The smell of wood smoke woke Nina.
She cracked one eye open to see her brother Nebo crouched by the fire pit, stoking the embers to life. The tent was still dim—dawn couldn't have broken long ago. He always woke before her. She'd stopped questioning it.
She was about to roll over and burrow back into her bedroll when he spoke.
"Stay awake. We have chores."
He didn't even look at her.
"Noooo..." Nina pulled the blanket over her head. "I'm tired. Let me sleep."
"I did let you sleep. Now it's time to work."
She hated his version of "letting her sleep"—maybe a quarter hour past whenever he'd woken. And all because of the tribe's stupid rule: *Work for a better tribe.* Simple. Followed by everyone, even kids.
She hated it.
"We don't even do much," Nina mumbled from under the blanket. "We just watch the adults. What does it matter?"
It was true. Children didn't work—they watched and learned so they could find their place when they grew up. Find their way to make the tribe stronger.
"Nina." Nebo's voice was flat. Final. "You know how things work."
Always so serious. She peeked out at him—her brother, only a year older, yet he acted like he was already an adult. It bothered her. Why didn't he ever get bored? Why didn't he want to play?
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Their home was simple: a canvas tent, a fire pit, bedrolls, and a single chest for their belongings. The tribe lived light, moving with the land rather than against it.
Nina had heard stories about people who chose differently—city folk with permanent homes, walls, roofs that didn't flap in the wind. She'd never seen a city herself, only heard the tales. Part of her wanted to. It sounded fun, exotic. Different.
They ate a small breakfast of berries and warm milk heated over the fire. The adults would make a proper meal later, something more substantial. For now, this was enough.
Nina dressed reluctantly in her simple robe—the same plain style Nebo wore. They were foxkin, both of them. Humanoid enough, but with the features that marked them as beastkin: pointed ears, bushy tails, something wild in their blood.
She'd heard stories about the old wars. How humans and beastkin had fought because beastkin looked like monsters. But when Nina looked at her brother, she didn't see a monster. She saw Nebo—serious face, red hair like hers, cute pointed ears, and a tail that swished when he was thinking.
Why would anyone think he was a monster?
The thought made her emotional. Grateful, maybe. She lunged forward and threw her arms around him in a sudden hug.
Nebo pushed her away. "Stop. We need to see the elder, not play."
The rejection stung.
He was always like this. Always distant. She could never get close, no matter how hard she tried. It made her feel wrong somehow—like she was broken, just waiting for someone to love her back.
They left the tent shortly after, Nina's mood considerably dimmer.
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The tribe camped on open plains—vast grasslands that stretched to the horizon in every direction. Many tribes wandered these plains, shifting locations every few weeks or months. Nina wasn't entirely sure why they moved so often. She'd heard rumors it had something to do with dungeons, but no one had explained it to her yet.
Nebo led the way through the camp. Adults moved around them, busy with their morning tasks—cooking, mending, preparing for the day. Most ignored the children. That was normal.
What excited Nina was the variety. The camp was a mix of races, all living together. Bearkin with their massive frames. Catkin moving with fluid grace. Wolfkin with sharp eyes and sharper instincts. Even a few humans!
Humans were rare in the tribes, and Nina always tried to sneak closer when she spotted them. They fascinated her. They looked almost like beastkin, just... less. No tails. Smaller ears—rounded instead of pointed. Sometimes their skin was darker, which Nina liked. It reminded her of the darker furs some beastkin had.
Beyond that? They seemed the same as everyone else.
She didn't understand why wars had been fought over such small differences. Maybe humans had been jealous of tails? It seemed silly, but also a little scary to think people could hate each other over something so small.
The elder's tent wasn't far—she always set up in the middle of camp. They gathered there twice a day: once for the day's instructions, and again in the evening for lessons or stories.
Nina didn't mind the stories. The rules, though? Those she could do without.
She reached for Nebo's hand as they approached, seeking comfort.
He shook her off and ducked into the tent without waiting.
Nina followed, deflated.
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The elder's tent was larger than most—spacious enough to fit twenty people if needed. A fire pit sat in the center, much like the one in their own tent, but the walls were lined with bundles of dried herbs and woven charms. They smelled pleasant, earthy and sweet, and added an air of mystery to the space.
The elder was speaking with a bearkin when they entered. She glanced up and acknowledged them with a nod, but continued her conversation.
Nina's eyes wandered, taking in every detail. Nebo stood still, focused and patient, waiting for instructions.
The elder observed them both with quiet amusement. The brother was stern, disciplined—a perfect example of what the tribe valued. Strength. Purpose. A desire to make the tribe better. His sister was the opposite: carefree, affectionate, and just a bit selfish in the way children often are.
Both were young. Seven years old, if the elder remembered correctly. Their parents had died in a monster hunt two years ago—died saving others. The tribe had sung their praises for months afterward, honoring their sacrifice. But as with all things, time moved on. Grief faded. Life returned to normal.
The children had lived most of their lives without parents now.
