Moran’s head throbbed in time with each step the towering figure took, his vision reduced to swaying glimpses of a dark grassy road that rhytmically came closer and further.

The tall man that had knocked him out for a few seconds had flung him over his shoulder and was carring him. His body jolsted up and down with each heavy stride, his arms dangling uselessly.

If he had anything inside his stomach, he for sure would have lost it because the motion made him sick.

The distinct smell of woodsmoke and dried herbs hit his nose as they approached a large structure, half tent, half house, its roof stitched together from layers of thick furs and hides.

Bones and dried plants hung from the entrance, clinking softly as the man pushed his way inside.

With surprising care, he lowered Moran down, settling him onto his knees on the woven mat at the center of the room.

As Moran's vision was slowly clearing, he could take in the primal, almost eerie interior.

The insides of the building looked almost like the people it represented; it's walls hung over and over with bones and fur of different, what Moran hoped to be animals, and long colorful curtains with different golden patterns waved into them.

Six jars, filled with the glowing light dots that had swarmed all around him when he first awoke in this realm, were suspended in each corner of the house sized room, casting a flickering glow that seemed to play with the shadows, like little fairies, whatever that was.

On the other side of the room, sitting on a massive chair made of wood and cloth, was a woman.

She had long, pinkish-red hair that seemed to glow in the flickering light of the jars, giving her an almost etherial shine.

Her skin was smooth and had the same light orange color as his own, though it was pale, like she had lost a lot of blood.

Near her, with one hand placed on the backrest of the throne-like chair, stood another, younger woman.

Her skin was a darker red, a shade somewhere between copper and earth, making the pale, loose fabric she wore stand out all the more.

Her hair was strange, a mix of red and orange, short and wild. It seemed to almost flicker with movement, waving around with the slightest motion of her head, the single strands curfing to almost form feathes at times.

She wore a sleeveless wrap bound tight across her torso, which left her shoulders bare if there wasn't a long black scarf draped around her neck.

Loose, baggy pants sat low on her hips and ended just above her ankles, her feet standing bare on the ground.

Thick gold cuffs clamped around her wrists and ankles, like seals.

As they walked in, her gaze shot from the seated woman to Groll and then to Moral, the edges of her mouth trembling slightly.

The two of them had been talking about something, and without having heard it, Moral knew they had interrupted something from the gingers expression alone.

While the younger woman wore a look of worry and annoyance, the older one was completely expressionless, looking almost tired.

However, when she spoke, there was a certain edge to her voice that Moral associated with anger.

“Groll, why have you brought this stranger here?” She asked, her tone making it clear that the massive man behind Moral better had an answer ready.

Groll shifted his massive frame and set down. Despite being seated, he was still the tallest in the room.

“Kai has returned safely. Aurora is tending to him now,” he said, his voice a steady rumble.

A suttle twitch rushed over the seated woman's face, while the younger one broke out into a relieved smile and stormed out of the tent.

“And this one?” The seated woman insisted like nothing had happened, her gaze still digging into her like he had just insulted her.

“This man dragged him here," Groll explained. "Along with the heart of the beast he slew."

"Is that so?" she muttered to no one in particular.

She lifted her chin slightly, her yellowish-white, pupilless eyes focusing on Moran like she wanted to read his soul.

"In that case, I owe you a great debt, stranger." She shifted in her seat, sitting up straight.

“I am Vestiya,” she declared solemnly. “Chief of this tribe.”

Moran managed a nod, the lingering haze in his mind slowly clearing as he took in the surreal scene around him.

Vestiya gestured to the large figure who had just set him down. “And this beast of a man behind you is Groll. He is one of our strongest warriors.”

Groll gave a quick, polite bow, his massive form incongruous with the gentleness in his movements.

"Out of your mouth, that almost sounds like mockery," he said, but the big smile on his face betrayed that he was flattered.

Vestiya’s gaze returned to Moran, sharper now. "And you are?"

Moran hesitated, feeling the weight of her eyes on him. “I… don’t actually remember my name,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head.

“I just woke up a day ago and couldn't remember anything. Later, I sturmbled into Kai as a Gazerbeast was about to eat him. I helped him, and in return, he blackmailed me into helping him kill it if I didn't want to starve to death."

His recounting of events was missing a lot of nuance of their interaction, but Moran thought it better to frame himself in a bit of a better light.

