Every step was a betrayal.
The ground, this soft, dark soil, yielded under my boots in a way that felt obscene. For seventeen years, I had walked on the firm, honest surface of sand and rock. I knew how to read its language, how to trust its stability. This mud, however, sucked at my feet with every step, making a squelching sound that set my teeth on edge. It was the sound of weakness.
"It is not far now," Kael said, his voice a steady presence in the cacophony of dripping water and rustling leaves.
I merely grunted in response, my eyes darting everywhere. This forest didn't have the vast, open sightlines of the Expanse. Dangers could be anywhere—behind any tree, under any bush. My survival instincts were screaming, but they were using a language that didn't apply here. I was a master of a game that no one else was playing.
"I never did get your name, child," Kael said, glancing back at me.
I hesitated. A name is a vulnerability. It's a piece of you that you give to someone else. But he had offered me his. "Iris," I said, the name feeling foreign in this wet air.
"Iris," he repeated, as if testing the weight of it. "A pretty name for a flower. You don't look much like a flower."
"This... water," I asked, changing the subject and pointing to the sky. "The 'rain'. Does it ever stop?"
He let out a dry chuckle. "Eventually. The sky gives the forest a drink, and then the sun—our sun—comes out to say hello. It's the way of things."
The way of things. His words echoed in my mind. The way of his things. The way of this world. I fell silent, trying to process the sheer scale of my displacement.
We emerged from the trees into a small clearing. And I saw it. The village. It wasn't a fortress of stone and steel like Bastion. It was a cluster of small houses built of dark wood and grey stone, with roofs covered in a soft, green moss. Smoke curled from stone chimneys, carrying the scent of burning wood and cooked food. It looked... soft. Breakable.
And it was full of people.
As we walked down the muddy path, doors opened and faces peered out. A murmur followed us, a wave of whispers and stares. They looked at my strange, layered wrappings, my mask, the way I walked with a predator's coiled tension. A child, no older than five, saw me and ran crying to his mother, pointing a chubby finger in my direction. They looked at me like I was a monster. I suppose, in their world, I was.
Kael ignored them all, leading me to a small house at the edge of the village. "Pay them no mind," he said, pushing the wooden door open. "They fear what they do not understand."
The inside of his home was one small, cluttered room, but it was warm. A fire crackled in a stone hearth, casting dancing shadows on walls lined with shelves. The shelves were overflowing with dried herbs, strange glass bottles, and a few leather-bound books. The air smelled of herbs, woodsmoke, and something else: safety.
"Here," he said, ladling a thick, brown stew into a wooden bowl. "Eat. You look like you're about to fall over."
I sat at his small table, my body finally succumbing to an exhaustion so deep it felt like it was in my bones. I took the bowl. The stew was hot, filled with mushrooms and root vegetables. It tasted of the earth—rich, savory, and completely alien. I ate it all without stopping, the warmth spreading through my frozen limbs.
When I was done, Kael placed a bundle of folded cloth on the table. "You'll catch your death in those wet things. These were my wife's. They'll be too big for you, but they're dry."
I looked at the simple linen tunic and trousers, then down at my own wrappings. My gear was my identity. It was my armor against the suns, the wind, and the world. Taking it off felt like surrender. But the cold was seeping deeper into me, a damp chill that the desert had never produced.
He must have sensed my hesitation. "There is a screen in the corner for privacy. I will wait outside." He left, closing the door softly behind him.
Slowly, I made my way to the corner and began to unwrap the layers of my life. The soaked cloth felt heavy, sticking to my skin. Finally, the last layer came off, including my mask. I took a deep breath of the unfiltered air. For the first time, I saw my own reflection in a small, polished metal plate Kael used as a mirror.
A stranger stared back. A young woman with skin tanned the color of sandstone, but with hair that was almost pure white, bleached by the constant glare of two suns. My eyes, the color of a twilight sky, were wide with a fear I refused to acknowledge.
I put on the borrowed clothes. They were loose, soft, and offered no protection. I felt naked. Vulnerable. When Kael returned, he looked at me, and his gaze was filled with a profound sadness.
"You are just a child," he murmured. "What ordeal did you endure?"
We sat by the fire, and I told him. I told him about the Searing Expanse, about the twin suns, about the Sandsong, about the Dune-Maw. I spoke of my world, and with every word, I saw the gentle skepticism in his eyes turn to pitying concern. He thought I was delirious, that my mind had broken from some terrible trauma.
"Rest, Iris," he said softly when I was done. "You are safe here. We will make sense of things in the morning."
He didn't believe me. I couldn't blame him. My life was a fairy tale here. A nightmare. I needed to show him. I needed one person in this universe to know I wasn't crazy.
"Wait," I said, my voice hoarse. I reached into the pocket of my discarded satchel, my fingers closing around the smooth, cool object. "I have proof."
I walked back to the table and placed the crystal teardrop upon it.
The firelight sank into its depths, and the crystal seemed to drink it in. A faint, internal azure light began to pulse from its core, casting a soft, ethereal glow across the room.
Kael, who had been turning to bank the fire, froze. He turned back slowly, his eyes fixed on the stone. The pity in his expression vanished, replaced by a look of utter, disbelieving awe. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He took a shaky step closer, as if drawn by a magnet.
"By the Ancients..." he whispered, his voice trembling. He looked from the stone to my face, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. "A Star-Tear."
He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time.
"Child," he said, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone that sent a shiver down my spine. "Do you have any idea what you have brought to my doorstep?"