The sun was just cresting the horizon when Arika, Rice, Ryden, Darius, and the two ambassadors—Meskar and Rehn—set out toward the meeting point of the tribal council. The air was crisp and cool, dew still clinging to the tall grass of the plains, and the group moved with purpose.
Meskar walked near the front, his calm, diplomatic demeanor evident in every step. His dark, curly hair was tied back neatly, and his spear—polished stone and finely crafted—rested casually across his shoulders. His sun-kissed skin and soft-spoken nature gave him the air of a man who preferred peace over conflict but knew how to carry himself if a fight arose. His keen eyes scanned the path ahead with a quiet confidence.
Rehn, by contrast, was all edge and tension. She walked with her broad shoulders squared and her sharp eyes constantly on the move, assessing the horizon for threats. The axe strapped to her back gleamed ominously in the morning light, its weight as natural to her as breathing. She spoke little, answering any questions with short, clipped sentences, her tone brusque and direct.
Despite their contrasting natures, the two ambassadors had no trouble keeping pace with the group.
Rice walked beside them, bouncing with barely-contained energy as he tried—and failed—to keep his mouth shut. "So, Meskar," Rice began, flashing his usual lopsided grin. "I've heard you guys are the fishing experts. That true? Because I'm dying to get my hands on some fresh fish. I've got this idea for smoked fish stew—maybe with a berry glaze. You've gotta try it!"
Meskar gave a small, polite smile. "Our lake provides well," he said in his calm, measured tone. "Perhaps when this council ends, you will see for yourself."
Rice's face lit up. "Deal!"
He turned his attention to Rehn, undeterred by her stony silence. "And you," he said, pointing at her with exaggerated enthusiasm, "you Varuka folks have those fancy weapons, right? You've gotta tell me—what's your secret? It's gotta be the rocks. Is it the rocks?"
Rehn shot him a glare that could have withered grass. "It is skill, not rocks," she said curtly, though a hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth before she turned away.
Ryden snorted softly behind Rice, murmuring, "Still alive. Impressive."
As the group walked, Darius's mind churned with ideas. The mention of the Varuka's stronger weapons had him replaying the thought of rocky terrain and metals. He looked at his hands, already thinking of tools he could fashion if they found the right materials—something to make the crafting of spearheads or blades more efficient. His mind danced with images of hammers, forges, and smelting pits, though he remained silent, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, Rice walked a little farther behind, his bag of makeshift cooking tools and ingredients slung over his shoulder. Every so often, he rummaged through his satchel, taking stock of herbs, roots, and the remaining cuts of the monster meat he had gathered. "You never know what inspiration will strike," he muttered to himself with a grin, sniffing a bundle of leaves.
The Great Plains stretched out endlessly before them, a sea of golden and green grasses swaying in the soft breeze. Wildflowers dotted the landscape—vibrant splashes of violet, blue, and crimson that seemed to glow under the morning light. Occasionally, the group passed a small herd of grazing animals, their shaggy forms lifting their heads to watch the travelers with curious eyes before trotting off into the distance.
The sky was vast, an endless canvas of pale blue, and clouds drifted lazily above them. The soft rustle of grass, the trill of unseen birds, and the occasional gust of wind combined into a melody that felt timeless and serene.
As they walked farther, the landscape began to change. In the distance, they could see where the three territories converged. To the west, the shimmering expanse of the Great Lake reflected the sunlight like liquid silver, its shores lined with reeds and clusters of small trees. To the south, the rocky hills of the Varuka territory rose jaggedly from the plains, their sharp ridges casting dark, angular shadows. And to the east lay the edge of the Great Forest, its trees dark and dense, the familiar place where the Toquiri hunted and lived.
The midpoint—a neutral ground where all three territories met—stood at the heart of this convergence. Here, a massive tent had been erected, its fabric dark and sturdy, held aloft by thick wooden poles. Several armed guards stood watch around its perimeter, their expressions wary as they kept a careful eye on the approaching group.
As Arika and her group approached the meeting point, the central tent loomed larger, a symbol of neutral ground amidst the territories. Standing outside were the leaders of the other tribes. At the forefront was Zovar, the chief of the Katalu tribe.
