“I-I… it doesn’t matter!” so you don’t know my name, Marcheline doesn’t say back. The girl continues to insist, “Papa said you’d come and find me!”

To be fair, their group is actually quite popular within the camp. For one, none of them are malnourished, even though their cloaks and tunics are old and ill-fitting. When it comes to physical appearances, most of them stand out by virtue of being healthy.

For another, Marcheline’s village is extremely organized, that even the children below ten are helpful and well-spoken. They don’t cause problems, or run around screaming. The chieftains of other villages have even sought out Bodil and Tristan for advice, despite their youth.

So, they’re not exactly invisible in this community, and Marcheline was expecting the kid to call her ‘March’, as she would expect of someone who’s never directly interacted with her. She was hoping to follow up with, ‘No, what’s my full name?’ to prove to her friends that she’s not acquainted with this strange kid.

As it happens, she’s not even familiar with the nickname ‘March’. To say that Marcheline is responsible for her in any capacity… it’s offensive. Her rude tone isn’t doing her any favors either.

Marcheline opens her mouth, but stops when she feels a finger poking her cheek. She turns her head to Brian, who’s also petting Varm.

“You have that look on your face again. Chief says you shouldn’t be like that to kids.” he says while moving Varm’s white front paws to gesticulate.

She looks at the girl, “Are you talking about me, specifically, or our group?” Maybe she misunderstood, maybe the girl is just looking for help. Maybe their group just looked like a reliable bunch, so her father gave his child that instruction. Just a miscommunication.

“N-nuh, you-“ the girl tries to calm herself down, “Papa always looks at-… he said you’d be my mom…” she angrily spits out that last part.

Marcheline blanches. She wants to be sick… but, she calms down and looks at the girl contemplatively. ‘Papa said you’d come and find me!’, ‘Papa isn’t waking up!’. Coupled with the timing of last night’s events, Marcheline is stringing a theory that she doesn’t like, at all.

She’s lost her appetite.

Marcheline robotically gets up, scanning the table for the ones that are done with their breakfasts. She picks, “Erik, come with me. Hadrian, please…” she signals Hadrian with her eyes, indicating the rest of the table.

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They’re going to check up on someone who’s on a coma, or potentially dead. Understanding that, Hadrian nods, silently agreeing to keep the younger ones here.

“I’ll come with.” Eve hops up, gobbling her sausage as she comes to Marcheline’s side.

The girl flinches at being outnumbered. More than that, Erik and Eve tower over the girl. Eve, especially, is quite muscular and tanned. Coupled with her cropped blonde hair, she cuts an imposing figure.

Erik just had a growth spurt and is awkwardly lanky. But his temperament is unusually calm due to his woodworking occupation. Still, he has shrewd eyes and a scar on his left cheekbone.

“Where’s your tent?” their Vice Chieftain asks the rattled child. Brian audibly sighs in disappointment.

The girl looks down and angrily wipes her tears. Unable to meet anyone’s eyes, she turns around and walks away. Marcheline’s trio follows behind her, while rest of their table-mates could only watch with curious eyes.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach a medium-sized family tent, as tall as an average adult. Before going in, Marcheline whispers to her companions, “Something isn’t right. I need you two to guard outside.” If her suspicions are correct, if the man inside is indeed related to her nightmare, then she doesn’t know what to expect going in.

If some demon pops out of a corner, she’ll try her best to retreat. These two aren’t even level 1.

“But-!” Eve begins, but Marcheline cuts her off with a glare.

Their guide hesitates at the entrance. Marcheline nudges the flap aside, and looks. Within the small space, there’s a low table, two small cots, various farming tools, and a few unwashed clothes. The man in question is on the larger cot, lying on his side with his hands gathered on his collar.

Marcheline sees a stick next to the entrance, and she uses it to keep the flap propped open for an easier retreat. “If I shout, run away and look for a priest.” Now even Erik is looking at her in confusion. She cautiously goes in.

This is the first time that she could get a good look at ‘Old Sam’. He’s younger than she initially thought, his pallid face appears to be early thirties. He has a large gut, and a bit of premature aging on his pale skin. He’s not showing any signs of life.

She places a hand near his nose. Nothing. Marcheline braces herself and is about to touch him, when a glint near his neck catches her eyes. The hands on his collar are clutching something. The edges look like a metal pendant, and a string of twine sticks out between his fingers.

She touches his lower jaw, cringes at the stiffness of it. Dead, definitely. She hooks a finger around that twine and pulls. It slowly but easily slips from his large hands. So rigor mortis hasn’t spread to his small joints yet.

She looks down at the pendant… pendants, there’s two of them. Her pupils contract.

One is the logo for ‘Lightbringer’, a single wing surrounded by an intricate halo. The other one is a black tree with its branches devoid of leaves, and a large eye on its trunk. This is the symbol of the main villain in Lightbringer.