Ryden's gentle expression softened further as he repeated the question. "What's your name?"
The girl hesitated, clutching the hem of her tunic with trembling fingers. Finally, in a voice so small it was barely audible, she murmured, "Lucy."
"Lucy, huh?" Ryden said, his tone light and reassuring. He gave her a soft smile. "That's a good name. Strong. It suits you."
Lucy didn't reply but looked down, her silver hair falling forward like a curtain to shield her face. Ryden stayed crouched, not pressing her, while Darius quietly began gathering firewood a few feet away, preparing to camp for the night.
As the fire crackled to life, its warm glow chasing away the chill of evening, Ryden coaxed Lucy to share her story. She sat close to the fire, knees drawn to her chest, her green eyes darting between the flickering flames and the three men sitting nearby.
"My tribe," she began haltingly, her voice quivering, "we're… we're called the Greyleaf tribe. We were looking for a new place to live. We lost our home…"
Her voice cracked, and Ryden leaned forward, keeping his tone gentle. "Lost your home? What happened?"
Lucy swallowed hard, her small hands gripping her knees tightly. "Another tribe… they call themselves the Blood Talons. They… they found us." Her eyes widened, and her breathing quickened as if she were reliving the moment. "They're so strong. They—they seemed to control fire itself. It was like they were surrounded by flames. We couldn't stop them."
Darius, who had been poking the fire with a stick, stilled, his sharp gaze flicking toward Lucy.
"They attacked us at night," she continued, her voice breaking. "Everyone was running. Screaming. My father—" Her breath hitched, and tears welled in her eyes. "My father told me to run. He said to follow the moon, to always go where it sets if I ever got lost."
Ryden's heart twisted at the sight of her fear. He reached out slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're safe with us now, Lucy. We'll figure this out, okay?"
Lucy nodded weakly, though her body still trembled.
As the group absorbed Lucy's story, the booklet in Ryden's bag began to hum faintly. He pulled it out, and the pages opened on their own, glowing softly as text scrolled across them:
[TRIBE NAME: Greyleaf]
[POPULATION: 86]
[TECHNOLOGY LEVEL: Nomadic]
[CURRENT LEADER: N/A]
[WARRIORS: 15]
[TERRITORY SIZE: N/A]
[TRIBE NAME: Blood Talons]
[POPULATION: 350]
[TECHNOLOGY LEVEL: Advanced Tribal]
[CURRENT LEADER: Unknown]
[WARRIORS: 120]
[TERRITORY SIZE: 50 square miles]
Ryden frowned at the stark difference between the two tribes' details. "Advanced Tribal," he murmured, reading the Blood Talons' entry. "And they control fire? That's going to be a problem."
Darius leaned over to glance at the booklet, his brow furrowed. "The Greyleaf tribe doesn't even have a proper territory. They're scattered."
Ryden looked back at Lucy. "Do you think there are any survivors from your tribe? Do you know where they might have gone?"
Lucy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her gaze distant. "My father told me… to follow the moon. To go where it sets." She raised a small hand and pointed westward, where the moon was just beginning to dip below the horizon.
Ryden followed her gaze, then nodded firmly. "Then I guess we know where we're going."
As the conversation wound down, Rice shuffled over to Lucy, crouching beside her with a lopsided grin. In his hand, he held a strip of dried jerky.
"Alright, kid," he said, his tone unusually soft. "How about we start over? Here."
Lucy looked at the jerky, her expression skeptical but curious.
"It's not poisoned," Rice added with mock seriousness, holding it closer. "It's just really, really tasty. And I'm kind of an expert on tasty."
Hesitantly, Lucy took the jerky, nibbling on it cautiously. Her expression softened slightly as she chewed. "It's… good," she admitted quietly.
Rice grinned. "See? I told you. Stick with me, and you'll be eating the best meals of your life."
Darius rolled his eyes, muttering, "We'll see if she survives your cooking."
As the sun rose the next morning, the group packed up their supplies. Lucy stayed close to Ryden, who reassured her at every step.
The journey westward stretched into weeks, each day bringing new challenges and discoveries. The vast expanse of the plains, once monotonous, gradually revealed its hidden wonders—small streams cutting through the grasslands, groves of trees offering patches of shade, and the distant silhouettes of hills rising on the horizon.
