The birds chirped above with the kind of careless serenity. The greenery was lush, dense, almost magnificent. But the pit at the cliff’s edge told a different story.

  Smoke curled skyward in steady spirals.

  Below, a heap of charred corpses, the remains of mercenaries smoldered faintly.

  To Finn, the method was... crude.

  The tribes had chosen to burn the bodies en masse. He found it wasteful. Inefficient. The human body, like any animal, had value. Blood made excellent fertilizer. Rotting flesh could be converted into compost, chemical agents, or harvested for volatile gases. At worst, it could serve as food for livestock, summoned beasts, or something less discerning.

  But as he walked, his boots soundless on moss and packed earth, he conceded the logic. Perhaps they lacked the knowledge or means to extract use. Perhaps the fear of disease outweighed curiosity. In that case, fire might have been the most efficient method available.

  He reached the meeting site described in the report.

  Two guards stood outside the threshold tall, wary, spears in hand. Their eyes narrowed as he approached, but the way he walked, the way he dressed, the way the air warped subtly around his presence... they stepped aside. No questions asked.

  Finn didn't spare them a second glance.

  "That was quick. Now, who do I need to meet here?"

  His gaze scanned the remnants of what had once been a mountain community.

  All the surviving tribesmen from across the mountain had gathered here, each one still reeling from the shock, horror, and indescribable grief of every kind of loss and pain imaginable.

  Weapons taken from the mercenaries had been gathered around a tent like place swords, axes, makeshift spears, explosive and some magical artifact. The tribes had armed themselves. That, Finn noted with mild interest, was the first real display of intelligence he’d seen here.

  Tents of stitched animal hide and woven grass had replaced proper shelters. Charred wood and shattered stones marked where huts once stood. A few skeletal structures remained, barely upright.

  But at the center, a single large tent still stood. Constructed from wood and heavy thatch, it held an aura of command. Its purpose was clear.

  A boy approached, breath quick, steps hurried.

  "Please follow me," the boy said quickly. "They’ve been waiting for you."

  Finn nodded. “Very well. Lead.”

  The boy led him to the door of the central building.

  Inside, a wide round table had been arranged. The chieftains of the mountain tribes had gathered, a full circle of faces hardened by weather and war. Older wise men with braided beards and quiet eyes. Women dressed in leathers and fur, radiating knowledge. A younger girl yellow hair noble in posture, clever in gaze sat among them, eyes sharp, presence commanding.

  They sat together like stone. United. Composed. Trying to project one message:

  Finn caught it in a glance.

  And then by entering he shattered it without saying a word.

  He moved with ease, not slow, not fast, but absolute. As if the ground knew not to trip him. As if the shadows parted for his sake. The confidence wasn’t loud. It was woven into his very structure.

  The seat at the far end of the table, directly opposite the gathered leaders, was clearly meant for him.

  He took it, but not before speaking.

  “Morning to all the folks present here,” he said. “I am Finn Sinclair. Younger brother of Lucien Sinclair—the one whom you’ve already seen and spoken to, I presume.”

  There was a pause. A young chief among the group responded, trying to sound composed.

  “Yes. Your brother spoke to me the previous day. Please, take your seat. We can continue.”

  Finn sat, noting the subtle twitch in the boy’s fingers. Nervous. Likely new to leadership. Likely thrust into the role by circumstance.

  Finn leaned forward slightly, his voice calm, firm, and devoid of anything unnecessary.

  “I will be very straightforward with all of you. Have you made your decision? Are you ready to share whatever information you possess?”

  His tone didn’t invite chatter. It demanded clarity.

  A muscular, middle-aged chief across the table shifted, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

  “What’s in it for us?” he asked bluntly. “If we decide to give you anything—what do we gain?”

  An older woman beside him, her gray hair, added coldly, “Exactly. You’re outsiders. Why should we trust you or your family? What guarantee do we have that involving ourselves with you won’t bring even more disaster than we’ve already suffered?”

  Her words found traction. There were nods around the table. Low murmurs of agreement. Distrust ran deep in the room.

  Finn didn’t flinch.