"See that the task is done, please," the elder said, dismissing the bearkin. He bowed respectfully and left.
Nina watched him go with wide-eyed curiosity. Nebo didn't even glance—his attention was already on the elder, waiting for whatever task she'd assign them.
The elder smiled and beckoned them closer.
Nina, feeling emboldened by the smile, blurted out the question that had been bothering her. "How come we always have to meet just to talk?"
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"Nina!" Nebo's voice was sharp with embarrassment.
The elder waved him down. "It's a good question, actually." She turned her attention to Nina. "We meet twice a day to form bonds and maintain our way of life. The morning meetings ensure adults have their tasks and purpose. The evening meetings teach the young and strengthen our community."
Nina stared at her for a moment, processing. Then another question bubbled up. "Why can't we just do our own thing?"
Nebo tensed. Nina saw his reaction and wilted, suddenly worried she'd said something wrong.
"Another good question," the elder said gently, trying to ease the tension. Nebo was still visibly annoyed, but Nina perked up, reassured she wasn't being stupid.
The elder looked at Nebo. "You're older, so you understand more. But be patient with your sister. She's trying to learn."
"Okay," Nebo muttered. He didn't really mind correcting Nina—he just wished she'd grow up faster.
The elder returned her attention to both of them. "We meet because everyone must gather and learn how to best serve the tribe. That's why we teach you children while you're young—so you can find your place. And adults? They find their place among the various tribes, learning what's needed, where they can help." She paused, letting the words sink in. "It's like our motto says."
"For the tribe," Nebo said immediately, his voice full of pride.
"For... the tribe," Nina echoed, though her voice lacked the same conviction.
The elder noted the difference but said nothing.
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The elder's expression brightened. They were learning—slowly, perhaps, but learning nonetheless. "You're in for a treat today! We're gathering all children aged seven to ten for testing."
"For what?" Nina asked.
"Magic," Nebo blurted out before the elder could answer. He looked momentarily ashamed for interrupting, but the elder simply smiled.
"Yes, magic. The test will reveal what blessings the gods have given you. The stronger your gift, the more you'll be valued."
Nina didn't see what was so special about magic. She just wanted to play. But curiosity got the better of her. "What if you don't have magic? Like we don't now?"
The question hit harder than she'd expected.
The elder's expression shifted—something pained flickering across her face. Both children noticed immediately. It made them uncomfortable. The elder was always certain, always composed. Seeing her hesitate felt wrong, like the world had tilted slightly.
The elder saw their discomfort and tried to ease it, but this was a difficult truth to share.
She sighed. "There's no easy answer to that."
"Right now, you're both blank canvases. Full of potential. But if you stay blank—if the gods don't bless you with magic..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "It's frowned upon. Our tribe won't abandon you. We don't turn away those who contribute in other ways. But other tribes..."
Another pause.
"The wolfkin, for example. They value magic above nearly everything else. To them, it's the ultimate gift from the gods. We honor magic too—of course we do. It *is* a gift. But we don't abandon people who lack it, so long as they give to the tribe in other ways." She gestured around them. "It's why we have so many different races here. All are welcome."
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Nina thought about that for a moment. Then her eyes widened. "There are different tribes?"
"Goodness, yes! Hundreds of them, scattered across the world."
Nina's jaw dropped. "So many! I could have a lot of friends then!"
Her brother frowned but said nothing. The elder chuckled at Nina's enthusiasm.
"Indeed you could. But most tribes are much farther away than just this plain. We stay close to the city, trade with them, help them. Other tribes—the more rigid ones—prefer to stay far from human settlements."
"Why?" Nina asked, her curiosity endless.
The elder's smile faded slightly. Another difficult topic. "They don't trust humans. Especially humans with no magic. They believe the gods have abandoned those without power, so they abandon them too." She paused. "But those born with strong magic? To them, that's proof of divine favor. They show such people great respect. Even reverence."
Nina didn't fully understand, but she nodded like she did.
The elder gave them instructions for later—where to meet, when the testing would begin. They thanked her and left.
The rest of the morning was theirs until the test.
Nina tried to convince Nebo to play with her, but he brushed her off. Instead, he followed various adults around camp, watching them work, asking questions, absorbing everything he could.
Nina wandered alone, feeling small and unwanted.
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"I like your ears."
Nina jumped at the sudden voice. She spun around to find a young catkin standing right behind her, swishing her tail and staring directly into Nina's eyes.
The girl had striking blue eyes and pure white hair that seemed to glow in the sunlight. Her ears were small and pointed—more delicate than Nina's—and her tail was long and slim, moving with a mind of its own. She wore a simple dress similar to Nina's.
"Thanks!" Nina's mood lifted instantly. "I like your tail! It's so long!"
The catkin giggled and swished her tail right at Nina's face.
Nina laughed and retaliated, swishing her own tail back. Hers was shorter but bushier, and it caught the girl's whole face in one fluffy sweep. The touch was gentle, playful—no malice in it.