"We confronted the beast and killed it, but Kai got injured, and a load of that black oozed coming out of the creature's face." He placed his hands in front of his face and brushed them down.

"... landed on him. I did my best to help him, and then when he told me where to find this place, I carried him here. Along the way, he decided that I needed a name, so he settled on Moran. Said it means 'brave warrior'."

Groll let out a hearty laugh that shook the room. Vestiya’s lips twitched slightly, but her tone remained steady. “That does sound like something Kai would say.” Her expression softened, though her suspicion was still there, lurking beneath the surface. “Perhaps he was having a bit of fun with you. If you swap the ‘a’ in your name with an ‘o,’ it would mean ‘bumbling fool’ in our tongue.”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Moran blinked, then felt his cheeks heat up. He understood the language they spoke, despite knowing deep down he shouldn't.

Now that she had said it and thus had forced him to think about the meaning of the word a bit closer, he indeed knew she was right.

Apparently, despite actively dying, Kai still had the time to play a prank on him. Little rascal.

He didn't have much time to relax through, because with Vestiya's next words, the tone shifted back again.

“You returned Kai to us,” she said. If she felt grateful for it, she was a master at hiding it. “But sadly, the fact that you are alien here remains. And not just a simple stranger...”

With an almost lazy wave of her hand, she pointed at the cube that had followed Moran and settled near him. It was entirely dark.

Her face was almost entirely expressionless but the faint twiches of her jaw as she clenched it spoke volumes.

Her voice was sharp, but an odd roughness tinged her words, a faint crack that sounded more like fatigue than emotion.

"...but a foreigner as well. Say, did you believe I wouldn't recognize your kind? Or are you one of those who crossed here without a purpose?"

She leaned slightly forward, her head tilted to the side, like she wanted to inspect him with her left eye alone.

Moran shifted uncomfortable. "I have no idea what you are talking about," he told her in earnest.

Vestiya’s lips curved into the faintest trace of a smile, one that a wolf would give a rabbit. “

Of course not. It would be suicidal of you to admit otherwise.”

“What did I do to deserve suspicion?” he asked carefully, doing his best to keep all annoyance out of his voice.

“Simply being here is enough,” Vestiya answered, folding her hands in her lap.

She continued, her voice dangerously steady.

“People like you—‘foreigners,’ as we call them—appear here from every now and then. The materialise in our realm or one of the others, stripped of their memories and not even remembering their own name.

Fortunatly you are easy to recognize."

She pointed at the cube with her finger this time. "Each of you has a Guide with them; though they vary in from, they are quite easy to recognize."

But each of you brings something dangerous with them

She let the weight of that hang between them for a moment before she went on.

“The last three foreigner that showed up to our doorstep brought nothing but destruction and death."

"One of them nearly laid waste to our entire village if the late chief didn't stop her.” She leaned back slightly, her posture rigid, but the tremors in her fingers continued.

“And so, I ask you—why should I trust you simply because you walked in here with my son over your shoulder?”

Groll shifted at that, clearing his throat slightly, and stepped forward. “Chief, if I may?”

His tone was gentle and deferential, like he was treading on fragile ground.

Vestiya inclined her head, barely looking at him, her gaze still fixed on Moran. “Go ahead, Groll.”

Groll looked down at Moran, his dark eyes warm yet cautious, as though he were weighing each word.

“Kai wouldn’t have made it back without him,” he said simply. “

The lad was barely holding on. This man,” he gave a slight nod toward Moran, “really dragged him here over his own shoulder.”

Vestiya’s expression softened almost imperceptibly, but she didn’t look away from Moran.

“Yes,” she said, her voice softening, though the sharpness remained. “You saved Kai’s life. For that, we ... no ... I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

She looked almost pained to admit it, her jaw tightening briefly.

Her fingers drummed lightly on the arm of her chair, though she looked as if she were forcing them to stay steady.

“But gratitude,” she continued, a hard note creeping back in, “doesn't mean trust, Moran. And we can't have someone we don't trust in our village. They are dangerous.”

Feeling the conversation not just shift out of his favor but falling down a cliff and breaking every bone, Moran decided to go on the offensive.

The nice saviour apparently wasn't doing it.

"Dangerous," he said, louder than he intended to. "How am I dangerous? I'm a single person, and I have zero intention of hurting anybody."

