Slowly, he rose and stepped forward towards Nolan, whose hands clenched tighter around the hilt of his dagger, preparing for the fight of his life.
But the man had both of his hands in his pockets, his face filled with an unbothered calmness.
"Do you have any idea what the origin of your name is, Nolan Gottschald?" the figure asked once more, stopping about fifteen meters away from him.
"Your name..." he began again as Nolan's ears perked up, though he kept his guard up.
"Your name was given to you by us, and by them."
"Shared in half!" The man said, and Nolan's eyes narrowed.
The person before him seemed no older than twenty-seven or so.
Yet, he was referring to himself as one of the people who had named Nolan?
"Your first name is the one given to you by your own people. Nolan!" he continued, turning his gaze away from Nolan and reclining against the wall, staring at the distant moon in the sky.
