed until he glanced up to see people looking at him. Fumbling, he bookmarked the page he was on. “Y-Yes! Hi! Yeah. Nice to meet you--?” He twirled a hand around, indirectly asking for a name.

“River Valenciano. River is fine.”

“Jarl River then!” Raygnar did a bow. “Pleasure.”

“Jarl?” Huon raised a brow. “the hell does that mean?”

“Oh. My bad. A Jarl is one on top of the social class; at least for my people. Think like a leader, chieftain, or a warlord. My father is one as well.” He set the book down at a nearby counter before taking out a gray square box. The square box had ten buttons; three of them in a row while the last button was at the bottom, and it had a thin metal rod extended from the top. “Would you like to talk to him now?”

“Huh?” Kyle blurted, “You mean like a... letter?”

“No. Through this.” He brought the gray box closer to them. “One of your people’s inventions. Well, these were used to call anyone from anywhere, as long as you had their code and access to the arcane currents. But with limitations of the world and...my arcane magic; this can only connect with the maximum of ten boxes. So far, I have got two of them here: Father and Mother. I need to contact them anyway since it’s been awhile and they worry about me. Wish they wouldn’t to be honest. I can defend myself just fine! Anyway, we can make a call instead of sending a letter," he suggested, glancing at them and observing their surprise, with their mouths open. It was like they had just discovered fabled treasure in a deprecated temple.

“Well... that’s.... something.” River sheepishly chuckled, breaking the silence. “So by calling...like...you can contact him, like a... conversation?”

“Yep!” Raygnar beamed with pride, “faster than sending a letter back and forth. And most likely faster than me going back there, and coming back... if I can convince him.”

“That’s the catch: ‘Convince’.” Huon gestured with air quotes, “and why are you assuming we want your help, anyway?”

Raygnar sulked, putting away the gray box. River murmured, “Now, now, there is no reason to be so hostile, Huon.” He got between them, arms halfway stretched. “We can talk about this tomorrow, since I will need to set up a council meeting with the people.” He patted Raygnar’s arm. “In the meantime, though, you are our guest. Just as long as you don’t cause trouble, ok?”

“Yes, Jarl!” Raygnar then snatched the book from the counter, opening it up again. “I just want to read some of these books. The terms are so fascinating. Hmm, maybe Mrs. Stark can use my help with the kids?”

“That is an excellent suggestion.” River promoted, and turned to Ronan and the other two men, “you three can do whatever you need to do. Job well done.”

Kyle nodded and was the first to leave, followed by Huon and Ronan a few second afterward. “What the hell are we supposed to do with that Stungalm bastard?” Huon started the conversation, “I, for one, say we fuckin’ kick him to the curb and tell him to never come back.”

“But he has done nothing,” Kyle retorted. “We should give him a benefit of a doubt. He only did those things because of that ‘father’ anyway.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” a vein popped out of Huon’s face, teeth gnawing together. “He can take that with whatever fuckin demon that sympathizes with him.” He grumbles, “Already dealing with a non-human; no need to deal with a beast that pretends to be a human.”

Ronan shrugged as, slowly but surely, they each went in their own direction. The day would pass by slowly, the slow anticipation of tomorrow rising as to the fate of the settlement. Perhaps, Ronan thought, Perhaps I can convince them that there is another way. Perhaps...

----------------------------------------

In a forest clearing with ample space for their bedouin tents, the two dogs made their way back to their encampment. While the bigger dog transformed, the men and various children wandered around the encampment they pitched together. The bigger dog became a man with black demonic horns on his head, and black medium hair with side fringes. His pointed ears twitched, trying to locate someone in his black and white outfit; embolden in a golden trim swayed with the wind. He adjusted his black linen overcoat, keeping it on his white tunic that held brocade accents. Moving ahead in leather boots, his red eyes spotted the person he sought.

The other man was over the large campfire, cooking over an iron pot. He tied back his long black hair while his golden horns glistened from the light of the crackling fire. He wore a black crop top and pants with a red sash, acting as a belt for his chakrams. Golden bracelets tapped on the iron bot as he tried stirring the pot. His red eyes focused on any noticeable changes with the food. However, someone caught him by surprise when they wrapped their arms around his waist. He blinked, but then realized who it was. “Oh? You and Azim are back?”

“Yeah,” he gave a loving kiss to his mate’s cheek. “He showed me something really interesting, though; and I believe it will be best to bring up to Aralt.”

Soon, the smaller dog underwent a transformation and became a young boy no older than eight years old; He patted down his black pants as his tail waved back and forth. “Uh-huh! They went through a secret cave! Hidden with a bunch of stringy green leaves.”

“I see...” The man that was cooking glanced at Azim, “But I hope you learned your lesson on wandering off from now on.”

“Abeeee~,” Azim whined, “I already promised not to do it again.”

“You made a promise to your father,” He indicated towards his companion, “But not to me; but now I will hold you up to that promise.” He then went back to the food, taking a whiff of the food. “Almost done. Mailk, mind letting everyone know the food’s almost done?”

Malik nodded, a loving smile never left his face. “Of course, love,” He swiftly changed direction and headed off to let all the men and the young boys know that the food was ready. He traversed to every tent, making his presence known with a tap on fabric made of camel fur and vegetable fibers. Some of them were showing signs of wear & tear; a result of the perilous journey they had to go through. Hopefully, it is ending being here.

He saved his leader, Aralt, for last. With his back turned, the man sharpened his great axe in his own tent, preparing for battles. He wore hide armor underneath his frayed clothes; even his boots were showing sign of incoming holes as he sat in the cushions faded in color. Parts of his long black hair rested on the ground while his horns, resembling more of a goat, stood tall. His eight foot structure stopped moving when he heard someone coming in his tent. “Yeah?”

“Hey Aralt, Faizan is done with the food.” He held a hand to his heart. “And... It appears that our belief about this place being isolated was incorrect.

“Nothing can be fuckin’ easy, can it?” Aralt mumbled as he set his weapon aside, “So it’s true? Humans are real?”

“Yes. One of them saved Azim from those Pencari pets, and from a hunting trap he got too close to.” He smiled, “I swear; that boy’s wanderings will get himself into trouble.” As he closed his eyes to reflect, his leader stood up; a mere foot taller than Malik himself. “Aralt? What are your thoughts? We considered the possibilities of if there are truly other races living here; we need to make our presence known.”

“I am aware,” Aralt exhaled, staring down at his hand as it clenched into a fist. “I just don’t know how they will treat us based on our looks,” Aralt sighed, staring down at his hand as it clenched into a fist, “our history.... our power...”

“We got to start somewhere,” Malik encouraged. “It’s in one of the many testaments of our religion: ‘He who hesitates, disintegrates’.”

“I am still trying to figure out if that is an actual quote, or you changed it for your amusement.”

Malik chuckled as he came next to Aralt and patted his back. “Both races; hunted down for other’s sins. In search of a sanctuary; I say we’re all in the same in a sense. And after all, I need to repay a debt to them for saving my son.” Aralt hummed at that notion; it was true: A debt needed to be paid. But how? “True; and I am not one to leave debts unpaid. During dinner, I will announce our meeting with them tomorrow. The Pencari’s feelings be damned.”