  “What we want,” he replied evenly, “is simple—answers to specific questions. Accurate information. In return, you receive resources. Not vague promises, but tangible supplies: medicine, food, building material, and whatever else you might need. My brother already sent one shipment yesterday.”

  He paused, scanning the table.

  “What we’re offering is not charity. It’s trade. And it is generous, considering how little is being asked from your side.”

  Another elder stooped, voice rough with age and frustration, spoke up.

  “And what of the danger we invite by siding with you? What of the consequences?”

  Finn’s tone cooled even further.

  “Danger?” he echoed. “Speak of it as though it’s some distant possibility. You’re already surrounded by it. You’ve been attacked. Your villages were destroyed. Your people were captured, tortured, enslaved. If you think danger is coming, you’re too late—it’s here. And it’s not finished.”

  The air in the room tightened. Silence settled like a heavy cloth.

  Finn didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

  “You’re vulnerable. Your resources are depleted. Your defenses are broken. And yet, we offer you support. Strategic, material, logistical. In exchange for information. Use your heads. You need help. We can give it.”

  A long pause followed.

  Then, finally, a young voice broke the silence.

  “If I may be allowed to speak,” Arika said quietly.

  All heads turned. The young chief gave a single nod.

  She had permission.

  Arika spoke without hesitation.

  “What are you planning to do with the information you asked for?”

  Finn’s tone didn’t shift. Calm. Direct.

  “That should not be your concern, should it?”

  Arika held his gaze.

  “No, I believe it is. We still don’t know why those mercenaries suddenly appeared on this mountain, or who sent them. Then you appeared. Now you’re asking questions, requesting intelligence, and offering aid. It raises questions. Who were they? Who are you? Are you connected? Were they after you? Were you working together? If you expect trust, you need to offer clarity.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Finn’s reply came without pause.

  “You’re trying to connect dots that don’t belong on the same page. No—we are not affiliated with them. We don’t move in those circles. And whether you trust us or not doesn’t change the fact. You've likely already heard what happened. My younger brother was taken—kidnapped by a stranger during the chaos. That’s our only involvement.”

  He leaned back slightly, voice still even.

  “As for our presence—we live on the other side of this mountain. We heard the commotion. We came to investigate. Is that explanation sufficient?”

  Arika didn’t blink.

  “So, the information you’re asking for is primarily to help locate your brother?”

  Finn gave a single nod. “Mostly, yes.”

  Arika paused for a moment.

  “If I may ask something personal—if it wouldn’t offend you—I’d like a truthful answer.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Were they here for you?”

  Finn’s eyes closed for a breath, then opened again.

  “Possibly. Possibly not. We’re still assessing that. Either way, we’re involved now. But if you intend to shift the entire burden of what happened onto us, you’re mistaken.”

  His voice sharpened, just slightly.

  “This region has been unstable for years. Your people aren’t treated as equals in the cities, much less the larger territories. You’ve faced kidnappings, raids, disappearances—long before this event. The only thing that kept you safe was obscurity. And that couldn’t last forever.”

  He let that sink in.

  “Even if they were after us, they didn’t have to attack you. But they did—because it was easy. Because they could. That’s the world we live in.”

  Arika nodded slowly.

  “If they were after you, and you confirm it—do you plan revenge?”

  “That decision belongs to my brother,” Finn said. “Why? Do you seek it?”

  “Of course I do,” Arika replied flatly. “I lost my father. My mother. My home. My people were killed. Taken. Everyone I loved is either gone or grieving. I want revenge. But more than that, I want to protect those who are left.”

  Finn’s voice dropped in tone. “Then all the more reason to take the offer I’ve already laid out.”

  Arika didn’t waver.

  “No. What you offered isn’t enough. Not for us. Not for what we’ve lost.”

  Finn raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

  “Because, as your brother said yesterday—the chain of command on their side has been severed. That only means one thing. Another wave will come. And even if we take your supplies, that won’t stop it. Our numbers are shattered. Our shelters are gone. We are vulnerable.”

  Finn’s tone cooled further. “So, you want us to protect your entire tribe? That’s a considerable demand.”

