"Perhaps," he conceded, relaxing his stance.

Mara nodded, a slight dip of her head. Her lips pursed as though sealing away the vault of her thoughts.

"Perhaps," she echoed, her voice a feather on the wind.

“Why have you sought me out, Mara?”

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Can't a woman find the company of a man enjoyable?"

He “feigned” a look, once over, and grinned at her coy tone. He couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that stirred within him, but he knew it wasn’t real. He knew there was more to her presence here than just simple enjoyment. “Somehow, I don’t think that is why you are here.” For starters, she was dressed like a priest.

"Hmmmph," she pouted, but her gaze fixed upon him with unwavering intensity, "As it so happens, I do have a trade in mind. It involves the Horovian bramblestag."

Cal's stance shifted. His eyes, sharp as the edge of a blade, never left hers. He had no knowledge of such a beast, but he made no outward reaction indicating otherwise.

"The leader of the bramblestags possesses something I desire," Mara continued, the blonde waves of her hair catching the emerging moonlight as if spun from the very threads of deceit. "The antler will be a strong binding for a staff I plan to commission. Retrieve it with me, and I shall impart to you the language guideweave you saw me use earlier."

Her offer hung between them like a spider's thread—fragile yet potentially ensnaring. Cal weighed her words. A translator for this new world would be essential. Temp could eventually calculate a dictionary, but Cal would still have to learn it. This “guideweave” could open doors.

"Come now, Mara, you and I both know that this is a simple guideweave" Cal said, his tone even, betraying none of the bluff. Her gentle demeanor was a mask, and she did not reveal its value one way or the other.

"Trust is a delicate thing, is it not?" Mara's lips quirked into a half-smile, her brown eyes attempting to project sincerity. "But this is to both our benefits, Cal. Let us help each other."

Cal studied her, every subtle shift in her posture, every flicker of her eyelids. She was an enigma—she felt like a huntress, but everything she was wearing indicated a priest of sorts. She wore silks from head to toe, worn by wear and likely battle, but resilient given its smooth texture.

The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his decision.

Cal had no intention of being naïve prey. Mara wanted something from him; that much was clear from their initial interaction and monologue. This “negotiation” was a play at something else. He just didn’t know what.

"Consider my offer," she pressed, stepping closer, the scent of herbs and earth rising from her.

Mara was not new to the game of give-and-take; but he wasn’t either. He would play, but on his terms. Cal considered flipping the table instead.

Cal shifted his weight, the dry leaves beneath his boots crackling softly. There was an edge to the air, a silent charge that pulsed between him and Mara.

"Revealing your strength could be... unwise," Temp said,

"Or perhaps necessary," Cal countered internally, his blue eyes narrowing as he measured the distance between them. The forest loomed, shadows growing longer with the setting sun, turning trees into specters.

"Direct confrontation benefits neither of you. At least for now," Temp insisted.

“I have considered, and you offer too little. Do you take me for a hired thug?” Cal spoke bluntly.

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Cal exhaled quietly. He knew the dance of diplomacy all too well; each step could lead either to alliance or disaster. A direct fight with Mara meant unmasking his strength—a risk that could leave him vulnerable in front of unknowns.

"Temp," he thought, not taking his eyes off Mara, "the bramblestag? Also check if you can find a Mara in the ranking ladder.”

"Ah, yes," Temp's voice followed. "The Horovian bramblestag is likely a real beast. Based on the fallen warrior’s journal, he noted the presence of a sturdy deer species. They were large, with antlers like twisted iron, sharp enough to pierce steel. His spear was unable to pierce their hide."

"Earth attuned?" Cal asked, the words almost lost under the rustling canopy.

"Indeed. It appears to be quite resilient, with only a few weak points," Temp continued.

“I feel like I walked into something, but I don’t know what,” Cal chuckled internally to Temp.

"Sounds like a fitting challenge for you," Mara interjected, her lips curling into a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. “But what are you expecting, Mr. maniac.”

