Year 7002 A.A. | Valoria, Capital of Archen Land | Anvard Hillside – Early Evening
The streets of Valoria lay blanketed in golden light, the sun dipping low behind the sloping rooftops and the marble spires of the city. A gentle hush had fallen over the capital, as though the very stones underfoot were holding their breath in anticipation of something yet unspoken. Lanterns had begun to glow softly along the path, catching the glint of sword hilts, polished armor, and flowing cloaks as Tracients and soldiers passed in ones and twos through the winding streets.
From within the infirmary's white-stoned arch, Kon Kaplan stepped into the fading light, his boots silent on the cobbled road. Behind him came Trevor Maymum, his pace unhurried, his gaze flicking between the sky, the buildings, and the rigid back of the Tiger Lord before him.
The contrast between them had never been more striking. Kon's every step carried the weight of command—even when he was silent, it was the kind of silence that had sharp edges. Trevor, by contrast, moved like the breeze that preceded a summer storm—casual, but never without purpose. His gaze lingered on his friend's tightened fists and the stormclouds building silently behind his golden eye.
"You know," Trevor said, with the ease of one who had waited long enough, "you're terrible at hiding it."
Kon's head turned slightly, but his voice was curt. "Hiding what?"
Trevor stepped around him, walking backward with a grin as he spoke. "You've been restless since we left her. What's the matter? Scared she's going to run off or something?"
There was no reply—at least, not in words. Just a low, almost animalistic growl from the back of Kon's throat, the kind that only a few people in the world could interpret properly. Trevor, unfazed, took that as a yes.
"You don't like leaving her there," he said, softening slightly.
Kon gave a single nod, though his gaze remained forward, away from the infirmary's silhouette now distant behind them. "Not when I don't know who might be watching."
It was an admission, and a rare one. The quiet protective fire in his voice was unmistakable.
They walked in silence for a few more paces, the noise of the city hushed by the surrounding trees and the rhythmic tapping of Kon's fingers against the hilt of his blade. But Trevor's curiosity was not so easily silenced.
"Speaking of which," he said more carefully now, "you still haven't told me where you found her. And how is it even possible she's alive? You were the only Tiger Tracient anyone's known since the war."
Kon stopped.
Not abruptly, but the sort of halting that came when the weight of a memory pressed too heavily on the moment.
"I don't know," he said after a pause, his voice quieter than before. "But I know what I saw. She's a Tiger Tracient, Trevor. My eyes don't deceive me."
There was something in his voice—an ache, perhaps. Or maybe it was doubt. Not of her, but of himself. Because for a moment—just a fleeting one—he had questioned whether he was chasing a shadow or holding onto something fragile and fading.
Trevor's arms folded as he stared at Kon more seriously now, his usual playfulness gone. "And what do you plan to do about it?"
Kon lifted his gaze to the horizon, the dying sunlight casting his sharp features in bronze. His scowl deepened, as if every decision he had been weighing since the rescue had coalesced into one answer.
"I'm going to call a Narn Lords Summit."
Trevor blinked. He opened his mouth, but it took a full second before the disbelief caught up with his voice. "You're serious?"
Kon nodded once.
Trevor ran a hand through his hair, chuckling—but it wasn't out of humor. "You know what kind of storm that's going to stir, right? You're not the only one who's been watching the borders. The Lords are already uneasy."
"I don't care," Kon replied, his voice low and final.
Trevor squinted. "So what's the meeting for?"
Kon turned, already walking again. The light had nearly faded now, and a faint breeze stirred the hem of his coat. He didn't look back.
"You'll find out at the summit," he said.
And then, just low enough that only the wind and Trevor could hear:
"We've already wasted too much time."
Trevor raised an eyebrow at Kon's terse dismissal but chose not to pursue the matter. Not yet. There was a time and place to prod a tiger, and now wasn't it. He shrugged casually instead, letting the wind carry away his curiosity for the moment.
