—Aren's Perspective—
Before he arrived, my life was measured in centimeters.
In Zarhama, everything was measured that way:the distance to the nearest shelter,the space between a crack… and the moment a body stopped responding.
To be born human there was to be born in debt.The flesh—to the land.The fear… to the demi-humans.
We didn't have surnames.
Only marks.
My mother used to say the sky was golden because the gods were watching us from above,without intervening.
I believed her.
When the Leontaris cornered me in the red grass, I was already dead.
Not in body.
In decision.
I had stopped looking for a way out.
The smell of their breath—old blood, corrupted mana—was the last thing I thought I would ever know.
And then…
he appeared.
He didn't shout.He didn't run.
He simply stepped into that space…
as if it already belonged to him.
That day, without understanding why, I thought a word I had never used for someone like him:
hero.
His group didn't feel real.
Not because they were beautiful—
but because they didn't fit.
The light they carried didn't hurt.
And he…
was something else.
He didn't impose presence.
He erased everything else.
When the Leontaris stepped back, something inside me broke.
Because if they could feel fear…
then fear wasn't a law.
It was something that could change.
Climbing the mountain felt like learning to breathe again.
In the cave where I grew up, the air had weight.Up here, it's cold… clean.
Selvryn says that's hope.
I don't know what to call it.
I just know it doesn't hurt.
Lusian spoke to me the day we reached the summit.
It wasn't comfort.
It wasn't a promise.
He placed a stone in my hands and pointed to the wall.
"The mountain won't save you, Aren.You're going to hold it. Put it where it's needed."
That was all.
But it was enough.
For the first time, I wasn't something meant to survive.
I was something that could hold.
Now I work the stone.
My hands don't tremble anymore.
My skin has hardened.My back has learned the weight.
Sometimes I watch Kara train,moving that sword like it's always been part of her.
Sometimes I see Selvryn among the roots,touching them carefully.
As if the Tree can feel.
Maybe it can.
One day, I saw my reflection.
It wasn't a clear mirror—just worn, uneven metal.
But it was enough.
The person looking back at me didn't have hollow bones.Didn't have dim eyes.
There was color.There was strength.
It wasn't the kind of beauty from stories.
It was… life.
I stared at myself longer than I should have.
Uncomfortable.
As if I were standing in someone else's place.
And then I thought something that had never existed for me before:
maybe someone could look at me…
and not think about eating me.
The thought embarrassed me.
Then… it stayed.
Sometimes, when Lusian passes nearby, I straighten my back without thinking.
Not so he'll see me.
But because I no longer want to look like something that can disappear.
At night, I look toward the savanna.
It's far away now.
Covered by the mist the Tree leaves behind.
I know they're still there.
Those who hunt.Those who wait.Those who have nothing but hunger.
I know the Lithaar are moving too.
That they want to extinguish what we have here.
But I don't tremble anymore.
I learned something.
Not from words.
From watching him.
The difference isn't in fangs.
It's in staying.
In not moving when everything in you is screaming to run.
Lusian isn't a god.
He isn't a king.
He's the reason tomorrow exists.
And if anyone tries to take that from us…
they're going to discover something we learned up here:
we don't run from the dark anymore.
Now…
we know how to hold it.