Pat'ul made her way through the pines of Oregon. She reached the hunting grounds where her husband and his trackers were supposed to be. A large blackened patch scarred the grass—burned, but not by anything natural. Stone spikes jutted from the earth, twisting upward like a jagged sculpture.
Arson? she wondered. But why is the ground misshapen like this?
A cold knot formed in her stomach. What she'd hoped was just a delay now looked far worse. She'd seen scenes like this before—men who could shoot fire from their hands, bend stone beneath their feet.
"Will Manea…" she whispered, raising her bow.
She followed the trail of destruction with careful, silent steps. Her breaths were steady, measured, taught by years of Oldlander discipline...or perhaps learned elsewhere.
Trees lay splintered, forced apart in a narrow corridor—as if a storm had carved straight through them. At the end of the path, she spotted a camp: large, loud, and careless. Men shouted drunken songs, their words slurred with ale.
"Hassengaar drunkards," Pat'ul hissed.
She crept closer, hoping—praying—to find any of the hunting party alive.
In the center of camp lay four massive bears, their bodies riddled with holes as wide as burrows. Around them, men with her tribe's tattoos were forced to skin the beasts while the drunken Hassengaar soldiers howled with laughter and drank themselves further numb.
They've enslaved them? Her fury ignited, burning hot enough to shake her hands.If they laid a single finger on you, Joseph…
Her eyes stung, but she refused to let the tears fall.
No. You're stronger than that.
She drew her bow, steadying her arrow at the head of the tallest soldier—a towering man, nearly seven feet, the loudest and merriest of the bunch.
She pulled the string back but before she let go…
Her feet left the ground.
A man picked her up from behind with one hand.
"What you think yer' doin' little lady" the man said, a grin on his face.
She immediately rolled out of his grip, and went for her knife, lunging the sharp end toward him. The dagger blade bent mid swing, turning away from him almost as if he warped the metal with just a glance.
Of course, she thought metal is earth.
"Yer' a fierce one eh" he said before he swiftly threw a punch.
She dodged and his fist hit the tree behind her causing it to explode. Her heart was racing, she knew one wrong move would be her end. She pulled out two more daggers and stuck them deep in his feet. The crunch of bone, confirming the damage.
"Forn it!" the man cried before stomping his boot, just then a chunk of dirt formed under Pat'ul launching her into mid-air where the man thrust his boot into her chest.
"Gah!" she cried as she heard the sound of cracking. The pain of broken ribs sent her unconscious.
She woke to the taste of metal instantly recognizing it.
Alleviation potion?
She tried to grab her stomach and brace for the pain—but her arms wouldn't move.
Snap.
"Forn it!" she screamed, fists digging into the dirt as her broken bones snapped back into place like pieces of a throbbing puzzle. She lay trembling on the ground, eyes squeezed shut, not ready to face whatever came next.
"Pat'ul? Are you okay?" a familiar voice called from the darkness.
"Joseph?" she groaned, still clutching her ribs.
"Yes, Pat, it's me," he said, voice thick with worry. "What are you doing here?"
Pat'ul finally forced her eyes open. All she saw at first was cloth above her—then Joseph's face, his eyes wide and pleading.
"I… to… come… aid," she slurred.
Joseph tightened his grip on her hand. "You're not making any sense." He eased back her robes, checking her injury with careful, trembling fingers. "These moonie potions better work," he muttered, gently pressing around the wound.
As her mind cleared, Pat'ul lifted her hand to his cheek. She hadn't realized how much she missed him until this moment. Her gaze drifted across his skin—deep brown, rich as chocolate.
"Your skin… my favorite chocolate," she whispered as her fingers slid into his hair, dark as night and textured like wool.
Joseph's face fell. "Pat'ul… you're scaring me. Say something that makes sense."
The potion finally surged through her head, untangling the mush in her thoughts. She grimaced at the discomfort—and then froze, cheeks burning as she realized what she'd said.
Her instincts kicked in.
"How many of them are there?" she snapped, eyes darting to the corner where her bow lay. "Why would they leave my bow?"
Joseph exhaled sharply, half-relieved. "There she is."
He helped her sit up carefully. Pat'ul stood, still shaky, grabbed her bow, and nocked an arrow out of pure survival instinct.
"What are you doing?" Joseph asked, hovering beside her.
"Freeing us."
"Freeing us?" he repeated.
"Yes! These men—they're—"
"From the moon," Joseph interrupted. "I know. The Elder sent us here to help them hunt. For some Korral, I think. I'm not sure." He rubbed his temples; she could see the exhaustion clouding his eyes. He'd been gone for days.
"So you're working with them?" she snapped. "And I'm just now hearing about this?"
"I was going to tell you, Pat! But it was the Elder's orders. She said you'd fight against it—"
"I would've," Pat'ul admitted, annoyed.
"—and we were deployed immediately," he finished.
Pat'ul's brow furrowed. "That doesn't make any sense. The Elder is the one who sent me here."