Zovar was strikingly beautiful, her features sharp yet elegant. Her high cheekbones framed almond-shaped eyes that shimmered a deep, oceanic blue. Her smooth, sun-kissed skin glowed faintly in the fading light, and her lips—full and naturally curved—rested in a neutral expression that hinted at quiet confidence. A cascade of dark, wavy hair fell over her shoulders, adorned with small beads and polished shells that caught the light with every movement. She wore a flowing garment in shades of green and blue, its fabric glinting faintly as though it had been woven from strands of water itself. Around her neck hung an intricate pendant carved from bone and decorated with what looked like pearls, marking her as the leader of her people. Her calm, calculating gaze swept over the group as they approached, lingering for a moment on Arika with a flicker of interest.
Behind her stood Orvek, the leader of the Varuka. In stark contrast to Zovar's composed grace, Orvek radiated raw intimidation. A massive man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, he looked like he was carved from stone. His face was weathered, marked by a jagged scar that ran diagonally across his cheek. His sharp, dark eyes glinted with suspicion, and his thick, braided beard only added to his menacing presence. He wore a tunic of rough leather reinforced with plates of hardened rock, his imposing figure further emphasized by the heavy stone axe strapped to his back. As Arika approached, his gaze locked on her with an unspoken challenge, the corner of his mouth twisting into a faint sneer.
Arika strode forward, her movements confident and deliberate, and stepped inside the tent. Zovar followed, her expression calm but curious, while Orvek's heavy footsteps thudded ominously behind her. The three leaders took their places around the central fire pit, their warriors standing just outside the tent, watchful and alert.
The fire cast flickering shadows on their faces as Arika began. She rose from her seat, reaching into a large leather satchel and pulling out the first of several tokens. It was a massive, jagged tooth, stained with blood. She set it down on the woven mat in front of her with a heavy thud. Next came a length of scaled hide, black and iridescent, still faintly shimmering under the firelight. Finally, she placed a severed snake's head, its fangs still sharp and its glowing eyes now lifeless, on the mat beside the other trophies.
"These," Arika said, her gravelly voice calm but firm, "are what we have faced in the Great Forest. The monsters grow bolder, but the Toquiri are not weak."
Zovar leaned forward, her blue eyes wide with disbelief. Her elegant features betrayed a mixture of awe and curiosity as she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against the scaled hide. "This… This is the Virthan-Pa," she murmured, naming the serpent-tailed panther. "These creatures are said to stalk only the deepest parts of the wilds. They are near impossible to kill. And you faced it?"
Orvek let out a low, incredulous grunt, his scarred face tightening. His dark eyes flicked toward the severed snake's head, and for a moment, the skepticism in his glare softened into something more akin to respect—though it was quickly masked.
Arika nodded, gesturing to the trophies. "Not only faced but defeated. Along with the Grathok, the great wolf-beast of the forest."
Zovar's gaze snapped to Arika, her calm demeanor cracking slightly. "How?" she asked, her voice sharp with disbelief. "No tribe can take down two of these creatures in such a short time."
Arika gave a faint smirk, then motioned toward the entrance of the tent, where Rice, Ryden, and Darius stood just outside, watching the proceedings. "We did not do it alone," she admitted. "Our success came with the help of these three outsiders."
All eyes turned to the trio, and the weight of the stares was palpable. Rice gave an awkward grin and a half-hearted wave, while Ryden's expression was a mix of cautious defiance and mild irritation at being scrutinized. Darius remained stoic, his sharp gaze meeting each of the tribal leaders' eyes without flinching.
"These three have brought us new tools, new ideas," Arika continued. "The spear throwers they introduced turned our hunters into something greater. Their strategies helped us kill the Virthan-Pa and the Grathok."
Zovar studied them intently, her sharp, intelligent gaze lingering on each of their faces as though trying to unravel their secrets. Orvek, meanwhile, leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest as his dark eyes raked over the trio with a mixture of skepticism and grudging respect.
"This is no small feat," Zovar said finally, her voice quieter now, almost reverent. She looked back at Arika. "To think… monsters like these could fall so easily."
Orvek grunted again, though this time it sounded less dismissive. "You're saying these three are the reason your tribe survived?"
Arika inclined her head. "I am saying that they have given us an edge. One we intend to keep."
The tension in the tent grew thick as the conversation shifted to the heart of the council's purpose: the redistribution of territory. Orvek leaned forward in his seat, his broad frame casting a shadow across the flickering fire. His scarred face was set in a hard scowl as he pointed toward the map carved into the center of the mat, where the boundaries of the three territories were roughly outlined.