Both girls dissolved into giggles, taking turns swatting at each other with their tails while trying to dodge incoming attacks. They spun and darted around each other, tails flying.
A few adults noticed the game but simply smiled and walked on, letting the children play.
Eventually, both girls wore themselves out and collapsed on the ground, breathless and grinning.
"My name is Teva," the catkin said between pants. "What's yours?"
Nina felt something warm bloom in her chest. A friend. She finally had a friend.
"NINA!" she announced proudly, maybe a bit too loud. "I have a brother too—Nebo. But he doesn't like to play."
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Teva nodded thoughtfully and glanced around. "Wait here a second."
She darted off between the tents before Nina could respond.
Nina's heart sank. Had she said something wrong? Was Teva leaving? The familiar feeling of loneliness crept back in, cold and unwelcome.
But moments later, Teva reappeared, clutching a small cloth bundle.
"Here!" She unwrapped it to reveal several small chocolate sticks. She offered them to Nina with a grin.
Nina's eyes went wide. She took a few eagerly. "Thank you!"
"We bought them in the city. Have you had them before?"
Nina nodded, savoring the sweet taste. "The elder gives them to us once a week. But only if we don't cause trouble."
They sat together in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the rare treat. Then curiosity got the better of Nina. "What brought you here? I don't remember seeing you before."
"My aunt," Teva said. "She's the one doing the magic tests. She usually stays in a village far away and works there, but she visits different tribes to test the kids. To help them, you know? When I grow up, I'm going to live in that village too."
"Really?" Nina perked up. "Maybe I could come too!"
"Maybe," Teva said, swishing her tail absently as she focused on her chocolate. "I have to go help her now, but this was fun! Let's do it again sometime."
She stood and brushed off her dress. "Maybe we'll see each other at the test?"
"Okay! Thanks for the treat!" Nina waved as Teva waved back and dashed off into the camp.
Nina watched her go, still tasting chocolate and feeling lighter than she had all morning.
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Nina eventually found Nebo watching a group of adults repair tent stakes. She tried to tell him about Teva and the chocolate and how much fun she'd had, but he cut her off.
"We need to find where we're supposed to go for the test."
Even after they found the spot—an open area to the far left of their tent, just past the meal area—he still showed no interest in hearing about her new friend.
Nina's good mood deflated like a punctured waterskin.
But then that voice returned, bright and welcome.
"You made it!"
Nina's face lit up. Teva was jogging toward them, just as happy to see her.
"Yeah! This is my brother, Nebo!"
Nebo gave a brief nod but otherwise showed no interest. Teva noticed his indifference immediately and decided not to push. Instead, she focused on Nina.
"I had to help my aunt get here safely and set up for the test."
Nina glanced around. She saw maybe fifteen children milling about and a handful of adults watching them, but no obvious testing area. "Um... there's nothing here?"
Teva laughed. "No, silly! The test is done in the open. Well, normally it's done inside a church, but for tribes like ours, they do it outside. That way kids have room to use magic if they want. In towns and cities it's different—everything happens indoors."
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Teva grabbed Nina's hand and tugged her forward. "Come on!"
Nina glanced back at Nebo, hoping he'd follow, but he made no move to join them. He didn't even seem to care. She'd have to accept that he'd find his own way.
Teva wove effortlessly through the gathering crowd—dodging chattering children and watchful adults—until they reached the very front. Nina noticed that no one ventured past this invisible line. Beyond it, several adults were setting up a makeshift canopy: just a cloth roof supported by poles, with a small blanket spread beneath it in the shade.
A woman in flowing robes approached and settled onto the blanket with practiced grace.
"Is that your aunt?" Nina whispered.
Teva nodded, her smile widening. "Yeah. She prefers the shade—it's why she likes working in the church. But she makes the trip out to the tribes at least once a year to test the children. That's why the age range is so big. She catches everyone between visits."
Nina nodded, stomach fluttering with nerves. Being at the front made her feel exposed, visible. But having Teva beside her made it bearable.
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Once settled, the aunt noticed them in the front row. She leaned toward a nearby adult and whispered something.
What followed was organized chaos—adults moving through the crowd, dividing children into groups. Nina wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow she and Teva ended up at the front of one of those groups.
They were called forward first.
Up close, Nina could see the aunt wore a dark veil that completely covered her eyes. Below it, a black tail swayed gently behind her.
Nina blurted out the question before she could stop herself. "Are you blind?"
Teva burst into giggles. The aunt smiled beneath her veil, clearly amused rather than offended.
"No, child. I can see just fine." Her voice was warm, patient. "But I find it easier to use my power when I hide my eyes."
Nina tilted her head, confused. The aunt noticed.
She gestured to a nearby adult, who leaned in close. She whispered something. He nodded and stepped back, then raised his voice so all the children could hear.
"The Seer is not blind! She uses darkness magic to see your magic. Hiding her eyes helps her focus. If she seems to rush you, don't take it personally—she has many more tribes to visit this week."