"Alright, then," he said lightly, though his tone hinted at unspent questions. "Speaking of the Grand Lords… do you even know where Adam and Darius are right now?"
Kon stopped walking and turned to glance at him, the single gold iris of his right eye narrowing slightly as if weighing whether the question was rhetorical.
Trevor, unbothered, kept walking a few steps ahead before tossing the answer over his shoulder with a lopsided grin. "Darius is off in Velmar, playing diplomat again—trying to smooth things over with those bull-headed hornfolk. Not easy, from what I hear. He's been gone weeks now, and he's still trying to wrangle them into signing anything more than a peace greeting."
He paused dramatically, glancing at Kon out of the corner of his eye.
"Adam, on the other hand…"
The words drifted into the wind as the two crested the top of a grassy hill. Below them, stretched like a painted tapestry, was the valley of Anvard—the homeland of the Fare Clan.
It was a sight that never failed to surprise.
Unlike the cold marble and stone of Valoria, or the frost-bitten emptiness of northern Narn, Anvard was alive. Verdant hills dipped and rolled like waves caught mid-motion, and golden fields stretched far into the horizon, dotted with windmills and flowering orchards. Lanterns swung from tall wooden poles, casting warm circles of orange light as the sun began to dip behind the hilltops.
But it wasn't the scenery that drew Trevor's wide grin.
It was the celebration.
From the heart of a nearby village came the sound of fiddles and pipes, the merry thrum of drums keeping a stomping beat. The Fare Clan, rustic and exuberant, danced in wide circles. Rodent Tracients, with their fur of various earthy tones, twirled and clapped in a joy that felt too large to be confined to the valley. It spilled up the hillsides like a hymn of spring itself.
And at the center of it all, standing out like a streak of moonlight in a storm of wildflowers, was a shirtless Wolf Tracient.
Adam Kurt.
The crescent moon pendant around his neck swung with his movement, its silver edge catching the last of the daylight. His deep blue fur glistened with sweat, and the faint yellow streak in his otherwise raven hair glowed like a flame. He danced with a fierce joy, uninhibited and almost primal, as if this rhythm belonged to him in a way war and titles never could.
On his right shoulder, the tattooed Hazël symbol marked with the number #3 flashed with each motion. The black crescent-shaped birthmark on his chest was bare for all to see, gleaming as he spun, leapt, and landed with graceful, unrefined power.
Trevor stared at the sight with wide-eyed amusement before a hearty laugh burst from his chest.
"Well, well," he chuckled. "Look at that. Our dear Adam's found his true calling—as a professional dancer."
Kon stood beside him, stone-faced.
Then came the groan.
He raised one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, as though it pained him just to witness it. "This is your fault," he muttered without looking at Trevor.
Trevor gave a theatrical gasp. "My fault? What—do you think I taught him to move like that?" He wagged a finger playfully. "Don't go pinning raw talent on me."
"He's completely out of control," Kon mumbled, watching as Adam executed a particularly wild spin, flinging an unfortunate Fare Clan drummer backward into a haystack. The crowd erupted into laughter. Adam bowed dramatically before dragging the dazed drummer back to his feet, earning applause.
Trevor couldn't hold it in. He doubled over in laughter, clapping a hand to Kon's shoulder with the kind of delighted irreverence only he could pull off. "You know," he wheezed, "if this is what happens when we let him out of our sight for two weeks, imagine what kind of chaos he'd start if left alone for a month!"
Kon didn't answer. He was still watching Adam with narrowed eyes, but there was something beneath the scowl. A flicker of thought, something heavier than frustration—concern, perhaps, or a silent realization that Adam had begun to grow in ways that had nothing to do with training or battle drills.
Trevor, straightening, followed his gaze again. "He's changed a lot," he said quietly, the humor fading just enough for his voice to slip into something more thoughtful. "Ever since we came to ArchenLand… he's starting to move like a Lord, but in ways that are independent of battle prowess"
Kon gave a slight nod, just once.