  “I know,” Arika said calmly. “Which is why I’m not asking for charity. I’m offering a counter-proposal.”

  Finn’s gaze sharpened. “From you? Not the council?”

  An elder chief beside her answered, firm and without hesitation.

  “We’ve already agreed. Whatever Arika decides, we follow. Her voice will speak for all of us.”

  Arika turned back to Finn.

  “I will help you find your brother and bring him back safely. Every tribe on this mountain will assist in that search. We’ll stand beside you for any task you need done—if you ensure our safety in return.”

  She let the silence settle.

  “We may not have armies, but we’re not without value. We survive by selling goods to the mainland. Through that, we’ve built channels. Small, yes—but effective. Smugglers. Informants. Traders. Whisper-networks in towns and ports where your family likely has no foothold. You lack reach. We can offer that.”

  Finn studied her, voice flat. “And what do you want in return?”

  “Three things,” Arika said, holding up her fingers.

  “One—help us rebuild. What we lost cannot be recovered, but it can be replaced.

  Two—protect us. Even if it is only from the next storm.

  Three—help us recover those who were taken.”

  Finn was silent for a breath. Then he spoke, measured.

  “You specifically said would help us find my brother, not just your people. Why?”

  Her eyes turned cold.

  “I belong to the Navigator bloodline in my clan. If you show me his mana signature, I can trace the residuals—faintly, perhaps, but it will give us a lead. If that signature is ever near again, I’ll sense it. And track it.”

  Finn’s tone shifted. “That would mean leaving your people. Traveling far. You understand what that means?”

  “I do. But if you promise me those three things,” she said slowly, “I’ll go.”

  Finn looked at her for a long moment.

  “There’s something else, isn’t there? Say it.”

  Arika didn’t blink.

  “If you help me get my revenge,” she said quietly, “then I don’t care what I become. I’m willing to be a monster for it.”

  All other participants were simple silence at the statement as they understood what she was feeling.

  Finn did not respond immediately.

  He studied her again, truly this time. She was younger, Unpolished. But there was steel in her posture, and something far rarer in her eyes.

  Conviction.

  Not fanaticism. Not theatrics. Just purpose, stripped of innocence.

  And that, he thought, was dangerous, But useful, and he liked it.

  She was something which he did not think he would see here, of all places.

  Finn sat still for a breath, his gaze focused.

  “What was your name again?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.

  “Arika,” she answered calmly.

  He nodded.

  “Arika… your proposal holds merit. I’ll admit that. There’s utility in what you offer. It’s not without value, especially considering we may be on the verge of conflict with something unknown. But your demands—your conditions require us to risk too much for the sake of others.”

  He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

  “There are benefits, yes. But the scale of involvement you're suggesting is significant. If we are to commit the resources, coordination, and protection you ask for, then the structure of this alliance needs to change.”

  Arika leaned forward, cautious. “What exactly do you want?”

  Finn didn’t blink.

  “Right now, you’re fractured. Tribes, clans, scattered leadership, divided regions. There is no hierarchy, no central authority. You might be united in grief, in rage, in recovery—but unity without order is chaos.”

  He folded his hands over the table.

  “What I propose is simple. Restructure your political and tribal dynamic. Establish a chain of command. Place Sinclair authority at its peak. Let us handle coordination, strategy, and security. You’ll still have your customs, your internal affairs. We won’t interfere in that. But for anything related to this alliance—for protection, supply, mobilization—my family leads.”

  The room went still.

  It was as if a cold wind had blown through the hall.

  A grizzled old chief rose first, fury etched into the weathered lines of his face. “You are offering us chains in names of aid.”

  Another woman, her hands scarred from decades of labor, barked, “So we trade one form of rule for another? That’s what you want? To make subjects of the mountain tribes?”

  The murmurs turned to whispers, then to protest. Offense rippled through the room like waves from a sudden quake. Even those who had been silent now showed open discomfort.

  Arika raised a hand to silence them.

  “You’re asking for far too much,” she said evenly. “This is no longer an alliance. You’re laying out terms of subjugation. You want to make sure we never stand on equal ground.”

  Finn remained still, his face unreadable.

