After the lengthy and world-altering discussion with the ancient guardian, Silak decided to postpone his visit to Dwalin. He would go tomorrow. Right now, a more pressing need pulled at him. He had been gone for nearly a week, and though a message had been sent, he could feel the phantom weight of his parents' worry. It was time to go home.
The sun was a fiery orange orb, beginning its slow descent below the horizon as he approached the tribe's settlement. The change in the atmosphere was immediate and stark. This was usually the liveliest time of day, an hour filled with the sounds of children's laughter and games, the rhythmic clang of the forge, and the cheerful chatter of warriors returning from patrol.
Today, there was only a heavy, unnerving silence.
The streets were mostly deserted, cast in long, lonely shadows by the setting sun. The few adults he saw hurried along with their heads down, and the warrior patrols moved with a grim purpose, their faces tight and their hands never straying far from the hilts of their weapons. There was no joy, only tension.
'Did Father already make the announcement about the migration?' Silak mused, the unease coiling in his stomach. For him, the past five days had blurred into a single, intense moment of enlightenment; to the tribe, it had clearly been five days of growing anxiety.
Knock! Knock!
He knocked on the door to his home before pushing it open with a soft creak. "Mother! Father! I'm home!" he called out, his voice sounding unusually loud in the quiet house.
A moment later, he heard frantic footsteps. His mother, Iskra, appeared from the direction of the kitchen, her face a mask of intense worry. He could see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes, held back only by a mother's sheer force of will.
"Welcome home, son," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she rushed forward and enveloped him in a fierce hug.
Silak hugged her back tightly, guilt washing over him. He could feel the frantic beating of her heart, the slight tremble in her hands. She had been terrified. "I'm sorry for making you worry, Mother," he murmured into her shoulder.
She held him for a long moment before slowly releasing him, a watery but genuine smile finally gracing her lips. "It's alright. Everything is alright, as long as you are safe." She gently brushed a stray leaf from his hair. "I'm sure you're starving. Come, I was just finishing dinner."
Iskra took his hand, her warm, familiar grip a comforting anchor. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," Silak said, a real smile returning to his own face. "I didn't realize how hungry I was until I smelled your cooking."
He followed her to the kitchen table, which was laden with a simple but delicious-smelling stew and freshly baked bread. "By the way, Mother, where is Father?" he asked, taking a seat.
Iskra's smile faded slightly as she set a bowl of stew in front of him. She sighed, a sound heavy with weariness. "An envoy arrived a couple of days ago, son. From a kingdom called the Vareth Dominion."
She explained how the envoy had come seeking to recruit their tribe. The kingdom was apparently besieged, facing threats from both rival nations and internal strife among its noble houses. They were desperate for loyal warriors who weren't already entangled in their web of politics.
The spoon in Silak's hand paused over his stew. A new kingdom? Desperate for soldiers? His mind, now conditioned by Gahumdagat's secret, immediately raced. A kingdom in chaos is a breeding ground for dark influences. Could this be a ploy by the Evil God's followers?
"Did Father agree?" he asked, his voice sharper than he intended. "Aren't we supposed to be moving away from trouble, not joining someone else's war?"
"Your father certainly declined at first," Iskra confirmed, sitting down across from him. "The pride of our tribe would never allow us to become mere subjects. But the envoy… he was desperate. He began making offers that were clearly beyond his authority—promises of rare cultivation resources, access to their royal library, even hinting at techniques that could strengthen a warrior's bloodline."
That last part struck Silak. Strengthen a bloodline… resources… That was exactly what the tribe needed to even think about helping Gahumdagat with the Seal.
"The man's eagerness painted a clear picture of how dire their situation is," Iskra continued. "In the end, he pleaded for your father to simply see the kingdom for himself, to have a direct audience with their king before making a final decision. Your father, thinking of our own tribe's future and the resources we might need… agreed to go."
"He left yesterday with a small honor guard. I don't know when he will return, but it will likely be a few weeks."
She could see the worry on Silak's face and reached across the table to pat his hand. "For now, there is nothing we can do. The decision will be made by the council only after your father returns with a full report. He is wise, Silak. He will not lead us into ruin."
'I hope you're right, Mother,' Silak thought, his mind a whirlwind. For now, she was right. He couldn't act on this information. He would wait for his father's return and hold the secret of the Seal close to his chest. His primary task remained the same: get stronger.
"Okay, Mother," he replied, forcing a reassuring smile as he finally took a bite of the delicious stew. The warmth spread through his stomach, chasing away some of the chill. He looked at his mother and chuckled. "You know, wherever we end up moving, as long as I have your cooking, I'll be happy."
Iskra chuckled back, the sound a welcome melody in the quiet house. "Is that so? Then you had better eat up. You have five days of my worrying to make up for."