"She did?" Joseph asked, confusion washing over his face.
Pat'ul's entire body went cold.
"Ugh—I knew not to trust her. And now I've left her there with Luna!" Panic surged in her voice. "We need to go back home. Now."
"Right, we'll head back now… just let me do the talking, Pat. You gave these moonies quite the scare."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I have no words to waste on Pechon's."
Joseph gave a faint smile as they stepped out of the tent.
The entire camp turned toward them the moment they emerged. Dozens of Hassengaar men paused mid-drink, mid-song, mid-breath. Pat'ul scanned the group until her gaze landed on the man she'd injured—not hard to find. He sat on a log with both feet bandaged and blood seeping through the cloth.
Good. I left him a souvenir, she thought, unable to stop a small grin from curling at her lips.
The man caught it. His scowl deepened.
"The others returned to your camp while you tended to your woman," a tall man said, approaching them with a booming voice. "And quite the woman she is—hurt old Hagriid there."
"Yes, she is," Joseph agreed. "And thank you for the potion. I don't know if she would've made it otherwise."
"She wouldn't 'ave," Hagriid spat, bitter.
"Calm it, Hagriid," the tall man chuckled. "You've new scars to present to Orullo. You should be thankin' this Earthborn."
Hagriid grunted and returned to his tankard.
The tall man reached into his coat, pulled out a small sack of Korral shards, and pressed it into Joseph's hands.
"Your pay for the four bears. Your friends requested I give 'em your share" he grunted, "Get better friends,"
Joseph's brow furrowed.
"That said it's been an honor to hunt with you, lad." He then turned to Pat'ul, eyes bright with amusement. "And you, miss—you gave me a right laugh, the way you handled Hagriid. May I 'ave your name, so I can pass this tale on to me spawn?"
Pat'ul's glare was enough to quiet an entire battlefield.
"My name is not important. As my husband said, we must go. So if there is nothing else, let us leave."
"Right then," the tall man said, stepping aside. "Hope we cross paths again. Until then—Orullo be with you."
"And Moedunn with you," Pat'ul returned sharply.
She grabbed Joseph's hand and pulled him away, disappearing with him into the dark line of trees.
The tall man watched them go, brow furrowing. He turned to Hagriid, whose head was buried in his drink.
"I don't think she was from 'ere," he murmured.
Hagriid snorted without looking up. "No. I reckon she's a Akrinnite… like us."
Pat'ul and Joseph finally returned to Astoria. Nearly an entire day had passed since she'd left.
They hurried through the grime of the town toward their campsite—both moving fast, both hoping, both terrified of what they might find.
When they reached the edge of town, they stopped.
The camp was gone.
Nothing remained but patches of disturbed earth where the tents had once stood, and a lone campfire clawing at life—its last ember flickering weakly in the ash.
Pat'ul spotted something in the dirt. It was Luna's horn, muddled and scratched.
"No…" Pat'ul's voice cracked. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed into the dirt.
Joseph's breath hitched. He spun in frantic circles, searching—hoping—for any sign of their people. But his voice betrayed where his heart truly lived.
"Luna!" he shouted. "Luna! Where are you? Luna!"
Each cry scraped his throat raw, each one more desperate than the last.
"Martin? Anyone?!"
Their panic drew the attention of Astoria's scavvers. A few glanced over; others stared from a distance. But none approached. Helping wasn't their way. Survival came first. Someone else's tragedy was just background noise. Though a man cloaked in shadow watched, closer than the others.
Joseph dropped to his knees beside Pat'ul, wrapping his arms around her as she cried, his own tears threatening to break free.
"This… doesn't make any sense," he whispered. "Why would they leave us?"
"Because they can!" Pat'ul snapped, her grief boiling into fury. "We joined them four months ago—four! They were strangers! I told you we shouldn't have trusted them!"
"No—no. Martin's gone too." Joseph shook his head, scanning the ground for anything, any clue. "Something isn't adding up."
But Pat'ul couldn't hear him. Not past the roaring of her own terror.
Her nails dug into the earth. Her breathing trembled. Her heart pounded with a single, burning certainty.
I will find them. I will find my moon. And I will kill whoever took her from me.
The man emerged from the shadows, cloaked head to toe. Only his cybernetic arm was visible—glowing like a lighthouse through the gloom, clicking and whirring with every small movement like factory gears grinding together.
His voice came out rough, grated, like sandpaper on bone.
"I know where yer' people went."
Joseph's eyes snapped toward him, suspicion sharpening instantly.
The man lifted his metal arm, the light running through its veins pulsing as he pointed directly at Joseph's purse.
"An' I'll help yer' find 'em…" A slow grin split across his face, yellow, uneven teeth flashing under the hood.
"…for the right bit o' Korral, that is."
It wasn't a comforting smile.
It wasn't honest.
But in a moment where everything else felt hopeless—
It was the only lead they had.