Neither of them spoke for a while. The music below continued, a pulse of life and celebration in a world still recovering from ruin. Somewhere deep down, even Kon couldn't help but wonder what it meant—that in a place of joy, far from command rooms and warfronts, Adam was dancing.
And in that dancing… there was something dangerously close to freedom.
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Village Square, Anvard | Year: 7002 A.A. | Time: Evening, moments after sunset
The fading notes of fiddles and pipes lingered on the air like the perfume of a dream fading upon waking. One by one, the villagers slowed their steps and turned their heads. The sight of the two newcomers—one golden-eyed and stone-faced, the other trailing laughter like a second cloak—drew murmurs through the crowd. But it wasn't fear that stirred among the Fare. It was recognition.
And reverence.
In the heart of the square, the blue-furred Wolf Tracient had been spinning with a child in each arm, howling playfully at the sky. But when his gaze landed on the newcomers, something in him leapt—not with fear, nor concern, but an eager joy that erased every shadow from his face.
"Kon!" Adam shouted, grinning so wide his cheeks bunched up like crescent moons. In an instant, he barreled forward, leaving his dance partners spinning in confusion.
Before Kon could brace himself, arms wrapped around him with startling force. Adam squeezed him like a long-lost brother, rocking them slightly on his heels.
Kon froze, his tail stiff, caught off guard as his arms were pinned awkwardly against his sides. Then, to his horror, Adam pressed a swift, cheerful kiss against his cheek.
"I've missed you!" Adam beamed. "It's been years!"
Kon's cheeks, normally the shade of dulled bronze beneath his fur, flushed visibly. "You're drunk," he muttered, stiff as a statue, his voice low and flat with a prick of embarrassment.
Trevor, never one to let an opportunity pass, sauntered a few steps forward, throwing his arms up. "I never get any kisses," he pouted with mock injury, folding his arms like a jilted lover at a wedding.
Adam whirled toward him, grinning like a fox with feathers in its mouth—but before he could pounce, Kon stepped back sharply and began brushing invisible dust from his tunic, scowling harder than ever.
"Cut it out, Adam," he said curtly, his composure returning like a dropped mask being snapped back into place. "This isn't a social call."
The grin on Adam's face faltered, his ears twitching slightly. "What's wrong?" he asked, blinking through the last traces of revelry. "Why are you back so soon? I thought we wouldn't see you for another two years."
For a moment, Kon said nothing. His golden eye darkened as if some inner veil had been drawn over it, and he cast a glance to Trevor.
Trevor gave a small nod—silent approval, or perhaps permission.
Kon turned back to Adam and drew a slow, steady breath. "Things have changed," he said simply, his tone quiet but heavy, as though he carried something he couldn't yet set down.
Adam tilted his head, his drunken haze thinning. His instincts—always keen beneath the cheer—stirred. "Changed how?"
Kon stepped forward, his voice low and deliberate. "I'm calling an emergency Narn Lords Summit."
Those words rang out like a sudden tolling bell. The warmth of the evening seemed to retreat with them, the crowd's murmur falling to a hush. Even the last flute note from a distant corner stuttered and died.
Adam blinked, his expression sobering immediately. "A summit? Now? But it's barely been a year since the last one."
"This isn't a decision I made lightly," Kon replied, his voice flat now—measured, authoritative. "But it's necessary."
Adam's eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but in calculation. "An emergency summit can only be called for matters of the utmost importance. If we're gathering at the Hall before the annual meeting, it must mean—"
Kon raised a hand, halting the thought with a single gesture. "All will be made clear at the summit. Until then, prepare yourself. It's time we stopped wasting time."
There was a long pause, thick with questions neither dared ask aloud.
Adam's gaze searched Kon's face—his old friend, his rival, his commander in all but name—and found something there. Not fear. Not doubt. But urgency wrapped in sorrow. And that was enough.
"Alright," Adam said softly. "I trust you, Kon."
Kon gave no reply. But for a moment, the stiffness in his posture softened, just slightly.