The stragglers from Nazaki’s company did not take kindly to the idea that December 11th was dead. This also made them push back on the fact that their dreams were not from Hazahnahkah at all—and were in fact machinations created by Knife. These realizations, layered with the likelihood that Knife was The Sword's Sister, Vrast, and that the sword Hwayoung carried was the real Hazahnahkah, brewed some pretty intense reactions within the group—mostly disbelief and accusations. While Hwayoung repeatedly explained all this to them, they resisted in their own ways. Galfarys had concocted a conspiracy that was much too convoluted for even Hazahnahkah to wrap his mind around. Zaz regally and professorially demanded “proof” of Hwayoung’s claims, and was even quicker to dismiss anything outside his definition of such “proof”. Dalagun, of course, simply hid away from actual conversation and confrontation in the night houses.

  The only person who separated herself from the rest of the believers was Lamina, and it wasn’t because she believed Hwayoung—it was simply that she didn’t care who gave her the dreams.

  “I want to achieve mama’s dreams. It doesn’t matter what tool we use to achieve them.”

  It was a very short-lived moment in what seemed like lucidity for the woman, who then quickly unraveled back into pampering the snake coiled around her with cuddles, kisses, and pets. She then promptly laid down on a bench, and fell asleep. This meant they were done talking. Their group agreed to argue about all this later, and leave at the latest by next week. They had been off to a rough start, nearly trying to kill each other during the ystallo seasonal and successfully killing each other on the second attempt, but Hazahnahkah looked forward to a smoother journey, now with extra hands. Even if they were a complete band of hooligans, this was the perfect number of people to protect for Hazahnahkah. It was enough that they could offset their weakest teammates, but not so much that Hazahnahkah could not bring one back to life under time constraints if needed.

  Rumors of white ligers hunting travelers were common, and they were low on provisions as it was. This caused Hwayoung to have a sudden and strange urge to seek out the slavers in the village that she had initially been so concerned about. She worked for them for free, going so far as to use Hazahnahkah’s Third Terror to repair structures, heal slaves, and instantly grow food. They slept in an abandoned shack just above rice fields.

  Hwayoung never traded or asked for things she didn’t need, and that included shelter. It was a great way of saving up. Dried vegetables, fresh fruit, and the most important asset of all—favors. Hwayoung procured much standing with the villagers by hunting local hazards, yet asked for nothing in return. Altogether, she had slain a rampaging basilisk that had been hunting other hunters and a valiaspora—an invasive plant that swallowed hippos whole. She dropped the latter’s heart on a slaver’s desk. Its spoiled green and patchy blue midribs now withered.

  “Wow,” the slave master said. “That one took quite a few of mine.” He tapped his hand across the desk, each finger one by one, which wound up being only eight taps. He was missing two fingers.

  Hwayoung eyed Hazahnahkah. “Nearly took a few of mine too.”

  “You have slaves?”

  “Fingers... I meant fingers.”

  The slave master sucked on his teeth. “Funny,” he said, not laughing at all. “No. I’ve never fought a valiaspora. My hands are from Yurreth’s men.”

  “I thought this place was too remote for Yurreth to reach.”

  “Nothing is too remote for Yurreth. You should know this is one of her settlements. She owns these lands. Those mountains. Those seas. Anything touched by a living limb has Yurreth’s name on it—anything with limb and without has Yurreth’s name on it—she simply hasn’t signed it yet.”

  Hwayoung sighed. She stared at her feet, losing herself for a moment. Yurreth’s record got worse and worse the more Hazahnahkah learned about her, but he wasn’t sure what to believe himself these days. Since Knife began stewing her lies, it had become very difficult for him to differentiate myth from reality and lie from truth. He once again suppressed the urge to ask Hwayoung why December 11th had found her in that cage. She was a very mysterious girl.

  “I’m sorry Yurreth took so much from you,” Hwayoung said eventually, voice heavy with remorse—and perhaps something else.

  The man didn’t react. “Coins or people?”

  “People.”

  “Fantastic.”

  Hwayoung and Hazahnahkah were led through a beautiful scene down the mountain’s cascading farmlands, filled with horrendous scenery. Slaves toiled in the rice fields: digging irrigation ditches, transplanting seedlings, anchoring floating rock. The last one seemed rather important in preventing the formation of landmasses that could potentially crash into the mountain, but it was backbreaking work. Regardless of what any slave labored, they seemed absorbed in their own world—disassociated from the suffering they were going through now—not fully there. Hazahnahkah could feel it as well—through the dysfunctional symphony of their brainwaves and heartbeats.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Many were the spitting image of Ysan when she had found Hazahnahkah. Young, troubled, suffering chronic health impairments. However, Hwayoung looked towards the animal pens instead. Pigs moved like clouds over the fields below—shifting, reshaping, but never dispersing.

  They followed an old man with a staff.

  The slave master raised a brow at him. “That one’s Lazul. Why the interest?” It was as if he didn’t even need to mention the unhealed hip and arthritis that the man suffered from.

