The interior bustled with activity. Guards in matching armor, akin to the one who had led them here, moved about, while other people busily read notices on a board to one side.

The woman behind the desk fixed her gaze on Clada and asked in a clear Echoloch, “You're here for a pass, correct? Where are you from?”

“Not sure of its name, but it was just an island,” Clada responded in fluent Echoloch, eliciting a surprised glance from the woman.

Echoloch is a prestigious language, primarily used to document the knowledge of Animists. Few have the privilege or right to learn it, especially since it isn't anyone's native language. Those who can speak it are selective about sharing their knowledge, making encounters with fluent speakers a rarity.

“I meant the name of your home country, not a specific island or region,” the woman clarified.

“I'm unaware of that as well,” Clada responded, shrugging.

The woman studied him intently over her glasses, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Very well. Just tell me your native language then.” She reasoned internally, ‘Even if he hails from the lawless regions, his native tongue would give him away.’

Clada replied immediately, "Echoloch is my native language."

His response was so prompt that it seemed rehearsed. The woman had always believed that no one spoke Echoloch as their primary tongue. However, considering Clada's youth and demeanor, she decided not to delve deeper.

“Your name?” she inquired next.

“Clada.”

“Surname?”

“Surname? I don’t have one,” Clada responded, prompting a surprised reaction from both the woman and Thaila.

The woman studied Clada for a moment before turning to her colleague, speaking in the Reil language, "I'll need to use the Truststone. This kid claims he doesn't know the name of his place of origin, says Echoloch is his native language, and above that he says he doesn't have a surname."

Not just her colleague, but several others in the vicinity caught her words and turned their attention to Clada, casting curious and suspicious glances his way.

Clada, feeling the weight of their stares, exchanged a puzzled look with Thaila, who appeared equally clueless about his gaze.

Adjusting her glasses, the woman addressed Clada again, "To proceed with your pass, we'll need to conduct a truth verification test. The fee for this will be higher than initially mentioned."

"how much?" Clada asked.

"Two gold coins," she responded, anticipating some resistance from Clada. To her surprise, he simply retrieved two gold coins from his pouch and placed them on her desk.

She stowed the coins in a drawer and then stood up, gesturing for Clada to follow. When Thaila attempted to join them, the woman stopped her.

The two climbed a set of stairs to a room on the first floor. Dominating the center of this room was a unique device, reminiscent of a miniature mountain, stationed on a table. Intricate web-like patterns sprawled across its surface. A small aperture was present at its front, and atop the device, a shallow depression was filled with a clear liquid.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Settling into a chair, the woman took out a small notebook and a pencil, indicating she was prepared to proceed.

The woman, noting Clada's anticipation, instructed, "Place your hand on the obsidian stone within that aperture." Her tone had somewhat shifted since learning he lacked a surname.

‘Are we perhaps in trouble? Should we make a run for it?’ Ren pondered, though, without real alarm, he felt they could run if they really wanted to.

‘Not sure, but let's get through this. If things become dicey, we can always escape.’ Clada concurred as he reached into the hole, making contact with a surface that was both smooth and chilling.

Upon Clada's touch, the liquid atop the device began to emit a white luminescence. The woman, observing the glow, elucidated, “This artifact is known as the Truststone. It will resonate with your soul. If you speak lies, this liquid will cloud in dark. Should that happen, you will be irrevocably banned from this town.”

The moment Clada grasped the implication of the artifact connecting with his soul, he withdrew his hand as swiftly as a snake strikes, returning the luminescent liquid to its clear state.

‘Let's make a note to touch everything we're directed to next time too,’ Ren commented, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

The woman sighed internally, thinking, Just as I suspected, he's concealing something.

“Place your hand back on the stone," she instructed. "Otherwise, you can leave now and face being banned from here." She subtly gestured towards the door with her chin. "However, if you speak the truth and your past holds no deceit, we will grant you a pass valid throughout the Frohn region."

‘You know what, you touch the stone,’ Clada suggested to Ren.

‘Hey now, there's a limit to playing the victim card. You expect me to risk it while you sit back and watch?’ Ren retorted with mock dismay.

‘Just do it. Connect with the stone using your soul,’ Clada urged.

With a resigned sigh, Ren acquiesced. Although his initial refusal was in jest, he trusted Clada implicitly, believing his twin must have discerned something important.

Clada reinserted his hand into the hole, yet stopped short of touching the obsidian. Instead, it was Ren's spectral hand, emanating from Clada's, that made contact with the stone, prompting the liquid to gleam white once more.

‘As I suspected,’ Clada remarked.

‘Oh, I see your angle now,’ Ren acknowledged, grasping Clada's strategy.

The woman began her interrogation, "Are you from the lawless regions?"

Considering their upbringing, Ren mused, ‘The island didn't have laws, so it's technically lawless, right?’

"No," Clada responded.

‘Yes,’ Ren answered internally.

However, the woman only registered Clada's outward response. Observing that the glowing liquid remained unchanged, she exhaled in relief, thinking, Thank the gods he isn't from those places. Had he been, we would've been obligated to detain him. Rumor has it that those regions breed skillful and cold-blooded killers.

She discreetly glanced towards the door, subtly shaking her head, ensuring Clada didn't notice her gesture. Then, turning her attention back to Clada, who was waiting patiently, she posed another question, “Are you truly unaware of the name of your place of origin?”

Of course, the twins had been aware of the figure behind the door from the outset, but they'd resolved to remain non-aggressive unless provoked.

“All I can tell you is the name of the island: Doritm.”

‘I genuinely have no idea where that island is located or if it has a name.’

Once more, the liquid remained unchanged, indicating truthfulness. The woman gave a nod of acknowledgment, jotting something down in her notebook.

"Is it truly the case that you don't have a surname?" she asked. Internally, she reasoned, Lacking a surname can imply one of three scenarios: he came from the lawless regions—which we've determined he does not—, he's a refugee from the elf camps, or worst-case, he's a kinslayer.

"I do have a surname; I just prefer not to use it for personal reasons," Clada clarified.

‘Indeed, I don't have one.’

She nodded with an air of expectancy, asserting, "Regardless, we must know it."

"Jorah," he finally revealed.

‘As I said, I don't have a surname.’ Ren mentally retorted.

Her eyes held a relieved smile as she observed the unchanging milky liquid.

She jotted down notes in her small notebook and proceeded with a barrage of questions. She asked about his journey to the Reil empire, the origin of his gold coins, if he had ever taken a life, his purpose in the town, among other things.

Clada never responded with complete honesty. Instead, he tailored his answers to what he believed she wanted to hear, and judging by her reactions, he seemed to be on the right track.