I woke up to a faint light seeping through an opening in the tent's roof and felt the warmth of a fire that had partially died down, whispering with the memories of the night. For a few moments, I didn't move. I lay on my back, staring at the worn fabric of the tent's ceiling, while my mind replayed the conversation I had with the old man the previous night. His talk about Kaster was intriguing, but also unsettling. It wasn't just idle chatter—it felt like a hidden warning, as if the man was trying to prepare me for something to come.
I sat up and stretched slightly, my body a bit stiff from the cold night, before slowly crawling out of the tent. The air was cold but pure, and the scent of ash still lingered in the air. I found the old man sitting near a small fire he had rekindled, preparing a hot drink in an old metal pot. His expression was as calm as usual, but his eyes were fixed on the flames, as if searching for an answer.
He looked up when he noticed me and gestured for me to sit beside him without saying a word at first. I sat and watched the steam rising from the pot.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked quietly, as if continuing a conversation we had started days ago, while pouring me a cup of the hot drink and handing it to me carefully.
"As well as the circumstances allow." I took the cup and sipped cautiously. It was bitter, but warm enough to fully awaken me.
A simple silence fell between us—not heavy, but charged with something invisible. Then I decided to break it, asking in a tone I tried to keep casual, "What do you know about Kaster?"
His hand froze slightly. It wasn't a clear movement, but I noticed it. He slowly set the pot aside, then turned to me, his narrowed eyes holding a mix of caution and surprise.
"Why are you asking about Kaster?" he said in a low voice. "We don't want trouble with the Rons tribe."
I shrugged with feigned indifference. "Just last night's conversation. It piqued my curiosity. You seemed to know more than you let on."
The old man sighed deeply, as if struggling with himself, then said after a long silence, "Kaster… was special since birth. He had a commanding presence from a young age. He didn't need to impose himself—his presence alone drew attention. But even so, he wasn't as innocent as some believed. He had a strong thirst for power, constantly trying to prove himself—not just to others, but to himself too. Something drove him… something mysterious."
He paused, as if overwhelmed by memories, then continued, "He stood out among the tribe's boys easily, and everyone saw him as a future leader. Even the elders saw in him a new hope. But he wasn't like them. He didn't believe in traditions, nor did he value ancient vows."
The old man took a deep breath, eyes lost in a distant past. "But the optimism was misplaced. It's said he murdered his father to seize power, though no one can confirm it. No witnesses, no evidence. Just whispers among the people and a fear that can't be denied. Kaster is a mysterious figure—you can't predict his actions. His power makes him terrifying, but worse than that, he trusts no one, and never reveals his secrets, even to his closest men."
I pondered his words for a while, trying to piece together the hidden layers. It seemed Kaster wasn't just a tribal leader—but something greater, and perhaps far more dangerous.
"Does he have any weaknesses?" I asked cautiously.
The old man was silent for a moment, as if the question reopened an old wound. He looked at me for a long time before answering, "No one knows. Kaster leaves no room for anyone to discover a weakness. He's surrounded by secrecy, and those who try to get too close... vanish. As if the earth swallows them whole."
I nodded slowly, trying to appear understanding, though inside me, questions surged like a storm. It seemed I wouldn't find any easy answers.
After some time, I stood to prepare for my departure. I had no clear destination, but curiosity had become my strongest drive. The old man gave me an ancient map of nearby tribes, drawn with faded ink on worn leather, and pointed me toward a path only someone who had lived long in these lands would know.
I thanked him sincerely, then left without looking back.
The journey was long, and the wind stung my face the higher I climbed. I crossed rocky hills and dusty plains until I finally saw the next tribe, close to the one I had come from. Unlike the previous tribe, this one seemed more prosperous and lively. Life pulsed through it clearly. People moved gracefully, markets were open, the smell of cooking filled the alleys, and children ran around with innocent laughter.
I wandered for a while through narrow paths, watching faces and activities, looking for shelter—or perhaps someone who could tell me more about Kaster or the Rons tribe.
As I passed near a small square, a young man from the village stopped me. He was tall, with eyes like flint—holding a mix of curiosity and suspicion. He carried no weapon, but his stance made it clear he knew how to defend himself.
"Where did you come from?" he asked guardedly, eyes fixed on me as if trying to read my thoughts.
"I'm just a traveler. I came from the nearby tribe," I replied, pointing in the direction I'd come from.
Then the man let out a soft, mocking laugh—but there was no joy in it, only something… unsettling.
"Anver Tribe? Are you trying to fool me?"
I frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? I was there just last night."
The man gave a faint smile, as if what I said was merely an illusion, then said in a low but sharp voice: "You say you came from Anver Tribe… Strange. That tribe's people were all killed, and it's been in ruins for months. No one lives there. And no one passes through and survives."
I froze where I stood, a cold shiver running through my body. I felt as if the ground beneath me shifted. What? How could that be? I was there last night, spoke to the old man, drank his tea, sat beside him, took his map…
But if the tribe had been destroyed long ago… who was that old man I spoke with?
I stood motionless, the man's words echoing in my mind like a distant drumbeat.
What… was that, then?