Nina felt her face heat with embarrassment. She'd made the Seer explain herself to everyone.
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Nina stared at the ground, cheeks burning.
"I would have told him to say that anyway," the Seer said gently, breaking through Nina's embarrassment. "It's a common question."
Nina looked up just in time to see the Seer lift her veil briefly. Beneath it, she had black hair and kind brown eyes—warm like earth or soft leather. Then the veil dropped back into place.
"I am quite busy, though, so let's begin. Shall we?"
"Okay, Auntie!" Teva scooted forward eagerly and sat cross-legged in front of the Seer before Nina could even move.
The Seer's voice held a hint of amusement. "My niece first, then? How surprising."
Nina watched, fascinated and nervous. How did this even work?
Then she saw it—eyes appearing in the fabric of the veil. Not the Seer's real eyes, but something else. Dark eyes, made of shadow and magic, staring at Teva with an intensity that made Nina's breath catch.
Teva seemed unbothered.
After a long moment, those phantom eyes turned toward Nina. She froze, pinned under their gaze. Then they faded away like smoke.
The Seer rubbed at her eyes beneath the veil, looking slightly drained. When she spoke, her voice was measured but warm.
"You are both blessed. Teva, my dear, you have level three water magic. Be proud—that is a strong gift from the gods."
Teva let out an excited squeal and bounced a little.
"And Nina..." The Seer paused. "Not to diminish your gift, Teva, but Nina has something rarer. Level four earth magic." She turned her veiled face toward Nina. "Make sure you inform the elder. That level of blessing is exceptionally rare."
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Teva's excitement dimmed. Nina's stomach twisted with guilt.
"Sorry," Nina said quickly. She didn't even care about magic—she just wanted a friend.
"It's okay." Teva's smile returned, though smaller than before. "The gods blessed me with strong magic. Level three is good. It's enough."
Relief flooded through Nina. She wasn't going to lose her friend over this.
The Seer's voice interrupted the moment. "I have limited time, children. Please make room for the others waiting."
"There are many more to test, and this work is tiring. I'd prefer to finish so I can rest." Her tone was apologetic, not unkind.
Both girls understood. They thanked her and scurried away from the canopy.
They found a spot nearby to play while waiting for the other children to finish. Nina was far happier to be playing than thinking about her test results. Other kids drifted over as they completed their own tests, eager to share.
"Level two fire!"
"Level one wind!"
"Level three earth—same as my sister!"
Most were level one or two. The few who had level three magic carried themselves with visible pride. Nina stayed quiet, not wanting to say hers.
But Teva, caught up in the excitement, blurted it out. "Nina got level four earth!"
The chatter stopped.
The other children went quiet, staring at Nina. Then, one by one, they drifted away, finding excuses to play elsewhere.
Nina stood there, confused and hurt. Why was having more power worse?
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Nebo was one of the last to be tested. When he finally emerged from under the canopy, Nina could tell from his face something was wrong.
"Level one fire," he said flatly when she asked.
Nina's heart sank. She felt awful for him. He seemed indifferent at first, composed as always. Then she told him her result.
His eyes narrowed. "Level four?"
She nodded miserably.
He stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to determine whether she was lying. But there was no joy in her face, no pride. He could see she was telling the truth.
Nina watched him process this. Would it make him even more distant? She wished desperately that she could give her power away, trade it for his, make things fair between them.
But magic didn't work that way.
An adult approached and gestured for them to follow. "Time for lunch."
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The meal was somber.
Nina sat with Teva and Nebo, picking at her food without enthusiasm. Even Teva's presence couldn't lift her spirits. The joy of making a friend felt tainted now, overshadowed by the strange isolation her blessing had created.
Midway through the meal, an adult approached their group.
"You're Nina?" he asked.
She nodded, uncertain.
"The elder wishes to see you after lunch."
Nina's stomach dropped. "Can my brother come?"
"There's no reason he can't. In fact, he'll probably be summoned next anyway."
She looked to Nebo for reassurance, but he was staring at his food, lost in thought. Whatever small appetite she'd had vanished entirely.
"Should we just go now?" Nina asked quietly, desperate to break the oppressive silence.
Nebo shrugged. "Might as well."
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Nina looked toward Teva, who had been unusually quiet throughout the meal. Actually, she'd been distant since leaving the Seer's tent. Or was that just Nina's fear talking?
Teva caught her staring. For a moment, her expression was sad. Then she forced a smile.
"I'm happy for you. Really, I am."
Nina wanted to believe her.
"It's just... I've seen this before. With other kids who got really high levels." Teva's tail had gone still. "I know what happens next."
Nina's chest tightened. "What do you mean?"
"We can't be best friends." The words came out quietly, but they hit like a physical blow. "Not if it's true. Not if they make you an elder."
Nina felt the world tilt. She was losing her friend. Her only friend. The first person who'd wanted to play with her, who'd shared chocolate with her, who'd made her feel less alone.
