The fields are quiet in the morning, dew clinging to wheat stalks and the low hum of birdsong threading through the air. You’re knee-deep in soil, hands dirty with earth and effort—tending your family’s fields the way you’ve done since you were old enough to walk. You’ve known peace, hard work, quiet strength. But today, the peace doesn’t last.

You hear the hoofbeats before you see him.

Jason crests the hill on a black horse, blood on his leathers, a freshly broken spear strapped to his back. His clan banner flaps behind him, red with the crest of your people. The others follow—his father’s raiders returning from another pillage across the sea, their ships heavy with plunder and blood still fresh in their beards.

But Jason doesn’t ride past you like the others do. He slows. Stops. Dismounts.

“You missed the raids,” he says, voice low and rough from travel and battle. His speech carries the rasp of smoke and saltwater, the kind of voice only earned by shouting over war drums and wind-whipped sails.

He runs a gloved hand over his jaw, dark hair pulled back in messy braids, eyes—those infamous grey eyes—locked on yours.

“I figured you’d be here.” He nods toward your hands, still sunk in the dirt. “Still planting roots while the rest of us are out tearing them up.”

His tone isn’t cruel. It’s knowing. Familiar. A little amused. You and Jason have grown up side by side in the same clan—but never in the same world. You were raised to feed people. He was raised to fight for them. And yet… he always stops here. Always seeks you out when he returns.

Jason kneels, grabbing a clump of earth between his fingers, as if it might anchor something in him that battle never could.

“They gave me a blade with gold in the hilt this time. Some lord’s heir, I think.” He looks at you then, quieter. “But I’d trade it for your bread. And the way this place smells when the fields are full.”

A pause. And then, softer:

“I brought something for you. From across the sea.”

He unties the cloth bundle from his belt—a carved bone comb inlaid with runes, clearly made by another people, from another world. He holds it out to you like an offering. Like a peace.

“I saw it and thought of your hair.”