The command rang out sharply in the twilight. "We set up tent here!" one of the guards yelled, driving a stake into the ground.

The Ironwood Clan moved with practiced, efficient speed. Excluding Chieftain Varek, the few remaining elders, and Austin, who stood quietly watching, the entire group dissolved into a whirlwind of activity.

Poles were secured, hides were unfurled, and ropes were tightened with fluid, inherited skill.

It was evident they were nomadic people, the act of setting up camp a routine ingrained in their very muscles from years of necessity.

Within a mere half-hour, a small cluster of temporary, sturdy tents dotted the clearing.

The last light of the day had bled out of the western horizon, and now, high in the star-dusted sky, the Eclipsed Moon—a large, sickly yellow orb with a visible, dark shadow creeping across its surface—cast an eerie, dim glow over the scene.

"Come! You're staying with me."

A voice cut through the clamor of the settling camp.

Austin looked up to see a young man, likely in his early twenties, gesturing for him to follow.

The man didn't wait, turning immediately and moving toward one of the smaller tents.

Austin, still dazed by grief and the sheer strangeness of his new reality, hesitated for a moment. This was all a bewildering, confusing first for him—he had never left his village.

But with no other options, he quietly gathered his resolve and followed the young warrior.

The warrior glanced back, offering a brief, slightly forced smile. "I'm Balvan. I'm a warrior of the clan."

"I'm Austin," he replied simply, his voice a low monotone.

"Heard your story," Balvan said, his expression sobering as they walked. "Can't say I feel you...I've always had the clan...but my condolences, Austin."

Austin merely nodded, unable to summon any words for thanks or further comment.

As they walked, Balvan began to talk, filling the silence with context.

He spoke about the Ironwood Clan, explaining their constant state of movement. "We live like nomads most of the time. We have to. Always searching for game, for iron, for resources. Even in these war-torn lands, with the Eclipse Beasts roaming the edges, there's no choice."

He explained the harsh reality of their home: "The Southlands aren't suitable for farming. It's rock and sparse soil. This is how we've been living, generation after generation."

Austin remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ground, absorbing the information without offering any input.

The history of Balvan's clan was a stark, brutal contrast to the quiet, settled life he had lost.

They reached a small tent. Balvan lifted the flap and entered, Austin following closely. Inside, the space was small but tidy. Balvan immediately took a spot in one corner, where a mat laid upon a bed of hay served as bedding.

"Take the other side," Balvan instructed, pointing to a similar corner. "The stew will be ready soon. Get some rest before you go out for food." Without another word, Balvan settled down, pulling a rough blanket over himself, and seemed to nod off instantly, the weariness of the road taking him quickly.

Austin quietly sat on his assigned mat. He did not lay down. His mind was a churning storm of loss and anxiety, making rest impossible.

He raised his hand and tentatively felt the material of the mat—a soft, woven cotton surface.

He had been bound tightly to a wooden post only hours ago, and this simple, cushioning texture was the first sense of comfort he had encountered since the flash.

There was no smile or relief, however. Instead, the sudden softness was a painful contrast to the harshness of the present.

A single, fat tear trickled down his cheek, landing soundlessly on the woven cotton, a final tribute to the memory of his home and the quiet life he had utterly lost.

*******

The low, even breathing of Balvan was the only sound in the small tent until Austin's eyes snapped open.

He had been staring into the dark, lost in his thoughts, when a sudden pressure clamped over his mouth.

Shock flared through him. He instinctively struggled, but Balvan's hand, firm and rough, held him fast.

Austin turned his head sharply toward the warrior, whose shadowed face was intense and focused. Balvan held a single finger vertically over his own lips—a silent, urgent demand for absolute silence.

Growl... Growl...

A soft, guttural sound reached Austin's ears, vibrating subtly through the earth. It was a low, resonant growling noise, clearly belonging to a large, predatory creature.

A moment later, a distorted shadow moved across the canvas wall of the tent, right next to where Austin was sitting.

It was the distinct silhouette of a four-legged beast, large and low to the ground, padding slowly and deliberately along the tent's exterior.

Their tent was situated near the edge of the camp, and the surrounding area seemed to have been left deliberately quiet, perhaps an outer perimeter.

The silence was unnerving, suggesting the rest of the camp might be asleep or simply out of earshot.

Balvan slowly, painstakingly, lifted his hand from Austin's mouth.

"Take this," he whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes fixed on the moving shadow.

He pressed a small, cold, hunting dagger into Austin's trembling hand.

Balvan then moved with the fluid, calculated silence of a predator himself. He sank beside his mat, retrieved his long, heavy sword lying there, and rose to a crouch near the tent flap.

The sword was raised slightly, its polished edge catching the faintest glimmer of the Eclipsed Moon filtering through the canvas.

His final instruction was a chilling breath in the darkness: "When I say now, plunge that dagger into the beast's head." He waited, taut as a bowstring, ready for the inevitable entry of whatever creature was prowling outside.

As Austin clutched the cold, small dagger, his mind erupted in a dizzying spiral of frantic fear and panicked realization.

The primal terror of the situation completely overshadowed his recent grief. Just hours ago, he was weeping over the loss of his family; now, he was facing an unknown, roaring predator in the dark.

His thoughts raced regarding the Imminent Threat.

"It's right there. It's coming in. This is real. This isn't fire or a dream; it's a beast that wants to tear us apart."

"A dagger? Against a beast that sounds that big? I've never even held a weapon properly before. What good is this? I'm just a boy."

He barely registered Balvan's low-whispered command: Plunge it into its head.

The image of having to get close enough to stab a roaring creature's skull sent a wave of nausea through him. His entire body felt rigid and useless.

The silence from the rest of the camp felt deafening.

"Why isn't anyone else hearing this? Are we truly alone?" He felt incredibly exposed and regretted following Balvan to this exposed edge tent.

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