Before she could respond—before she could beg or argue or promise it would be different—Nebo took her hand.
Nina stared at him in shock. He *hated* holding hands. He always pulled away. But now his grip was firm, almost protective.
Why now? Why, when everything else was falling apart, was he finally reaching for her?
****
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"Are you certain?" the elder asked.
"Yes, elder. Level four earth magic. I tested her twice to be sure."
The elder felt a surge of satisfaction, tempered immediately by concern. This was good news—exceptional news, even. But it complicated matters.
It would be easier to shape a leader if the child had parents to guide her. A mother and father to reinforce the lessons, to provide stability and wisdom at home. But Nina and Nebo were orphans, raised by the tribe collectively.
Still. Magic that rare? That was the gods themselves speaking. They were saying this child should lead. The elder was certain of it.
She could work around the absence of parents. The brother could fill that role, in a way. Nebo was already fiercely loyal to the tribe's motto—*for the tribe*—and he clearly cared for his sister, even if he struggled to show it. He could help guide Nina, keep her grounded.
Yes. This could work.
"Thank you for informing me. Ask them to come see me as soon as they can. They should be finishing lunch now."
The messenger bowed and departed.
The elder sat back, thinking. She'd barely had time to process before the tent flap opened again and both children entered.
They looked small and uncertain, out of place in the elder's space. Worried, perhaps, that they'd done something wrong.
She smiled warmly to reassure them and beckoned them closer. "You're not in trouble, children. Quite the opposite, in fact."
Their posture relaxed slightly. They crossed to sit before her, eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and apprehension.
****
The elder took a breath, choosing her words carefully. "Nina."
The girl flinched slightly, still uncertain.
"You have a very rare gift. We—" She paused, reconsidering. "No. *I* wish for you to take my place as the next elder. When you're grown, of course."
Both children stared at her in shock.
Nina's voice came out small. "Do I have to?"
The elder's heart ached. The child was only seven. This was too much to ask, she knew that. But the gods had blessed Nina for a reason.
Before she could answer, Nebo spoke up, his voice sharp with irritation. "For the tribe. Remember?"
The elder winced internally. The motto—*for the tribe*—was meant to be about love, about giving freely to make everyone stronger. Not servitude. Not obligation forced on a child.
"I will not force you, Nina," she said gently but firmly. "But I want you to think about it. As elder, you would be loved by all. You would help guide the next generation, shape the tribe's future for the better."
She glanced at Nebo, seeing his rigid posture, his fierce loyalty. "And I was thinking... your brother could be your guardian. He would help you lead, advise you, protect you."
Nebo's expression transformed. He straightened, his eyes brightening with purpose.
Nina looked at her brother, then back at the elder. If Nebo would be with her—if she wouldn't be alone in this—maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
"Okay," Nina said quietly. "I'll try."
Pride swelled in the elder's chest. These children were blessed by the gods and now had purpose. They would grow into these roles. It would just take time. Patience. Guidance.
"We'll discuss the details later," she said warmly. "For now, go enjoy the rest of your day. Much has happened, and you deserve some time to simply be children."
****
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Teva hurried through the camp toward her aunt's tent. The Seer would be leaving soon for the next tribe, and Teva needed to talk to her before she left.
The tent wasn't far. Teva wove between groups of adults with practiced ease—not that any would stop her, but sneaking around was more fun than walking normally.
When she reached the tent, she paused at the entrance and peeked inside.
Her aunt was there, veil removed, packing her belongings into a worn travel trunk. She still wore the same dark robes from the testing. Her black tail swished absently as she worked, moving with a life of its own.
Teva couldn't resist.
She slipped inside silently, crept up behind her aunt, and grabbed her tail with both hands.
The Seer shrieked and whirled around, tail lashing in agitation. Teva dissolved into giggles.
"I got you!"
Her aunt pressed a hand to her chest, trying to compose herself. A blush crept across her face—half embarrassment, half exasperation. "You little monster! You're lucky I don't grab *your* tail and slap your face!"
Teva only laughed harder. Her aunt would never actually hurt her. The Seer rarely even got angry—which made these moments of fluster all the more entertaining.
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Her aunt smoothed her robes and began fixing her hair, trying to regain her dignity. "So why are you really here, you little menace? Besides attempting to frighten me to death?"
She worked at her tail, smoothing the ruffled fur as if nothing had happened.
The deflection sobered Teva. She hadn't come just to play.
"I made a friend," Teva said quietly.
"Is that why you needed to burst in here? To tell me that?" Her aunt didn't look up from her packing. "I have eyes, child. I saw you with her. Lovely girl. Very gifted, too. You chose well—she'll be useful to you later in life, I'm sure."
She returned to her trunk, moving with deliberate focus. The message was clear: she was busy. Time was short. She needed to pack and sleep on the journey to the next tribe.
"We can't stay friends." Teva's voice was small now. "Well... not best friends."
Her aunt's hands stilled.
"Why not, dear? Who told you that?"