"Convenient cover for you, as well," Cal retorted internally, his mind racing. If Mara sought an item from such a beast or set an ambush with the beast as a backdrop, her desperation—or cunning—ran deeper than he'd guessed. Cal wasn’t sure he could break through this beast’s defenses.

Cal shifted, the leather of his boots scraping against the rocks below. "Mara," he began, his tone even, "I need something more... tangible. You have no chance of defeating the bramblestag without my help."

"More tangible than mastery over ancient languages?" Mara's eyebrow arched, her voice laced with feigned surprise.

"Don’t act surprised. Coin has language of its own—one that requires no translation." Cal watched her closely, searching for any flicker of hesitation.

A breeze stirred the leaves around them, carrying a hint of skepticism between the two. Mara's hands came to rest before her, fingers entwining like serpents preparing to strike. "Cash, then. A fair request, but it is the bramblestag's trophy you'll be fetching for me… I see every sword has a price."

She paused, then continued, “how about 5 crystals?”

Cal replied without hesitation, “heh, you take me as a fool?” He forced his will to make his bloodlust tangible like in his fight with the scorpion. A calculated risk, but he had suspicions of the player behind the chessboard.

“A girl’s gotta try, no?" She attempted a grin, "I will give you 5 crystals now, and the remaining 25 crystals if we defeat the beast.” A flicker of uncertainty, fleeting and carefully hidden, found its way out from Mara’s visage. It disappeared as soon as it came.

"Agreed," Cal said tersely. His eyes never left hers.

“Cal, she is on the ranked list. Her full name is Mara Aventi. Rank 83. No additional information. This also means that she knows your deception as there is no Cal on the list.”

"In eight hours, then, rest up," she pressed on, unfolding a parchment from her sleeve and scribbling a series of symbols. "We meet here. I instruct; you learn. Then, we face the bramblestag."

"Quite the timetable," Cal muttered, skepticism threading through his tone. His glance flickered to the parchment, its edges curling like withering leaves.

The parchment crinkled in Mara's grip, her eagerness a shadow over the moonlit scene. Cal watched her, his blue eyes narrowing under furrowed brows. Was this eagerness real?

"We scout it out first," he insisted, his voice low and steady as a distant tide. "No blind battles."

Mara's smile waned, a flicker of annoyance crossing her sharp features. "Cautious," she observed, a challenge lurking beneath the word.

"Prudent," Cal corrected. The trees rustled their agreement, leaves whispering secrets to the night.

"Fine," Mara conceded, her tone a steel blade sheathed in velvet. "We scout after resting."

"Then we plan," Cal added, his stance relaxed but vigilant. His mind traced potential stratagems, each move a chess piece in the game they were about to play.

"Of course," she replied, her smile as sharp as the antlers they sought.

"In eight hours, then." Cal concluded.

Silence fell, a quiet sentinel of the moments passing. Eyes locked, two predators acknowledging the other's mettle.

Meanwhile, Temp processed variables, probabilities spinning into a web of potential outcomes. An ally in Mara's shadow could skew the odds, turn a hunt into an ambush.

"Cal," Temp interjected, his voice a modulated whisper, "we should consider the presence of another player."

"Another?" Cal's gaze didn't waver from Mara's face—the perfect mask of innocence.

"An accomplice," Temp clarified. "We haven’t run into any other people. If she is who you think she is, she must have a similar spatial treasure to hide her bow. The other possibility is that there is an accomplice."

"Complicated or not," Cal responded, "we must proceed with caution. Forcing out the accomplice now would not be favorable. An archer would have the high ground, and we have an open field behind us."

Mara threw a small pouch to Cal and turned around. They parted ways with the grace of duelists bowing post-combat. Cal moved west, stride purposeful, senses alert. Mara drifted east, her departure a whisper against the earth.

The alcove lay empty, the forest reclaiming its solitude, the moon casting long, indifferent shadows across the ground where two fates had intertwined—if only for a breath, a spell, a promise of what was to come.