The man continued to laugh for what felt like an eternity, but the twins just fixed their gaze on him, silent. When the man finally met Clada's eyes, he found him fully recovered, face impassive.

"What? Don't you find it amusing?" the man asked.

"Why did you do that?" Clada shot back.

"Did what? Played a prank on you? Gave you a healing potion? Or perhaps... chose not to end your life?" The man questioned, the last remnants of his laughter fading.

Though Clada had limited interactions with anyone other than Ren, he was quite certain this man didn't fit any standard definition of 'normal'. Could he be mentally unhinged? After all, who does that?

Meanwhile, Ren was internally evaluating the cunning nature of the prank played on them. However, he kept his thoughts to himself, knowing Clada all too well.

Clada furrowed his brows. "So you're saying, after I killed one of yours, you just decided to heal me?"

"Why assume we're together? Could be mere coincidence," the man retorted.

"You expect me to believe that? No one has set foot on this island for a decade. And when they finally do, it's the exact same time as you?" Clada countered with skepticism.

The man paused, meeting Clada's gaze. "It's true we didn't arrive together. But as you pointed out, she is one of 'our people.' I was tasked with her protection."

Clada rubbed his forehead, perplexed. "Then why?"

The man spread his arms wide, grinning from ear to ear. "Because, at this moment, you matter to me more than that child did."

Clada narrowed his eyes, suspicion evident in his voice. "Is this about the same reason those other guys were chasing me?"

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Not quite. While the twin souls you possess are indeed precious, I'm not so poor to be in the business of soul harvesting. However, the thing you have, or rather know, is invaluable."

"These 'twin souls' you're talking about, is it because there are two of us in one body? Is that a rare thing? How is that even valuable to others?" Clada rapidly fired off his questions, seizing the chance to finally get answers. "And what exactly do we know that's so invaluable? Because I can’t think of anything like that. And can you actually see Ren? I'm certain that nothing has ever—" Before he could continue, the man raised a hand, gesturing him to stop.

"Ease up," the man said with a hint of amusement, "There'll be enough time for all your questions. But first," he motioned to Liora's body, "I need to take care of the situation you've created. You killed someone with... troublesome background. And since I've got plans for you, we need to sort this out immediately."

He casually approached the shadow beast's carcass, lifting it as if it weighed nothing, then positioned it beside Liora. He then arranged her lifeless body, pressing her neck against the beast's horn, making it appear as though she'd been killed by the creature.

The man glanced at Clada, holding out his hand.

Clada looked puzzled. "What?"

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Your dagger," the man simply stated.

"Why do you want it?"

The man's eyes narrowed slightly. "There are methods to discern how she died. If you hold onto that weapon, they'll find you in no time."

Clada exhaled deeply and reluctantly handed over the dagger. As the man grasped it, the blade began to glow a vivid red, morphing and melting until it was just a misshapen lump of molten metal. "Now, your hands."

Alarmed, Clada leaped back, his posture defensive. "What do you mean, my hands?"

"We need to eradicate the blood traces on you," the man said calmly, the molten lump dissipating in his hand as if it were mere smoke. "That requires burning off the skin. Don't fret; it's less painful than it sounds."

"Why would we even do that? I can just wash my hands," Clada retorted.

The man wagged his finger, "Simply washing won't do. Burning is the only surefire way to leave no traces."

Before Clada could protest, the man was suddenly beside him, grasping his arms. In an instant, the skin from Clada's arms began to slough off, transforming into ash before it could even touch the ground.

Underneath, raw, red flesh was exposed, causing Clada a searing pain. Still, he bit back any sound, a reflex borne from years of survival on this perilous island: letting any sound, especially in moments of weakness, often equated to a death sentence.

Impressive, he didn't make a sound even this time, the man mused internally. With a casual gesture, another bottle materialized in his hand, this one significantly larger. He uncapped it and poured some of its contents over Clada's raw arms. Almost instantly, fresh skin grew back, as soft and unblemished as an infant's.

Clada shot the man a withering look. "Was all of that truly necessary?"

"Absolutely," the man replied with a grin that failed to instill any confidence in Clada or Ren.

Examining his newly healed arms, Clada noted not only the absence of the recent injury but also the disappearance of old scars and burns he'd accumulated over the years.

Ren cast a glance at Clada and asked, 'What about her companions?' nodding towards Liora's corpse. 'We should take care of them while we still can.'

Acknowledging Ren's words with a nod, Clada shifted his focus to the man, whose smile still seemed irritatingly permanent. "I have some things to take care of, so I'll be gone for now."

The man met his gaze and simply nodded. "Fine. But if it's about those youngsters, don't bother. I've already taken care of it."

Both Clada and Ren looked surprised. "You killed them?"

The man let out a dismissive scoff. "Not every problem is solved with death. Just... don't worry over it anymore."

Clada refrained from arguing further; he wasn't particularly keen on fighting or taking lives. As long as they left him be, he had no desire for confrontation.

The man surveyed the surroundings, ensuring he hadn't overlooked anything. His gaze briefly settled on the dead tiger before he turned to Clada, shrugging nonchalantly. "Now that we've settled that, let's move to your treehouse for a chat."

With that, he began walking towards the east side of the island where the twins' treehouse was located. Clada trailed after him, somewhat taken aback by the man's knowledge of its location.

The twins continued their journey in silence until Ren broke it, 'I think it's safe to trust that he doesn't intend to harm us, at least for now.'

Clada shot him a sidelong glance, replying, 'Maybe for the moment. But what happens once he gets what he wants from us? Still, I understand where you're coming from. In our situation, resisting him seems pointless. Let's just go with the flow and see where this leads.'

The duo walked in contemplative silence, with Ren's ethereal form trailing behind, until they reached the treehouse.

Without hesitation, the man leaped up and entered the house. Clada watched him, shaking his head in mild annoyance. "Even us in this place, know that basic etiquette dictates not barging into someone's space without an invitation."

Clada quickly climbed the carved steps of the tree and entered the treehouse. Inside, he found the man seated comfortably, a glass bottle filled with a red liquid in his right hand and two cups in his left.

"First, let's begin with introductions," the man began, gesturing to himself with the hand holding the bottle. "My name is Lorn Salvon. I'm an Animist from the Nightsteel Academy. And you? Do you have a name?"

Clada mused, Names must hold significance in the vast lands. "My name is Clada," he began, then gestured to the ghostly figure beside him, "And this is Renfred, though he prefers 'Ren'."

Lorn nodded, "Pleasure to meet both of you. Now, let's discuss what you truly want to know... accompanied by this wine, of course."