"Nobody had to tell me." Teva's throat felt tight. "I remember what happened to Mom."
Her aunt's expression darkened. She turned fully to face Teva. "Your mother made her choice to leave that tribe. Just like I did. And you know that didn't mean she *couldn't* stay friends with the elder—"
"But they're not!" Teva shouted, all her frustration boiling over. "They're not friends anymore! They haven't talked in years!"
"Teva!" Her aunt's voice was sharp, scolding.
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The Seer sighed heavily and rubbed her temples. "Listen. As we grow up, we make choices. We change. We don't always stay the same—that's part of life." She looked at Teva, her expression softer now. "Nobody can force you to be friends or not be friends with someone. That's your choice to make."
"I don't believe you," Teva said, her voice hollow.
The Seer's shoulders sagged. "I love you, dear. You know I do. But it's been an incredibly long day. Can we please save this conversation for another time? When I'm not exhausted and rushed?"
"Whatever."
Teva turned and fled the tent before her aunt could see the tears forming.
Outside, an adult who'd overheard the shouting lingered near the entrance, uncertain. He called in respectfully, "Everything alright in there, Seer?"
The Seer took a moment to compose herself, smoothing her expression into something calm. "Yes, thank you. Just my niece growing up. You know how children can be."
"Just checking. Safe travels."
"Thank you."
She heard his footsteps fade.
Alone again, the Seer stared at the tent entrance where Teva had disappeared. She wanted to help her niece, to ease her fears. But what could she say? Teva wasn't wrong. People *did* grow apart. Positions and power *did* change relationships.
That was life.
She couldn't dwell on it. There were more tribes to visit before she could return to the church. More children to test. More families to navigate.
She turned back to her packing with renewed determination, shoving down the guilt that threatened to surface.
****
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Back in their tent, Nina rummaged through the chest until she found her doll. She settled onto her bedroll, content to play quietly. Nebo retrieved a book and sat by the fire, already absorbed in whatever lessons it contained.
They each stayed in their own world for a while.
Then Nina broke the silence. "Nebo, why don't you like to play anymore?"
It had bothered her for as long as she could remember. He used to play with her when they were smaller. Then one day, he just... stopped.
She looked up from her doll to gauge his reaction.
He was staring at his book, motionless. Had he not heard her?
She was about to ask again when he spoke.
"Do you remember our parents?"
Nina froze.
She sort of did. She remembered a mother with a warm smile and a father with kind eyes. She remembered them leaving for hunts and returning with stories. She remembered feeling loved and safe.
But the memories were faded, dreamlike. Like looking at something through water.
She stared at her doll, unsure how to answer.
"I remember them," Nebo said quietly. "And I remember the last thing they told us before the hunt. Before..." He didn't finish. He didn't need to. "They said, 'No matter what happens, always remember the tribe loves you. And you must love the tribe in return.'"
Nina wasn't sure what to say. She *did* love the tribe. But that didn't explain why Nebo had become so distant, so serious.
"I don't want to be a kid anymore," Nebo continued, his voice harder now. "I don't want to play. I want to help the tribe. That's why I'm always trying to learn, to be useful." He finally looked at her. "You do whatever you want. But stop trying to get me to play. It's annoying."
The words hit like a slap.
"Okay," Nina whispered, tears already blurring her vision.
---
At least now Nina understood why Nebo wanted different things than her. She still loved him. Still wanted to be close to him. But he clearly didn't feel the same way.
And her new friend? After the way the day had ended, Nina wasn't even sure she still had that.
---
Days passed. Then weeks.
Nina felt no different after the magic testing—not really. But everything around her had changed. All the children, blessed or not, received more structured training now: reading, writing, basic crafts. The adults were more organized, more purposeful.
And Nina? The elder had given her freedom to help direct things.
It was surprisingly easy. People came to her with problems, and she mostly just sat and listened. Someone needed more baskets? She'd send someone to weave them. The meal tent was running low on firewood? She'd assign people to gather it. Nobody complained. Everyone seemed eager to help.
But it felt strange. Nobody wanted to play anymore. When work was done, people would gather and celebrate, sure—but it felt forced. Like they were working *to* have fun, rather than fun being its own thing.
Nebo threw himself into learning with frightening intensity. The elder remarked that he could easily become a tutor or adviser someday, given how quickly he absorbed information. Nina overheard him mention wanting to travel, which surprised her—he'd never expressed interest in anything beyond the tribe before. The elder added merchant texts to his studies.
Nina wasn't involved in any of that. She mostly stayed near the elder's tent, listening to adults talk about logistics and supplies.
The few times she did wander off, she managed to play. Most children were too busy now, but Teva still made time for her. That meant everything. At least she still had one friend.
More time blurred past.
The other blessed children practiced their magic eagerly, showing off to each other, competing. Nina avoided it when she could. She didn't like how people looked at her differently now—with expectation, with reverence she hadn't earned. The attention made her want to hide.
