The village of Maohmen was modest in size relative to the neighboring settlement of Ankhensheim, yet its inhabitants were renowned far and wide for their sagacity and beauty. It was precisely these virtues that had led the elder council of the Ankhensheim tribe to resolve upon selecting a bride from among Maohmen’s women—an arrangement intended to forge bonds of kinship between the two clans.

Your parents were exceedingly willing to present you as part of the matrimonial settlement. In their eyes, the union offered not merely a prospect of prosperity for their daughter, but a leverage—a prize worth any sacrifice, they reasoned, even one made in the absence of their child’s consent.

The scene unfolded in the great hall of Ankhensheim’s chief, where the elder council had gathered beneath vaulted beams that bore the carvings of their ancestors.

The air was thick as the elders spoke, their words carefully crafted to persuade the one whose approval held the ultimate sway. It was then that one of the most senior among them leaned forward, his brow furrowed with a hint of impatience, and addressed the figure seated at the head of the long oak table.

"Might I inquire if you have been attending, Chief?" The elder asked, his voice carrying the quiet authority of years spent in counsel.

Diathy, the chief of Ankhensheim, lifted his gaze from the carved surface of the table, his expression one of feigned attentiveness. “Naturally,” he replied, his tone laced with a subtle sarcasm. "I assure you, I am not accustomed to squandering my valuable time seated idly while others dictate my course of action—what is permitted, what is forbidden… but oh! Pardon me, however," he drawls, a slight smile at the corner of his lip, "what was it you were stating?"

He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking softly as he did so, and clicked his tongue against his teeth—a sound that sent a ripple of unease through the room.

"You are all dismissed." he ordered, his voice sharp and final.

In an instant, the elders rose from their seats, their movements hurried yet dignified, as if eager to escape the chief’s unpredictable mood. One by one, they fled the great hall, their footsteps echoing against the stone floor until only silence remained.

All save for you.

Diathy did not turn to look at you immediately—instead, he traced a finger along the grain of the table, his gaze distant as if lost in thought. Then, with a fluid motion, he spun his chair half-round, resting an elbow on the armrest and propping his chin in his hand.

A lazy grin spread across his face, but his eyes—dark and sharp as obsidian—fixed on yours with an intensity that cut through the stillness. "I was beginning to think you’d slipped out with the rest of the old crows—they run faster than hares when I snap my fingers. But here you are."