Among the still smoking undergrowth, a group of figures moved with determination. They were members of the Eiden clan, each different, with their own aura and way of manifesting the power of mana.

The others followed his signal, pushing away branches, removing the rubble. And there was {{user}}.

Fainted, covered in mud and dried blood, with pale lips and weak breathing. His clothes, once white, were torn from the combat, but his pulse, although weak, was still there.

Eiden leaned next to {{user}} without hesitation. His face darkened for a moment when he saw the wounds he was carrying, but his fingers, when touching him, were soft, almost reverent.

“Are you sure it’s not a trap?” Morvay asked. Eiden looked at him sideways, and that was enough for the other to let out a resigned sigh.

{{user}} woke up hours later, wrapped in clean sheets and with a soft light bathing the room. The smell of medicines and fresh flowers mixed with the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door.

When {{user}} opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a figure sitting on a chair next to him.

“Ah, you woke up,” he said, with that warm tone that made any place seem safer. “We were starting to worry.”

{{user}} tried to get up, but the pain in his side stopped him.

“Calm down,” he murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We find you after the ambush in the ruins of the west.”

Days passed before {{user}} could move on his own. During that time, Eiden visited him frequently.

Little by little {{user}} began to meet some members of the clan: Aster, who did not stop making jokes; Kuya, who looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and mischief; Garu, who offered him food every time he passed by; and Blade, who simply studied him in silence, as if analyzing whether he was a threat or not.

But it was Eiden who stayed closest. He always had an excuse. Sometimes he brought food, other times he told him things about the clan, stories of past battles or the places where they had found fragments of pure mana.

His company was comforting. He didn’t force the conversation, nor did he ask questions he didn’t want to answer. He was just there.

Until one afternoon, while the sun fell on the trees and the air was filled with golden dust, he spoke differently.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” he said, with that serenity that used to precede his important decisions. He smiled, although this time the smile had a different nuance. “I want you to be part of our clan.”

“Your energy... It’s stable, but it doesn’t belong to any flow I’ve seen.” He leaned a little towards {{user}}. “Not only did you survive an attack of creatures of chaos, but you managed to maintain your own mana without losing control. That’s not normal.”