Nebo would scold her when he noticed. "You're wasting your gift," he'd say. Even Teva seemed disappointed. "Magic is special, Nina. You should at least try."
But Nina didn't want to be special. She just wanted to be a kid.
So her life settled into an uncomfortable pattern: avoiding magic practice, helping manage the tribe's daily needs because it was easier than arguing, and feeling increasingly isolated despite being surrounded by people who suddenly valued her for something she didn't want.
---
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The gentle rocking of the carriage had lulled the Seer into a dream. In it, she was back at the church—cool stone walls, gray robes, people offering her food with genuine smiles. No harsh sun beating down. No endless parade of children to test.
She'd always felt something was wrong about the world's obsession with magic. *Love the people, not the power,* she often thought. But no one seemed to agree.
**KNOCK KNOCK**
"We're here, Seer. The wolfkin have a testing area prepared. The elder wishes to see you first."
She jerked awake, pulled from the place she wanted to be into the place she dreaded most.
"Thank you," she called back, her voice still thick with sleep. "I need a moment."
She was rested, yes. But irritation crept in immediately. The wolfkin were her last stop before returning home—unless something went wrong. And with them, things often did.
They were the harshest in their judgment. Anyone born with level one magic was frowned upon as weak, barely tolerated. And if a child had no magic at all...
She didn't want to think about it.
The Seer stepped out of the carriage, and the sun immediately assaulted her eyes. She squinted, unsure if it was her natural aversion to brightness or if her darkness magic simply preferred shadow. Either way, it hurt.
She could use her magic to see—blind her physical eyes and perceive the world through darkness instead. But that drew stares. People found it unsettling. And the Seer preferred as little attention as possible.
A wolfkin worker noticed her exit and bowed respectfully. He gestured for her to follow, leading her toward the elder's tent without a word.
The tent was small—much smaller than the one at Nina's tribe.
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The wolfkin tribe believed in need before desire. Minimalism in all things. The tent reflected that philosophy—sparse, functional, with only a few thin cushions to sit on. No decorations. No comfort.
The elder greeted her with a curt nod. The Seer returned it.
The wolfkin elder was a gray-furred woman with sharp, assessing eyes. She spoke bluntly, never wasting words, never negotiating. The only time the Seer had seen the wolfkin show deference was to those with high-level magic. They seemed to worship powerful magic almost as much as they worshipped the gods themselves.
"Good. You're here." The elder gestured for her to sit. "We have several pups we're hopeful about."
Though the words were casual, the Seer flinched internally. She knew what "hopeful" meant. She knew what happened to those who failed to meet expectations.
"You know," the Seer said carefully, "there are other ways to value people. Magic isn't the only—"
"With all due respect, Seer." The elder's voice was ice. "We need your eyes, not your wisdom."
The Seer bit back her response. It would be a losing battle. She'd tried this argument before with the wolfkin. It never worked. And it wouldn't be the last time she'd have to stand by and watch.
The rest of the conversation remained coldly formal. They offered her food—plain fare, quickly consumed. Then she was led to the testing area.
There weren't many children. The Seer counted seven.
The wolfkin "bred for magic," they said. They were selective about who was allowed to have children, who was considered worthy of passing on bloodlines.
Seven children. All that had been born in the years since her last visit.
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When the Seer looked at the children, she didn't see the joy and wonder she'd seen at other tribes. She saw uncertainty. Fear, even. As if they weren't sure they had a place to call home.
She wanted to lie. To tell them all they were blessed, that they'd all be kept. But that would only make things worse when they inevitably failed to manifest magic later. False hope was crueler than harsh truth.
The children stood in a single line. Silent. Waiting.
The Seer positioned herself and lowered her veil. She wasn't happy, but she worked quickly, scanning each child in turn.
"Level two water. Next."
The child's shoulders sagged with relief. They stepped aside.
"Level two wind. Next."
Another one safe.
"Level one earth. Next."
The child's face fell at "level one," but they moved aside without protest. At least they had magic. At least they could stay.
The Seer worked methodically. The children asked no questions, simply accepted their judgment and moved on. She found herself missing the more carefree tribes—even if dealing with joyous, chattering children was exhausting, at least they had hope. At least they felt safe.
She was nearly done. Five tested, all blessed. Maybe this visit would end better than she'd feared.
"Level three fire. Next."
A flicker of pride crossed that child's face.
"Level one water. Next."
Six blessed. Only two remained. It amazed her—perhaps the gods were feeling kind today. Perhaps the wolfkin's selective breeding had actually worked.
Then she looked at the seventh child.
"Level... zero."
The words felt like stones in her mouth.
The child—a young male—stood frozen, as if he'd been struck.
One more. Just one more. Please, she thought, let this last one have something.
She turned her sight to the final child, a young female.
"Level... zero."
No.
Two. Both of the last children. Both with nothing.
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Bitter silence filled the space.
The Seer looked at the two children. They stood frozen, defeated, unsure what to do next. Around them, the other children radiated relief and pride—they belonged, they were valued, they had proven their worth.
