Six hours. Six long, grueling hours of trudging through rugged, high-altitude terrain in the direction Wolfen had pointed with such infuriating vagueness. Hope had begun to curdle into skepticism, and skepticism into the grim certainty that they were lost, following a man motivated solely by his stomach.
Then, they crested a ridge and saw it.
It wasn't a village, not in any sense Eva understood. It was a fortress, a stark settlement nestled in a high valley, surrounded by formidable walls of packed earth and timber, topped with jagged spikes and crude watchtowers. The very existence of walls this robust screamed one thing: the dead were a problem here, too.
As they approached the main gate, a group of men emerged. They were hard-looking, their faces weathered by wind and sun, their eyes holding a grim, deadly flatness. They held their rifles not with the practiced drill of soldiers, but with the comfortable, worn familiarity of men for whom a gun was a daily tool. They barred the way.
One, a man with a scar running through his lip, spoke, his voice a low guttural rumble. "གང་དག་ཡིན་པ་དང་། ཁྱེད་རང་ཚོ་གང་དུ་འགྲོ་བ?" (Gang dag yin pa dang? Khyed rang tso gang du 'gro ba?) Who are you? Where are you going?
The survivors tensed. Derek's hand drifted toward his machete. Leo tightened his grip on his bat. This was a different kind of danger than the Architects—more primal, more immediate.
Wolfen, looking utterly bored, stepped forward. "ང་ཚོ་ལམ་ཐག་རིང་པོ་ཞིག་བརྒྱུད་ཡོད། སྡོད་ས་ཞིག་དགོས།" (Nga tso lam thag ring po zhig brgyud yod. Sdod sa zhig dgos.) We have traveled a long way. We need a place to stay.
The guards exchanged glances, a flicker of surprise that someone spoke their language. The scarred man smirked, a cruel, knowing expression. He barked an order, and the heavy gates swung inward, granting them entry into a scene that confirmed Eva's worst suspicions.
This was no village. There were no children, no elderly, no market stalls. It was a camp, pure and simple. Men in their twenties to forties, all armed, moved with a purposeful, predatory air. They tended to a small herd of shaggy mountain yaks, cleaned weapons, and sparred. Everywhere, powerful Tibetan Mastiffs padded around, their intelligent eyes watching the newcomers with a disconcerting intensity. The place hummed with a low, aggressive energy.
Eva leaned close to Wolfen, her voice a tense whisper. "What a weird village."
Wolfen didn't look at her, his eyes scanning the camp, cataloging threats and resources. "It's not a village. Have you ever seen a village with only men and guns? It's a raider camp."
Before she could process that, a large man, his chest broad and his demeanor radiating authority, approached. He looked Wolfen up and down, then spoke, his tone commanding. "དམག་མི་དཔོན་ཁང་པར་ཡོང་། ཁོང་ཚོ་ཁྱེད་རང་ལ་མཇལ་འདོད་ཡོད།" (Dmag mi dpon khang par yong. Khong tso khyed rang la mjal 'dod yod.) Come to the commander's tent. They wish to see you.
Wolfen translated for the group. "We're being summoned to see the boss."
"I'm coming with you," Eva stated. She wasn't letting him navigate this alone.
"Obviously. You're the translator," Wolfen said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
As they were about to follow the man, Wolfen's head swiveled. His eyes locked onto a raider sitting on a crate, just about to take a bite from a wrinkled, but undoubtedly precious, apple. In a blur of motion, Wolfen was in front of him. He plucked the apple from the man's hand with a casual "Thanks," and took a loud, crunching bite.
The raider stared, dumbfounded, at his empty hand for a second before surging to his feet, his face purpling with rage. "ཁྱོད་ཀྱིས་དེ་ཅི་ལས་བྱས་པ་ཡིན།!" (Khyod kyis de ci las byas pa yin!?) What did you just do?!
Wolfen, still chewing, looked at the man as if he were a mildly interesting insect. He then turned to Eva, completely ignoring the sputtering raider. "See? Told you I was hungry. Let's go. The commander is waiting."
He strode off after their guide, leaving Eva to face the furious raider's glare. She offered a weak, utterly unconvincing shrug before hurrying after Wolfen, the distinct feeling that their "safe haven" was about to become a very, very dangerous place.