"We need more land," Orvek said, his deep, gravelly voice echoing in the enclosed space. "Our borders are too close to the mountain passes. The monsters come through there first. If you want us to protect these lands, we need space—land where we can fortify, expand, and keep those beasts from getting any closer."
Arika's sharp eyes narrowed. "You mean land that belongs to the Toquiri," she said coldly. "You already push into our borders as it is. Don't call it protection when it's greed."
Orvek's lips twisted into a sneer, but before he could respond, Zovar raised a hand, her graceful features marred by a faint frown. "Enough," she said, her voice calm but carrying an edge of authority that silenced the two. "The truth is, Orvek isn't entirely wrong."
Arika's head snapped toward Zovar, her dark brows furrowing in surprise.
"I have noticed an increase in monsters near the Great Lake," Zovar continued, her ocean-blue eyes scanning the others. "They come from the forest, the hills, and even from the water itself. This is not normal."
Orvek grunted in agreement. "Exactly. And the more space we have, the better we can prepare for what's coming."
"But this isn't only happening to your tribe," Zovar added sharply, fixing Orvek with a cool gaze that immediately quieted him. She turned to Arika. "You've felt it too, haven't you? The beasts growing bolder, more frequent?"
Arika nodded reluctantly. "Yes," she admitted. "They have begun to encroach further than they ever have before. But the solution isn't giving you more land, Orvek. It's finding out what's causing this."
Zovar's calm expression hardened as she folded her hands in her lap. "Then we must unite. This is a threat to all of us, not just one tribe."
Orvek leaned back in his seat, his scarred face twisting into a scowl. "Unite? With the Toquiri?" he scoffed, pointing a thick finger toward Arika. "They're the ones bringing in outsiders. They defeat their own monsters and then brag about it here. Convenient that their problems are suddenly solved while ours grow worse."
Arika shot to her feet, her dark eyes blazing with anger. "How dare you?" she snapped. "We fight every day to protect our people. Do not twist our victories into accusations."
The argument was escalating, but Zovar stepped in again, her calm tone silencing them both. "Enough," she said firmly. "Accusations will not solve this. If there is a reason the monsters are appearing in greater numbers, then we need answers."
Arika opened her mouth to argue, but Zovar raised an elegant eyebrow and continued, her gaze shifting to the three outsiders standing just outside the tent. "There is something strange about this," Zovar said thoughtfully. "Arika, you said there was nothing unusual in the forest… except for them."
The attention of the entire room turned to Rice, Ryden, and Darius.
Rice's eyes widened, and he raised his hands defensively. "Whoa, whoa, hold on!" he said, his voice full of nervous energy. "We didn't do anything! I mean, yeah, we've been around, but monsters? Not our fault!"
Orvek stood abruptly, the motion sending a ripple of tension through the tent. His towering frame loomed over the fire as he pointed toward the trio. "Prove it," he growled. "Come with us into our lands. Face the beasts. Let us see if you're truly here to help—or if you're the cause of this chaos."
Arika immediately rose, her posture bristling with defiance. "They are members of my tribe," she said fiercely, stepping in front of the three. "I will not let you treat them like tools—or sacrifices."
Orvek's sneer deepened, his fists clenching at his sides. "Then keep your weaklings and leave the real fighting to us."
Arika's hands moved toward her weapon, her sharp glare locking onto Orvek's. The tension was palpable, the threat of violence hanging in the air.
Before things could escalate, Zovar rose gracefully from her seat, her calm but commanding voice cutting through the tension. "Wait," she said, her oceanic eyes settling on the trio. "I too have questions about them. But I offer something better than a test of blood."
Arika turned to her, suspicion written across her face. "What are you suggesting?"
Zovar smiled faintly. "Trade. I will give your tribe fish—enough to sustain you for many weeks—in exchange for one of them. Let them come with me, and I will ensure they are treated well."
Orvek let out a derisive snort. "Trade? For fish? I'll send you warriors in exchange if you think they're so valuable."
"No," Arika said immediately, her voice sharp and unwavering. "I will not trade members of my tribe. They are not objects."
The room fell silent, the leaders at an impasse.
Before the argument could erupt again, Rice raised a hand tentatively. "Uh, can we just—hang on a sec?"
He motioned for Darius and Ryden to follow him, and the three of them stepped just outside the tent. The tension among the leaders didn't abate, but they let the trio have their space.