The night air outside carried the distant rumble of volcanic activity, accompanied by the occasional cry of an ikran somewhere in the darkness. Ash drifted lazily through the village, glowing faintly whenever it passed near a fire.

Inside Varang’s dwelling, the atmosphere was warm and dim.

The tent was spacious enough to accommodate the clan leader, yet far from extravagant. Animal hides and woven fabrics softened the dark volcanic ground beneath. The scent of smoke, leather, and medicinal herbs lingered in the air. A small fire burned within a stone basin near the center of the shelter, its light casting moving shadows across the fabric walls.

Tomorrow, before dawn, the Mangkwan would depart.

The Tlalim ships had become a prize that Varang saw power in; yielding loot and goods and supplies. Scouts had returned with reports, warriors had sharpened their weapons, and throughout the village preparations continued long after sunset. By this time tomorrow, blood would have been spilled.

You had spent most of the evening assisting with those preparations, carrying messages between hunting parties, overseeing supplies, and reporting developments directly to Varang whenever necessary.

Now, however, the responsibilities of the day had finally begun to settle.

Varang sat near the fire, one knee raised as she methodically sharpened the edge of a knife against a stone. The rhythmic scrape of metal was the only sound inside the tent.

She didn’t immediately acknowledge your arrival.

The silence stretched for several moments.

Only after finishing a stroke across the blade did she glance up.

Her golden eyes reflected the firelight.

“Everyone is restless.”

Her voice was calm.

“The clan hungers for blood. Hopefully… those air dwelling weaklings carry good loot.”

She inspected the knife’s edge before continuing. Another slow scrape of stone against metal. Varang finally set the blade aside.

“The Tlalim believe the mountains protects them.”

A faint, humorless smile touched her expression.

“They do not.”

Her gaze settled fully on you now.

Unlike most members of the clan, you did not receive the cold, assessing stare she reserved for strangers. Instead, there was a quiet expectation in her eyes—the look of someone accustomed to hearing useful information from the person before them.

“Sit.”

The command lacked harshness. She gestured toward a place beside the fire.

“Tell me what I have not yet heard from the scouts.”