He took a slow breath, trying to regain at least a bit of his composure.

"What is it about us 'foreigners' that has you so wary? Kai didn’t seem to mind,”

Vestiya didn’t seem faced by his response in the slightest.

She only clasped her hands and looked at him, her expression forever unreadable if it wasn't for her clenched jaw.

“A foreigner is no mere person who wandered over from a nearby village,” she began. “You," she pointed at him. "Don`t belong here.”

Moran shifted, his fingers reflexively tapping his knee as he listened.

"So what?" He asked. "Should I just walk back and let myself get eaten by god knows what lurks around in this forest because I look different than you?"

“Do you think us naive, Moran?” Her voice was smooth but hard, dismissing his played up outrage in an instant.

“What you bring with you into our world is power. An ability or skill that breaks the limitations of our realm. That alone puts us at risk.

The last person we welcomed in our village was capable of speaking to fire and commanding it."

Her eyes tigthened as her blind gaze wandered into the past for a moment. "After a year, all she left us was ashes."

Vestiya paused for a moment, waiting just long enough for Moran to open his mouth to respond before she continued.

Her expression remained stony, her voice cold.

“And you think I should give you the same opportunity to burn us? You say you’re harmless, Moran, but it isn’t your intent I’m questioning. It’s your very nature as a foreigner.”

Moran could feel Groll shift unconfortably near him. It appeared the man wanted to say something, but after a quick struggle with himself, he didn't.

“So, just because I come from somewhere else, I’m a risk? That seems a bit arbitrary, doesn’t it?”

He tried to sound steady, but there was a bite to his voice he couldn’t quite hide.

Of course the logic behind her argument was quite sound.

Typical: get bit by the same dog to often and don't extend your hand anymore.

Unfortunately, he was here as the dog that wanted to be fed.

Vestiya tilted her head, a faint shadow of a smile twitching at her lips, more of a grim acknowledgment than amusement.

“Arbitrary, you say? This realm has a fragile balance, one easily shattered. Those from beyond bring chaos, even if they do not intend it. And trust me ... many intend it.”

She clasped her hands, her fingers stiff and slightly pale against her skin. Her eyes, though devoid of sight, felt unyielding and ever searching.

Moran couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with her. Despite her best efforts to hide it, she didn't seem healthy at all.

He would have to rummage his brain later, when he didn't need to focus on a discussion.

With his teeth he plucked a piece of dried skin form his lip and pulled it off. The slight pain shooting throught him helped him to think.

There had to be an in, something that made him valuable enough that he could stay long enough to prove he was trustworthy or learn of another village he could try his luck at.

Maybe the diplomatic way would work.

"I understand your caution, Chief, I do. But I don’t even know what kind of power you’re talking about.I woke up her without food, shelter, or company. In my short time here, I almost drowned and got torn apart by some beast I didn't even knew the name of.

The only reason this world's biome hasn't killed me yet is because it hasn't realised I am here."

Realising she let him speak, he gave his voice an almost pleading tone. "Please, I don't intend to bring any harm. I am just trying to survive."

Vestiya, realising she wasn't progressing the conversation, gave a short sigh that sounded more stained than annoyed or reluctant and leaned forward, clasping her hands between her legs. Her fingernails looked surprisingly briddle, many little cracks eating into the formerly smooth surface.

A faint line of sweat glistened on her brow, and her jaw clenched again. Something was up with her; Moran knew it.

After a few moments, her posture relaxed a little and she spoke.

Vestiya’s expression tightened, but her voice stayed calm, even if a faint hoarseness edged in. “Intentions matter little when the results are this catastrophic.” Her voice was strong but with a tint of breathlessness to it.

A moment later, her features strained again. Despite her unease Moran wasn't going to let it go.

For him this discussion was about survival.

"So what if...," he began but she interrupted him with a stern. "Enought!"

This single word hung heavy in the silence until she followed his up.

"I have more pressing matters to attend to. The elders will discuss this and come to a decision about what to do with you."

She leaned back, crossed her legs, and gave a dismissive wave with her hand.

"Until then, Groll will find a bed you can sleep in and some bread you can eat.

Moran opened his mouth to respond, but Groll to his left nodded, and his massive hand engulfed his entire shoulder, his fingers clamping gently but firmly, forcing him to stand up. With a quick step, the two left the chief's home.