  Hazahnahkah could diagnose these things easily. Lazul walked at the edge of the herd, neither leading nor chasing. His staff moved with him, brushing lightly against his knee, tapping earth only when needed. When a pig strayed too far, the stick would whisper near it, not strike. When two boars squared off, their disgruntled whining thick with challenge, he would stop short, and they would hesitate, blink, and return to rooting as if the thought of fighting had never been theirs.

  From the rise beyond the field, Hwayoung watched in silence.

  Lazul was barefoot, skin dark with sun and soil. His hair was a knotted braid of white and black, tied back with twine. His tunic was torn at the hem, but he moved like a river—slow only because nothing in him was hurried. His staff bore signs of other lives: a burn-mark down its length; the edge of a lion’s tooth, tied with old sinew at the base; two rows of tiny notches, carved not for decoration.

  It was obvious to Hazahnahkah that Lazul had survived even more lives than he had lived:

  Health (source of vitality and abilities): 3,000

  Energy (source of stamina and abilities): 3,200

  Agility (speed of actions): 350

  Regeneration (rate of recovery per hour for Health and Energy): 30

  Tenacity (resistance to unwanted effects): 200

  Strength (physical or mental reality manipulation potency): 200

  [Lazul’s Abilities]

  Perfect Parry: Can block any perceivable attacker with less Strength if a sufficient object is equipped.

  Great Listener: Most physical objects and organisms can be analyzed and understood through focusing on an electromagnetic song that they emit.

  [Lazul’s Conditions]

  (Debuff) Trauma: Extremely alert. Proactively senses animosity within a 20-foot radius. Takes 5% additional damage and deals 5% additional damage. Gains +500 Agility when in the presence of attackers.

  [Lazul’s Equipment]

  Shepherd’s Crook: A staff for herding animals. +20 Strength.

  Old Clothes: +5 to Health and Tenacity

  Hwayoung descended into the field slowly, letting Lazul hear the sound of her feet. He did not turn. But the pigs parted just enough to let her walk through.

  When she stood a few steps behind him, he finally said, without looking, “I had a cat once. Larger than these—one eye—listened better than my mother.”

  A pause. Then he glanced over his shoulder, Hwayoung still staring. Whatever exchanged between them, was something even Hazahnahkah could not hear. Lazul turned to face her fully, staff resting across his arms.

  “This pursuit may be more dangerous,” she said, hand out. “I’ve been looking for someone skilled in these isles, someone good with animals where I am not.”

  It quickly became clear to Hazahnahkah why Hwayoung wanted Lazul to travel with them. Firstly, the man was old—he was well spoken on the nature of both the people and pains they would encounter in the north. He was also good with animals, which would prove rather beneficial with the ligers and the rumor of a powerful white tiger circling about. The most quintessential, however, was that he was another human that didn’t have the same restrictions Hazahnahkah did with communicating—and that Knife did not steer him with dreams.

  Hwayoung did not explain any of this to Lazul, she merely said she was chasing after Nazaki—a boy whose arm she unintentionally stole. Lazul himself also seemed to prefer to measure their company himself. He was also very particular. He had even turned down Hwayoung’s offers to have Hazahnahkah heal his hip and arthritis when she finished purchasing him from the slaver. Why, only The Serpent Itself knew.

  Lazul was more than perceptive. When Hwayoung showed him her shack he bombarded her with questions that even Hazahnahkah hadn’t noticed to ask. He tapped his staff at the door’s broken hinges, the chair behind it, and breadcrumbs left on the windowsill. “You don’t trust your friends at night. That’s the real reason I’m here.”

  “What gave you that impression?”

  “You broke your door on purpose so if someone tries to open it, it falls. They can’t push it back without knocking over the chair. Spearbirds visit you constantly, and you are ready to send them to the local guard. You share their grain on your windowsill.”

  Hwayoung didn’t say anything, but her face made it clear she was impressed. “You’ve done more than work with animals.”

  “Humans are animals like any other. So where are yours?”

  “I’ll introduce you to them soon enough, but… they are plagued by dreams.”

  “Dreams?”

  “Dreams,” Hwayoung whispered. “I fear a Rapscallion that bears a grudge against me and the friend I’m seeking to save has given them dreams.”

  “And so you are afraid these dreams may tell them to attack you while you sleep, and that is why I should stay awake.”

  Hwayoung nodded. “We’ll be leaving soon. It’ll be harder to leverage shelter or traps. It would also… not be the best to isolate myself from them and get attacked by… who knows what else is out there. We can sleep in two-hour increments.”

  Lazul scratched deeply into his beard with the end of his staff. “Two hours,” he echoed, tasting the plan. “A poor night’s rest for both of us.”

  Hwayoung gave in at this. She explained her situation and Nazaki’s in entirety. Hazahnahkah assumed Lazul would not believe her, but the man didn’t seem to have any trouble.

  After Hwayoung’s explanation, Lazul tapped the floor with his staff. “Then I will find my own time to sleep,” he said, “and if those dreams take hold of them in the night, you have my promise: I’ll wake you.”

  “Hopefully it does not come to that.”

  “Then I hope you carry silence well,” he said. “It’s the only leash animals trust.”