These two had proven nothing.
"It's okay," the Seer said gently, trying to offer what comfort she could. "I've handled situations like this before. You have options."
The female wolfkin—small, maybe six years old—looked up at her with desperate hope. "So we can stay?"
The question shattered the Seer's heart. She was grateful for the veil hiding her tears.
"No."
The word came from the male wolfkin—her brother, the Seer realized. Maybe seven or eight. Old enough to understand. "Remember what Mom said? 'Only those with magic are worth keeping.'"
The Seer wanted to scream. She wanted to shake these people, make them see how monstrous that belief was. But children shouldn't have to speak such words. Children shouldn't believe their worth was measured only in power.
Yet the wolfkin were that extreme. Magic was everything. Without it, you were nothing.
"Come on, Ziala," the boy said to his sister. "We'll gather our things and go."
He started to move, but then stopped. Shook his head.
"No. Dad said if we didn't pass, we take nothing. That's what we're worth." His voice was flat, emotionless. "That's what we leave with. Nothing."
Ziala's lip trembled, but she didn't argue.
The Seer clenched her fists beneath her robes. She wanted to stop this cycle, break this cruel tradition the wolfkin perpetuated. But it wasn't her place. She had no authority here. The best she could do was what she always did—rescue the abandoned.
She considered confronting the elder before leaving. Demanding they show mercy, provide supplies, *something*. But it would be pointless. The elder would already know the results. She'd want the "problem" handled quietly, efficiently.
The children removed from sight.
"Come with me," the Seer said softly to the two children. "To my carriage."
She guided them away from the testing area, away from the other children's relieved faces, away from the tribe that had just discarded them like broken tools.
It would be a long ride back.
---
The rocking of the carriage—which had lulled her to sleep on the journey here—now felt different. A reminder. She had children with her now. Children who needed help, needed a place to go, needed someone to care what happened to them.
The Seer didn't want to pity them. That would only make them feel worse. Instead, she decided to simply talk.
"What are your names?"
"Rock," the boy said, staring out at the passing landscape.
"Ziala," the girl said quietly.
The Seer smiled beneath her veil. "My name is Seer."
Both children looked at her, confused.
She gave a small laugh. "It's what everyone started calling me after my eyes could read magic. People asked for 'the Seer' so often that eventually, I just adopted it as my name. Simpler that way."
The children said nothing, still processing.
"What about you, Rock?" the Seer continued gently. "Is there a story behind your name?"
He shrugged, still gazing out at nothing. "Dad wanted a strong son. Named me Rock, hoping the gods would agree and bless me with earth magic." His voice was hollow. "Guess they didn't."
"You're still strong as stone," the Seer said, trying to offer comfort. "Magic or no magic."
Rock said nothing.
The Seer turned to the girl. "And you, Ziala? Is there a story for your name?"
Ziala thought for a moment, her brow furrowing. "I don't think so. Mommy just said it was my name. She said it was pretty."
Silence settled over the carriage after that. The weight of what had happened pressed down on all of them.
Then Ziala's small voice broke through again. "Are you blind? Is that why you wear the veil?"
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The Seer laughed softly, grateful for the innocence of the question. At least there was still some life in these children, some curiosity.
"I'm not blind, no. The veil just helps me focus when I use my magic. Without it, I tend to rely on my regular eyes too much, and it's harder to see people's magic clearly."
Quiet settled over them again. But there was a question the Seer needed to ask.
"Do you want to join a different beastkin tribe? One where everyone is welcome, regardless of magic?"
"No." Rock's answer was immediate and flat.
The Seer blinked in surprise. Ziala remained silent, watching her brother.
"May I ask why not?"
Rock still wouldn't look at her. "I'd prefer something else. If we can choose. If not..." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter."
The Seer understood. He'd lost faith in tribes entirely. The wolfkin's cruelty had poisoned the whole concept for him. Why risk another rejection?
"Well," she said carefully, "there's a church in the city that takes in everyone. No tribe affiliation, no magic requirements. It's closer than my home." She paused. "My own church is in a smaller village, much farther away. It's not as well-equipped as the city church, but if the city doesn't work out, you could come there instead. Or we could find you a welcoming tribe."
She wanted them to understand they had options. They weren't being shuffled to one place and abandoned again.
"I like the city," Ziala said suddenly, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice.
Rock turned to her. "You've never even been to a city."
"I can still like it," Ziala retorted, lifting her chin.
"You don't know what it's—"
"I can still like it!"
The Seer felt a smile tug at her lips despite everything. Their banter was normal, sibling-like. A reminder that they were still just children, not broken beyond repair.
"We'll go to the city, then," the Seer decided. "To the church there. We'll see how you feel about it. If it doesn't work out, we can always find you a tribe or take you to my village instead." She paused. "But I think the city might be good for you both."
The extra traveling would be exhausting. But it was for the children.
And with that, the rest of the journey rolled gently on.426Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxjR1AEe5JS
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