The Moonlight Tribe was already watching.

They didn't emerge all at once. At first, Ryn only noticed movement—shapes shifting between stone, figures pausing mid-task to look up.

Then more appeared. And more still.

Rabbitfolk.

Dozens of them.

Some stood atop low ridges, ears perked high despite the cold. Others lingered near crude shelters built into the basin's edges, half-buried against the wind. A few younger ones peeked from behind stacked stone and cloth, eyes wide with unfiltered curiosity.

Mira slowed.

She stopped entirely when she realized how many had gathered.

Ryn stepped up beside her, scanning the basin.

The tribe looked small when spread out like this. Thin and underfed…but alive.

There was no order to their formation, no sense of hierarchy on display.

Just people.

A young rabbitfolk, barely young enough to show her curiosity, stepped forward first. Her ears twitched as she stared openly at the humans.

"Are you really from the sky?" she asked.

The question rippled outward.

Whispers followed.

"They don't look like Bloodmane."

"Are they cold?"

"Why are they here?"

Mira stiffened.

"This isn't—" she started, then stopped.

An older rabbitfolk woman approached from the left, walking with a cane fashioned from scavenged bone and metal. Her fur was graying at the edges, eyes sharp despite the years etched into her posture.

She stopped a few paces from Ryn and the others and inclined her head respectfully.

"Guests are rare," she said. "Sorry about that. Many of the folks here have never seen a human."

A few embarrassed murmurs followed. Someone tugged the curious girl back by the sleeve, though she kept peeking around anyway.

The elder's gaze moved calmly across the group, taking in the way they held themselves.

"You arrived with Mira," she continued. "That means she trusts you."

Ryn inclined his head to the elder.

"Thank you for seeing us," he said.

The elder studied him for a moment longer, then nodded once.

"Come," she said simply.

She turned and began walking, cane tapping softly against the frozen ground.

Mira followed at her side without hesitation. Ryn gestured lightly for the others to wait, then followed after them.

They didn't walk far.

The elder's dwelling sat near the basin wall, half-sheltered by stone and stacked hides. Calling it a home was generous. It was a small teepee of stitched fabric and scavenged leather, reinforced with bent bones.

Inside, the space was cramped but warmer than the open basin. A shallow fire pit glowed at the center, its heat barely holding back the cold seeping in through the ground.

Worn mats were laid around the fire, their edges frayed from years of use.

The elder lowered herself onto one with practiced ease and rested her cane beside her.

"Sit," she said.

Ryn did, folding himself down across from her. Mira settled near the entrance, just close enough to hear what was said inside.

For a moment, only the fire spoke.

Then Ryn lifted his gaze.

"You already know why we're here," he said calmly. "And that…we can't stay long."

Outside the teepee, faint movement passed by the hide walls.

Listening.

The elder exhaled slowly and stared into the fire, watching the embers shift.

"…The Hero's Path," she said at last.

Her eyes lifted to Ryn.

"I understand the implications of the event," she continued. "Or at least, what it claims to represent."

A pause.

"Yet I remain doubtful."

Ryn didn't interrupt.

"Our problems," the elder went on, tapping her cane lightly against the ground.

"Are rooted far deeper than strength or timing. They grow from the source itself."

She looked past Ryn, then past his party, toward the Outside.

"A human cannot resolve Dheam's conflict," she said evenly, "without creating justification for chaos."

The words settled heavily in the small space.

Not accusatory. Just…like stating a fact.

Mira's ears lowered slightly.

Ryn exhaled once, slow and controlled.

"Then let me ask a different question," he said.

The elder's gaze returned to him.

"Even if Bloodmane were better fed and organized," he paused, "they're still finite."

The elder's fingers tightened around her cane.

Ryn met her eyes.

"So why hasn't it happened?" he asked. "Why hasn't Bloodmane been overthrown yet?"

Silence.

The fire popped softly, embers shifting.

For a moment, Ryn wondered if he'd pushed too far.

Then the elder let out a quiet breath—something in between a sigh and laugh.

"That question," she said slowly, "assumes we were ever given the chance."

Ryn waited.

"Unity," the elder continued, "is not born from shared suffering. It is born from surplus."

Her eyes flicked briefly to the fire, then back.

"Tell me—would you cooperate with someone who eats from the same bowl as you?"

Ryn listened, expression unreadable.

"In theory," the elder added, looking directly at him now, "you're right. Numbers could overwhelm them."

Then she tilted her head slightly.

"But you're asking that question because you can afford to imagine failure."

The words weren't sharp.

"Failure for us," she finished quietly, "means our tribe disappears."

Ryn didn't respond immediately.

Because in his mind, something didn't line up.

Surplus explained their hesitation, while scarcity explained their fear. But…what wasn't explained was the Bloodmane's confidence.

"Sorry," Ryn said at last. "I was… insensitive."

The elder shook her head, absolving him of the blame.

"You asked honestly," she replied. "That's rarer than politeness."

She shifted her grip on the cane and leaned forward slightly.

"But answers don't always help," she added. "Sometimes they only tell you where not to meddle."

Ryn inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"I understand."

The elder studied him for a moment longer, then nodded once, as if satisfied.

"That's all, then," she said. "For now."

Ryn rose, careful not to disturb the fire, and stepped toward the entrance. Mira followed, casting one last glance back at the elder before slipping outside.

The cold hit immediately.

Ryn paused just beyond the teepee, letting the noise wash over him before joining back with the party.

They didn't go far.

Just far enough that the Moonlight Tribe's voices softened into background noise.

Then Jay stopped.

"…Hey, something's coming," he said quietly.

Ryn followed his gaze upward.

The sky above Dheam was clear.

High overhead, beyond the reach of frost and mist, something moved—a shape cutting through the pale blue with purpose.

An airship, angling toward the mist-shrouded heart of Dheam.

Central.

Ryn's eyes narrowed.

At the center ship's prow stood a figure, unmistakable even from this distance.

His dark mane whipped violently in the wind as the vessel slowed.

Kharvos Bloodmane.

The Beastfolk's "Hero" has arrived in Dheam.

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