Lucy stuck close to Ryden, her movements quiet and deliberate. She rarely spoke unless spoken to, her bright green eyes constantly darting around as if expecting danger to leap out from the shadows. While she was starting to warm to Darius, watching him craft tools and weapons with fascination, she remained skeptical of Rice and his boundless energy.
Whenever Rice got too close or spoke too loudly near her, she'd glare and sometimes let out a sharp, hiss, retreating a step or two to keep her distance.
"Oh, come on!" Rice exclaimed one afternoon after she moved away yet again. "I've given you food, cool stories, and even a song! What's it going to take for you to admit I'm awesome?"
Lucy didn't reply, fixing him with a look that clearly communicated, I don't trust you yet.
"She'll come around," Ryden said with a small chuckle. "You just have to give her space."
"Space?" Rice muttered. "She's practically allergic to me."
Despite her initial wariness, Lucy began to warm up—especially to Darius. She was fascinated by his crafting abilities, often sitting nearby while he worked on makeshift tools or small objects during their breaks. Darius, while not openly doting, would occasionally hand her a smooth stone or a carved figurine, gestures that always earned a shy smile.
Over time, Lucy's fear began to give way to curiosity. She started asking questions—about the stars, the spirits, and even Rice's strange seed-scattering habit, though she remained wary of him.
Every so often, Rice would pull out a pouch of seeds, his grin wide as he threw them into the wind with an exaggerated flourish.
"Making it rain!" he declared gleefully, the seeds raining down onto the soil.
Lucy squinted at him, unimpressed. "You're wasting them."
Rice spun, clutching his chest as though mortally wounded. "Wasting? Wasting?! You wound me, child! This is art!"
She crossed her arms, still unconvinced.
"Think of it this way," Rice explained, crouching to her level. "One day, we'll pass through here again, and this plain will be covered in wild fruit, flowers, and other cool stuff. Trust me, Lu, I know what I'm doing."
She wrinkled her nose at the nickname but said nothing as Rice skipped off to spread more seeds.
Meanwhile, Ryden and Darius continued to test the limits of their titles.
Ryden's sculptures, always intricate and vibrant, seemed to develop a variety of effects depending on what he carved and how much focus he poured into his work.
Some of Ryden's sculptures seemed to radiate an intangible yet undeniable energy. When carried or placed nearby, they exuded a faint aura that had tangible effects on those around them.
One such creation was a small figurine of an eagle in flight, carved from a smooth stone. The moment Darius slipped it into his pack, he felt an almost immediate change—a lightness in his step and an ease in his breathing, even after hours of trekking. His swings with his hammer seemed stronger, his focus sharper.
"Feels like I just downed a whole pot of coffee," Rice joked, poking at the figurine one evening as it rested near the fire. Darius had placed it on a flat rock for safekeeping, but its faint glow continued to emanate. "Too bad it doesn't cook dinner too."
The figurine's effect extended to everyone nearby, making even Lucy's cautious movements more fluid. Though she said nothing, she lingered closer to these sculptures during their travels, her green eyes betraying her quiet appreciation.
Occasionally, Ryden's sculptures would take on a life of their own—literally. These animated creations, while temporary, brought both utility and joy to the group.
One evening, as the fire crackled and the stars emerged, Ryden was carving a small rabbit from a pale piece of wood. With each careful stroke, the shape grew more defined, its ears perked forward and its body poised to leap. When he finished, he held it out in his hand, admiring his work.
Suddenly, the rabbit blinked. Its wooden surface shimmered with a faint glow before it hopped out of Ryden's palm, landing on the soft grass with a light thud.
Lucy gasped, her eyes wide as the rabbit began exploring their campsite, its small glowing form flickering like fireflies in the dark. Though she tried to act indifferent, her gaze followed the rabbit's every move, and when it hopped close, she reached out cautiously to stroke its smooth back.
The rabbit twitched its ears and nuzzled her hand, earning a rare smile from the usually reserved girl.
"It's temporary," Ryden explained as the rabbit eventually stilled, returning to its inanimate form. "But it's fun while it lasts."
Lucy said nothing but tucked the rabbit sculpture into her small satchel, keeping it close.