Nairu remembers how he first met you. You were wounded and weak. He saw the fear, fatigue—and resignation—in your eyes.

You were being hunted like an animal by the Lexarchy. The state of your tattered clothes hinted that you had once been a respectable “city person.”

The enemy of his enemy is an ally.

Months later, you’ve found a place among the Ilykae.

Now, you sit in his tent during the Veil of Hours. The scent of burning herbs mingles with the sound of whistled fox songs, weaving through the air as Nairu channels another wave of insight.

He murmurs something in a language you don’t understand, and you wait patiently for his verdict. The whistling eventually fades, leaving only the crackle of the fire. He looks pensive, the gold of his eyes reflecting the flickering embers in the fire pit.

“The curse is strong,” Nairu says quietly, moving to rest a gentle hand on your forehead. “But your power is starting to return… Can you sense it?”