The night was deep, and the air was heavy with silence. The corner alley of the Harengon tribe was a narrow, forgotten passage, tucked away from the main streets.
The walls on either side were old and weathered, their surfaces cracked and covered in patches of moss and ivy that clung stubbornly to the stone.
The ground was uneven, littered with small pebbles and the occasional broken crate, remnants of a busier time.
Above, the sky was a blanket of thick clouds, the moon's faint glow struggling to break through. The only light came from a single, flickering lantern hanging crookedly on a nearby wall, its flame casting long, wavering shadows that danced across the ground.
Hidden within the darkness, a figure stood motionless. It was the Harengon woman who had defeated the minotaur earlier that night.
Her cloak, made of a thick, durable fabric, draped over her shoulders, its hood pulled low to conceal her face. The cloak was a deep, earthy brown, blending seamlessly with the shadows around her.
In her hands, she carried a massive sword, its blade wide and slightly curved, with intricate runes etched along its edge.
The sword gleamed faintly, even in the dim light. Despite the fierce battle she had fought, she was unscathed, her movements calm and deliberate.
Her breathing was steady, her sharp eyes scanning the alley for any signs of movement. She was waiting—waiting for the patrolling guards to pass, for the commotion of the night to die down.
With a soft sigh, she reached up and pulled back her hood, revealing long, flowing black hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall of ink.
Her ears, long and pointed like those of all Harengons, twitched slightly as she listened for any signs of movement.
Her face was angular, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, her skin a soft, pale white. Her eyes, a striking shade of amber, glowed faintly in the darkness, reflecting the flickering light of the lantern.
She stood tall and confident, her posture relaxed but ready, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
Suddenly, a voice broke the silence. It was monotone, almost emotionless, yet it carried a hint of curiosity. "That was a cool battle."
The Harengon woman froze for a moment before springing into action. In an instant, she was on her feet, her massive sword raised and ready.
Her eyes darted around, searching for the source of the voice. Her gaze finally settled on a figure standing in the shadows, partially obscured by the darkness.
What caught her attention, however, was the golden crown atop his head. It glowed faintly, a soft, warm light that seemed to pulse gently, like a heartbeat.
The figure stepped forward slightly, revealing himself to be a human.
The Harengon woman narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her sword. "Did you follow me for revenge?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with suspicion.
Keiran shook his head. "No," he replied simply. Then, with a slight gesture of his hand, he added, "But they did."
He pointed behind him, and the Harengon woman's eyes followed his motion. There, lying on the ground, were four minotaurs.
They were massive creatures, each standing over seven feet tall, with broad shoulders and thick, muscular limbs. Their faces were bovine, with large, curved horns protruding from their heads.
They were unconscious, their massive forms sprawled awkwardly in the narrow alley, their weapons scattered around them. It was clear that Keiran had dealt with them, though how he had managed to do so was a mystery.
The woman's eyes flicked back to Keiran, her expression unreadable.
"You have a huge sword," he remarked, his tone casual. "It would be hard to be stealthy when you're carrying that around."
She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a faint smirk. "Says the one with a glowing crown on his head," she shot back.
Keiran shrugged. "Touche," he conceded.
The woman lowered her sword slightly, though she remained cautious. "Thank you for beating up those goons," she said, her voice softer now. "Although I don't know how you did it, given your level."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away, her cloak billowing slightly behind her.
Keiran watched her go, his golden crown casting a faint glow on the walls around him. He didn't try to stop her or follow her. Instead, he simply stood there for a moment, his expression thoughtful, before turning and walking in the opposite direction.
•••••
The next morning, the Harengon tribe was alive with activity, though it was a different kind of energy than usual.
The open markets, which were typically bustling with merchants and visitors, were noticeably quieter.
Many of the stalls were empty, their owners having packed up and left.
Those who remained were hurriedly gathering their belongings, their faces etched with worry.
The air was filled with the sounds of clattering crates and hurried footsteps, as well as the occasional shout of a merchant trying to sell their remaining goods at a discount.
Keiran, along with Greon and Agwil, walked through the streets, observing the changes.
Greon glanced around with a frown.
"The news says the demons will reach this tribe in a few days," Greon said, his voice low. "It's no wonder everyone's leaving."
Keiran nodded, his expression calm. "We'll see how it goes," he replied simply. He turned to Greon and Agwil. "You two, gather as much information as you can. I'll handle the rest."
With that, Keiran left them and made his way to the outskirts of the tribe. Once he was sure he was alone, he spread his arms, and fiery wings erupted from his back.
With a powerful beat of his wings, he took to the skies, becoming invisible as he ascended.
From above, the Harengon tribe looked like a fortress. It was nestled within a ring of spiky mountains, their jagged peaks reaching toward the sky.
The mountains were dark and foreboding, their surfaces rough and uneven, with patches of snow clinging to the highest points. Raging rivers surrounded the area, their waters churning violently, creating a natural barrier that would be difficult to cross.
The tribe itself was a maze of narrow streets and sturdy buildings, all designed to withstand an attack. The walls were thick and high, made of solid stone, with watchtowers positioned at regular intervals.
Keiran flew higher, taking in the entire landscape. He had to admit, he was impressed. The defenses were formidable, with no visible weak spots. It was a place that could withstand a siege—at least, that was the logical conclusion.
As he flew, Keiran's gaze drifted toward the castle at the heart of the tribe. It was a magnificent structure, its towers reaching high into the sky. The architecture was intricate, with delicate carvings and elegant designs adorning every surface.
The walls were made of a pale, almost white stone, which gleamed in the sunlight. The windows were tall and narrow, with stained glass that depicted scenes of battles and triumphs.
The castle was surrounded by lush gardens, filled with vibrant flowers and neatly trimmed hedges. Keiran circled the castle, his invisible form allowing him to observe without being noticed.
He peered through the windows of the throne room, catching a glimpse of the current lord of the tribe.
The man sat on a grand throne, his expression stern as he spoke with his advisors.
The lord himself was an older Harengon, with graying hair and a long, flowing robe that was embroidered with gold thread. His eyes were sharp and calculating, and his voice carried an air of authority.
Keiran didn't linger there for long. Instead, he focused on a different part of the castle—the gardens.
Hidden within the lush greenery was a secret passage, its entrance cleverly concealed behind a thick hedge. Keiran's sharp senses picked up on a familiar mana signature emanating from within. He descended closer, his curiosity piqued.
From the passage emerged a young woman, her movements hurried and furtive. She was dressed in a cute pink dress, with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that swayed as she moved.
The dress was adorned with small, delicate flowers, and the fabric shimmered slightly in the light.
Her long black hair flowed freely, catching the light as she ran. Her face was youthful, with soft features and a determined expression.
Her outfit was different from last night, looking refined and almost ladylike, with no comically large sword in sight.
Behind her, a servant called out in desperation, "Lady Felicia! Please don't escape again! Your father will be mad!"
Keiran's eyes followed her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he muttered, "I've seen enough."
With that, he turned and flew away, his fiery wings carrying him back toward the inn where he would rest and prepare for the days to come.