  “Do not misunderstand,” he replied. “We’re not here to erase your names, your traditions, or your autonomy. Keep your rituals. Keep your culture. What I require is control over what you’re offering—information networks, external channels, and any coordinated actions. We cannot afford to chase your approval for every strategic move. That would be a hindrance we cannot tolerate.”

  His voice sharpened slightly, not loud—but clear.

  “You’ll retain internal freedom. But when it comes to matters that affect war, operations, and our shared survival, Sinclair needs the final say. That is the price of protection. That is the cost of order.”

  He leaned back, hands still folded, tone unwavering.

  Finn's voice, cold and exact, cut through the silence.

  “But since it sounds like we're taking too much from you,” he said, “allow me to reframe it.”

  His gaze swept the room, unbothered by their growing unrest.

  “We’ll ensure your safety—not temporarily, not in passing, but fully. Once we recover our brother, that assurance will extend to a lifetime of protection. We will bring your stolen people back, those who still breathe. And for the ones lost, we will hunt down their killers. You want revenge? We’ll give it. Support? We won’t stop there. We’ll take it even further.”

  Arika replied, her tone calm but firm.

  “I have no issue with going that far for revenge,” she said. “But I will not allow the freedom of my people to be traded away.”

  Finn did not waver.

  “What freedom?” he asked plainly. “You hide in the mountains to survive. You cling to tradition and call it freedom, when in truth, it’s a cage built from fear. Pride in one’s culture is noble, but pride cannot feed your wounded or protect your children from blades.”

  His words came without cruelty. Just clarity.

  “We are not here to steal what is yours. If anything, we are offering something greater. A future. One with strength. One with growth. Your old systems, your scattered order they failed you. You lost. All of you.”

  He gestured to the room with a slow hand.

  “You are not united. You lack communication. You are divided by customs, languages, old grudges, old wounds. And those wounds will be torn wider if this continues.”

  He leaned forward.

  “Accept what I offer. Accept our command. And I will ensure your people step into a new era.”

  A few chiefs murmured. One shook his head. Others looked to Arika, who remained still.

  Finn continued.

  “You’re not happy with what we offer?”

  Finn raised a single hand.

  From the tip of his finger, a green light bloomed. It pulsed once—soft, steady, measured—and the entire room changed.

  The air grew dense. The atmosphere thickened, like the moment before a summer storm when the wind holds its breath.

  The earth answered.

  Beneath them, the floor trembled not in chaos.

  As if the soil itself had heard a command it had long awaited.

  From cracks in the stone, land, from the seams between floorboards, and from the very grains of dust, roots emerged. Thin at first, like vines creeping toward sunlight.

  Then they grew.

  They twisted, split, wove into themselves. Within seconds, the roots formed frames, lattices, and spiraled columns. Thicker vines bound together like braided cords of ironwood. Green and gold light shimmered along their length, guiding their structure with eerie precision.

  Outside, the transformation was even more dramatic.

  Tents fell silently as the new growth swept beneath them. From their collapse rose new forms, buildings shaped from woven root and compressed bark, strong as stone. Walls twisted up, roofed with layers of reinforced leaf and vine. Windows opened where sunlight would fall best. Entryways unfolded like petals, wide and welcoming.

  People were completely untouched by all this, as if those roots were told to protect and safeguard them. Once it was done, villagers find themselves in a completely new abode.

  It was not chaotic. It was orchestrated. Beautiful. Measured. As if the forest had decided, in a breath, to become a city.

  Even the hall they sat in began to change.

  The ceiling unfurled like the canopy of a jungle, rising higher, stretching out into a dome threaded with glowing veins.

  The very chairs beneath them shifted. Vines curled upward, reinforcing them into thrones each unique, each elegant in its asymmetry.

  Finn’s own seat lifted half a meter above the rest not in arrogance, but in quiet declaration.

  Within two minute whole village which was destroyed, damaged was turned into something else. All of it replaced with house and structure made of green vines, root, leafs and wood.

  He lowered his hand, letting the silence return.

  His voice echoed.

  “Is this display enough,” he asked, “to prove that I do not deal in empty words?”