Zaarek and I stood on the rocky bank, watching them. They had already seen us—we weren’t exactly subtle—but they hadn’t run.
They simply watched back.
Men stood in the shallows, casting wide, woven nets into the river, their bodies taut with experience and efficiency. The women and children gathered along the banks, washing clothes on smooth, flat river stones, chatting amongst themselves in hushed tones, though their eyes kept darting to us. There were twenty-eight of them. Survivors. Real, living Darlams.
And we had no idea what they thought of us.
"They’re not going to come to us," Zaarek muttered beside me, arms crossed over his chest.
"No," I agreed. "We’re the ones intruding."
Zaarek huffed a breath. "Guess that means we’re getting wet."
I didn’t hesitate. I stepped forward, boots sinking into the riverbed as I waded in. The water was cold and lapped against my waist by the time I reached the center. Zaarek followed a step behind, neither of us breaking eye contact with the men on the other side.
A few women gathered the children behind them, protective but not fearful. A couple of the men subtly tightened their grips on their nets, though I could tell it was more out of uncertainty than aggression. They didn’t know what to make of us.
"We are Darlam," I called, my voice steady as I reached the riverbank. "Like you."
A ripple of unease moved through them as they exchanged uncertain glances. Darlams had never been aggressive. Whenever tribes met, it had been peaceful, but these Darlams hadn't seen any others in twenty thousand years—at least that's how the theory went, according to which, these males and females shouldn’t be here either. Zaarek and I gave them time to work through the news. It took a few moments, but then one of the men stepped forward.
He was tall and broad, with long, black hair tied at the base of his neck. His leather pants were damp from standing in the shallows, and a thin tunic hung open at his chest, revealing the curling black lines of a Soulweb bond.
His gaze was piercing while he assessed us with sharp, intelligent eyes.
"Kryvale," he said, at last, his voice rough but calm. "Kry of Vale."
A name and a test.
I held his gaze. "Xyrek. Xy of Rek."
Zaarek stepped forward beside me. "Zaarek. Zaa of Rek."
Another ripple of subdued shock moved through the gathered Darlams.
"Rek," Kryvale echoed in astonishment. “That name has been lost to the winds a long time ago. Its ruins are crumbling, just like the old beliefs." His eyes moved to our arms, and he noticed our Soulweb marks.
"Not lost. Not yet."
A few of the men behind Kryvale exchanged glances, but none of them spoke. The women remained quiet, though their wary stances betrayed their fears of us.
"You wear the marks," Kryvale observed, his gaze flicking down to my arm, where the black lines of my Soulweb bond curled against my skin.
"And you," I countered, nodding toward his own markings.
His jaw tightened slightly. His voice was filled with defiance. "Some of us do."
I caught the edge of tension in his tone. My gaze flicked to the other men standing behind him. Some bore mating marks. Others did not.
I glanced at the women. The same pattern. Some were marked. Some were not.
Zaarek noticed it, too. "Some of you found your fated mates," he said. "Others… chose their own."
A murmur passed through the crowd. A few of the men shifted uneasily. Kryvale remained stoic. "We made our lives here. We took what the gods did not grant us and built our own path. We are here while your people are gone."
It wasn't meant as an accusation, at least, I didn't think so, but more like a validation, which made sense. Their village had been the outcasts for many years before the Ohrurs came and thought they had eradicated us. They had been wrong. Our people might also have been wrong. Then again, maybe not. "The gods' will is as mysterious as the stars—distant, untouchable, and far beyond our understanding, yet shaping our fates whether we believe in them or not."
He nodded, "Wise words. You are the first outsiders to set foot here in many generations," he said, bringing the conversation back under his control. "Where did you come from? Why are you here?"
