“So, you got your invite, then?” a gruff voice asked from the back of the small cluster gathered under the flickering lamplight.

The young man nodded, grinning. “Aye, got mine and the wife’s. Thought we’d be left out, but they’re making space for everyone this time.”

“Not everyone,” a woman cut in, her tone laced with bitterness. “We weren’t so lucky. Guess we’re not important enough.” She folded her arms, looking off into the distance.

A hush fell over the group, some exchanging sympathetic glances, others looking away awkwardly.

“Well, it’s been a long time since the council’s had so many of us attend,” an elder spoke up, trying to lift the mood. “When was the last time? Ten years ago? More?”

“Longer, I’d wager,” muttered someone else. “Back then, it was a plague, wasn’t it? Feels almost like... like the gods themselves are calling us together again.”

The young man’s smile faded. “Do you think they’ll find a solution to these food shortages?” He shifted uneasily. “Feels like every time I pass the storehouse, the shelves look emptier than before.”

“They have to,” said another voice with quiet urgency. “Can’t go on like this. People are already talking about rationing…” She let her words drift off, casting a wary glance at her neighbours.

“Rationing, shortages—someone better be ready with answers,” another muttered. “The council’s supposed to keep things in order, aren’t they?”

There was a ripple of agreement, a few mutterings in discontent.

“And what about the Shore Walker?” someone whispered. “You ever seen him? Never even caught a glimpse myself. You’d think he was some myth.”

“Is he even that important?” asked a younger voice, barely above a murmur.

“Watch your mouth!” came the sharp rebuke from an elder, eyes narrowing in disapproval. “The Shore Walker’s the reason the council holds together at all.”

A few nodded, chastened. “They say the Shorewalker’s always there...,” murmured someone else, almost to themselves.

“You’re sure?” another asked, glancing around as if he might appear at any moment. “Thought he’d vanished like the rest of our luck.”

“Aye,” said the elder, voice softened with something like reverence. “They listen to the discussions, and finally decide out fate.”

The group fell into a sombre silence, the weight of the elder’s words settling around them. Each face bore a flicker of wonder, mystery, and even fear, as if the Shore Walker’s name alone carried an unspoken power.

And then, a gasp—soft and sharp.

“By the gods... look!”

All heads turned. A figure walked down the main road, hunched and deliberate, his gnarled staff tapping against the cobblestones. Selis. Cloaked in ancient robes that shimmered faintly in the moonlight, relics no one had seen in decades.

The townspeople froze, each one caught between awe and dread. Wordlessly, they stepped back, the vibrant murmur of voices dying as Selis passed, eyes fixed forward, his presence alone silencing the town.

Selis moved through them without a word, his gaze fixed straight ahead, eyes glinting with a strange, feverish light. One by one, they parted to let him pass, their eager chatter forgotten, replaced by a mix of reverence and dread.

They were magnificent, almost regal, a deep crimson hue embroidered with intricate patterns of gold and black, each stitch telling a story of the town’s past, of the gods, of the shamanic line that stretched back farther than any could remember. The fabric, woven from fine wool and adorned with symbols of power and protection, flared slightly as he moved, catching the moonlight with a soft, ethereal glow. Tiny beads and charms hung from the hem, tinkling faintly as he walked, like the sound of distant chimes carried on the wind.

The people around him fell silent as he approached, eyes wide with recognition, with awe. There was no mistaking those robes, the way they seemed to shimmer and pulse with a life of their own. They had belonged to his ancestors, to the great shamans who had once guided this town through the dark times. And now, they were his—his to bear, his to wield.

The transformation was almost surreal, as if the power woven into the very fabric of the robes was seeping into him, filling him, awakening the man he had once been—or perhaps the man he was always meant to become.

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But as he passed through the town, something strange began to happen. It was subtle at first—a straightening of his back, a firmer step, a lightening of the limp that usually plagued him. Each step he took seemed to erase a year of pain, of weariness, the weight of age slipping away like a discarded cloak. His hunched form uncurled, his shoulders squared, and his gaze, once downcast and shadowed, lifted to meet the eyes of those who watched him.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, whispers following in his wake like the rustling of dry leaves.

“Look at him…”

“Is that really Selis?”

“It’s the robes—they’re—he’s...”

“That’s the shaman,” someone whispered from the shadows, a voice low and filled with something like wonder.

“The old fool,” another voice sneered, bitter and scornful. “What good’s he ever done?”

Selis’s gaze flicked sideways, the edges of his vision catching glimpses of faces peering out from doorways, windows, and alleys. There was a divide here, so clear, so stark, it might as well have been a chasm splitting the town in two.

