Noko lay calmly on the fur-lined floor of the Swiftwind tent, limbs bound in the traditional manner. The blood rite often brought visions so strong that participants thrashed wildly. The bindings kept them — and the witnesses — safe.
Across the tent, the white shaman knelt at Dem's side, inking the second of two blood tattoos — one on each forearm. A rat. A black panther.
She paused only long enough to wipe her brow. Her hands were steady, but she could feel the pulsing beast-magic of the blood she worked with. Dem had told her which vial belonged to which tattoo, but she could have guessed — the power flowing under her fingers was unmistakable.
Dem didn't flinch, didn't blink. A quiet pressure swirled around him — restrained, caged, waiting. His eyes remained closed, though the air thickened, shadows lengthening as the rat tattoo neared completion. No one else noticed the unnatural heaviness in the air, nor the rat-shaped silhouettes that flickered across the candlelit walls.
The panther ink stung like a wasp. The rat burned like a white-hot brand.
Minute by minute, the heat grew — until Dem was certain the skin on his arm might ignite.
Then suddenly —
Cold.
The tattoos flashed ice-cold, sinking something unseen into Dem's body before both melted away without a trace.
Dem — who had never felt cold in his life — shivered violently, his teeth chattering.
Ai wrapped a blanket around his shoulders at once, pulling him close.
The shaman stood in a single smooth motion.
"The seal is strong," she said softly. "But this one is… different."
Dem winced. "Different how?"
"It has given you complete control."
She looked down at the two partially filled vials, then combined them and added a few drops of blood taken earlier from Ai, Gram, and Yada.
Dem moved to Noko's side, kneeling opposite Ai. Gram and Yada moved to her feet, settling into the positions all foster families took during the rite.
"You'll see visions, Noko," Dem said gently. "Moments from your life. Your new family will witness them with you, but they remain yours. They help forge the bond."
The shaman held a cup to Noko's lips. She drank the thick, dark liquid.
The shaman's chanting rose in volume. A pale yellow cloud formed above Noko's chest, swirling slowly before dipping downward.
The first vision struck like a knife.
The Slaver Commander drugged Noko and violated her.
Ai covered her mouth, sobbing. Yada's shoulders shook. Gram grit her teeth until her jaw trembled. Dem's vision narrowed, rage burning through him — wishing he hadn't granted the Slaver a quick death.
The vision faded. The tent breathed again.
A second vision formed.
A royal court.
Noko stood behind a stunning woman — youthful, commanding.
"Sela of the Blue Isle, I sentence you to death for sedition against the sovereign state of Caveressi!" shrieked a woman on the throne, her voice nasally and dripping with hatred.
"Sedition?" Sela struggled against her bindings. "For refusing to marry your son? People of the court — listen! She covets the mines on my lands. When her gaze turns to you, what then?"
"Silence her!" the throne-woman screeched, like a wounded harpy.
A guard stepped forward and stabbed Sela in the stomach.
"NO!" Noko threw her arms around the woman — her mother — while striking wildly at the guard.
"Sela of the Blue Isle is sentenced to death," the harpy-queen proclaimed. "Her estate will be seized. Her daughter… sold into slavery."
The vision shattered.
Ai sobbed openly. Yada wiped her face with shaking hands. Gram trembled with fury.
Dem memorized the queen's face with lethal calm.
A third vision formed.
Noko raced through a rose garden, chasing a child while a monstrous dog — tail wagging — chased them both. The beautiful woman from before sat on a bench with a handsome man, hand in hand, laughing at the children's antics.
"Careful, Noko," her mother warned with a loving smile.
The man sighed. "Should my daughter be playing with a servant's child?"
"They are the same age, Tully. And Mateo's parents aren't servants — they work for us."
The man lifted his hands. "If you say so, dear."
A fourth vision.
Noko, four years old, neck-deep in bathwater, enduring a scrub she clearly despised.
"You're a big girl now. It's not that bad," her mother soothed.
"Yes it is, Mum."
The soap slipped — Noko reached for it — and her mother grabbed her arm instead.
"Nokomis!" Her voice quivered with terror. "What is this?"
A small patch of sleek fur on Noko's forearm.
Noko shrugged. "Dunno. It appeared a few days ago."
"Oh, saints…" Her mother crushed her close. "Has anyone seen it?"
Noko shook her head innocently.
"Keep it covered. Never tell anyone. Ever."
"Okay, Mum," Noko whispered, kissing her mother's cheek.
The vision faded.
Only silence remained.
The shaman bent low, eyes level with Noko's.
"Welcome to the family, Nokomis Swiftwind," she said gently. "This is your fifteenth year."
"We'll get her settled, Dem." Yada placed a gentle hand on Noko's back, then gestured toward the tent flap.
Dem nodded. He understood the unspoken message — family time with the other females.
"I have to meet with Telo, but I'll be back later."
"Dosu!" Noko rushed forward and threw her arms around him.
He hugged her back, smiling as he realized she was almost exactly his height. "I'll be back soon. Let them take care of you."
Noko nodded, earnest and hopeful. "Will I learn to hunt?"
Dem laughed. "Ai is still teaching me. We can learn together."
That earned him a genuine smile — small, but real. Noko watched him leave before turning back to the women waiting for her.
Dem approached the Travelers' camp, already sensing Telo's presence.
"Dem!" Telo waved from beside a wagon, grinning wide as he stepped away from the Traveler he'd been speaking to. "That guy likes Reyka. I warned him about the line in front of him, but he doesn't seem discouraged."
Dem snorted. "Did you talk with the Sub-Chiefs?"
"Yeah. A lot of the spears stood out. Some hesitated a bit." Telo shrugged. "You thinking about replacements?"
"After the first mission?" Dem shook his head. "No. As long as no one turned and sprinted for the hills screaming, we're fine. First blood shakes people. Who stood out?"
"Tier Whitehill — two solo kills." Telo held up two fingers. "Teya Bearclaw got one solo and two shared. And everyone had praise for the archers. Apparently people fight worse when they have arrows sticking out of them."
"I suppose that's true," Dem murmured, his expression still shadowed from the blood rite.
Telo's voice softened. "How was it?"
"Troubling," Dem admitted. "If I'd known… the slaver's death wouldn't have been so easy."
Telo slung an arm around him. "From now on, slavers get special treatment."
"Agreed."
Elspeth appeared at the wagon steps, curls bouncing. "Come in. Mamar is expecting you."
Dem entered the covered wagon, with Telo settling quietly behind him like a tall, very amused shadow.
Mamar sat at the small round table, candles flickering around her like obedient servants.
"I sense no imminent danger," she said, her sultry voice wrapping around the air itself, "but do not let your guard down."
"I never let my guard down."
Dem added, with measured diplomacy, "I'm pleased with your performance so far. I'm inclined to believe you can do what you claim."
Elspeth snorted. "Seriously? Mamar literally predicted the danger here."
Mamar lifted a graceful hand, silencing her daughter instantly. "Forgive her, Commander. She is willful."
"My father always spanked me when I acted up," Telo offered helpfully.
Mamar laughed. Elspeth went pink, crossing her arms.
"You— I'm too old to be spanked."
Telo shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Never too old for spanking."
Dem pressed his lips together, trying very hard to maintain a straight face. "You're part of the Sentry force now," he said to Mamar. "If you need anything, we'll do our best to help."
A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Mamar's face before she masked it. "I will scry twice a day and let you know if something changes."
"Thank you," Dem said, rising. He kept his face expressionless until he turned toward the exit — then a smile slipped out.
"I can tell you're laughing, Dem!" Elspeth called after him as he followed Telo out of the tent.