“Useless cripple,” a man muttered, his voice cutting through the soft hum of the crowd. “Why bother showing up?”

Step by step, his shoulders drew back, his gait steadied. His grip on his staff tightened, and his eyes—once dull and clouded—shone with a new intensity, a fierce, unrelenting light.

“He’s coming back,” a woman murmured, clutching a young child to her chest as she stared at Selis with something like awe. “The old ways… the gods… they’re coming back.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” another voice snapped, harsh and frightened. “He’s just an old man. All of this—this madness—it’s going to tear us apart!”

The words should have stung. But they didn’t. Instead, they only seemed to spur Selis on, each harsh whisper a gust of wind at his back, propelling him forward, filling him with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years.

He no longer moved like a crippled old man.

He was a shaman.

He was this town’s shaman.

They watch you, a dark voice whispered, curling around his thoughts like smoke. See how they tremble? They remember your power, Selis. They always have.

A wild grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, a flicker of satisfaction igniting in his eyes as he walked. The townspeople parted before him, their gazes downcast, wary, just as it should be. Yes, the voice purred, they finally see.

He could feel it—the strength thrumming within him, pulsing like a heartbeat. You were always meant to be more than these petty people, shackled to their little lives, the voice continued, sweet and coaxing. Tonight, they will understand.

As he neared the Pearl-shaped Great Hall, Selis slowed, tilting his head back to take in the towering dome, gleaming under the moonlight. He could see it now, rising in all its cold splendour, a monument he had been denied for so long. The smooth, endless stone felt like a temple carved just for him, a space waiting, yearning for his presence once more.

His heartbeat with feverish thrill, his gaze locked onto the sacred hall. “I’m back…” he whispered; his words swallowed by the night.

Yes, the voice crooned, slipping into his mind like a velvet promise, stoking the fire within. They will know you. Show them. Make them remember.

“I will show them,”

By the time he reached the base of the hall, a crowd had gathered, their faces upturned, expressions caught between fear, awe, and disbelief. There were no jeers now, no heckles. Only silence.

And Selis? He felt it. He felt it all.

His heart pounded in his chest, his veins thrumming with the power that flowed through him, thick and heavy like the pull of the lake’s currents. For a moment, he wavered, his gaze sweeping over the gathered townsfolk, seeing the fear in some eyes, the hope in others.

“Selis!”

The voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and clear. Selis turned his head slowly, his gaze locking onto the figure standing at the entrance to the Great Hall.

Finnian.

The tavern owner stood tall and proud, his broad frame silhouetted against the dark stone of the hall. There was a grin on his face—bright, welcoming, almost joyful. But beneath it, hidden deep in the gleam of his eyes, was something else.

“Look at you,” Finnian called, his voice warm and rich with praise. “You’ve brought the whole town out to see you, old friend.”

The words should have sounded mocking. But they didn’t. There was sincerity there—a genuine admiration that sent a shiver down Selis’s spine.

“Finnian,” Selis rasped, his voice low and breathless. He felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the moment, the power surging through him. “I—”

“Tonight’s your night,” Finnian interrupted, stepping forward, his smile widening. “Tonight, they’ll all see. You’ll remind them of what they’ve forgotten. Of what we are.” He leaned in slightly, his eyes locking onto Selis’s. “The gods are watching, Selis. They’re waiting for you.”

Selis swallowed, his throat dry. The air around him seemed to shimmer, a faint, silvery mist rising from the ground at his feet. The crowd shifted uneasily, whispers rippling through them like a restless breeze. And yet, despite the uncertainty, no one moved. No one spoke.

Finnian held out a hand, his gaze never wavering from Selis’s. “Come,” he said softly. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

For a moment, just a heartbeat, Selis hesitated. The power thrummed through him, filling his veins with fire, urging him forward.

Are you ready? it seemed to ask.

But then he looked at Finnian’s face—the smile, the eagerness, the strange, twisted joy in his eyes—and the doubt melted away.

“Yes,” Selis whispered, his voice steady, strong. He reached out, clasping Finnian’s hand. “I’m ready.”

The crowd parted as they moved forward, stepping back as if pulled by an invisible force.

But he didn’t falter. Didn’t look back.

And as he and Finnian crossed the threshold of the Great Hall, the doors closing silently behind them, a ripple of unease swept through the crowd outside.

In the deepening twilight, as shadows gathered, and the air grew still.

Everyone felt it.

Something was coming.

Something was changing.

And there would be no turning back.