Each of us is Human, and we must remember that
Each of us is a fragment of Strength for the Defenders of Humanity
As long as we live, there is still hope for the Human Race
So do not perish in vain, brothers and sisters, snuffing out our shared Hope…
"Book of Hope"
Verse XX
The forest folk village of Quiet Coolness
The settlement had been buzzing with unusual activity for hours. Dukuna sensed the trail's activation long before the guests arrived.
The border guard squad had set out to the meeting point well in advance—a routine that had spared the villagers plenty of trouble over the years.
They knew their worth to the local bandit leaders and leveraged it well. Guiders were born everywhere, but only in the forest depths had people mastered the gift properly.
Self-taught ones popped up too, but they died fast—exiting trails in the wrong spots or misjudging their strength. Sometimes, nearby villagers brought the gifted to known trail gates and left them to wait. Better that than handing them to Raiders.
Bandits treated such Guiders like disposable tools, burning them out alongside meager hauls.
The forest folk charged no tolls for passage through their land. Payment came in kind words and good faith—neutrality with the gangs and heads-ups about travel schedules. No one wanted an arrow in the eye from the brush or to lose their cargo.
Today's trail activation was sudden—and thus dangerous. The path's bindings quivered, signaling Dukuna of a large group. Ditrass took every free man and left.
Later, the old woman felt a second gate activation—strange, painful, like the barrier resisted the Guider, who forced through anyway.
The seasoned woman knew it was a bad omen and sent one of her helper boys to Ditrass. The warriors needed warning of the threat. A Nameless could bring disaster.
Only the Masters' monstrosities could brute-force their way into the tribe's hidden lands. The last visit, five winters back, cost the village five warriors. That outsider tried storming in for forbidden trail knowledge.
The dukunas had guarded that wisdom for generations—teaching young Guiders to wield their power, live in harmony with nature, and use its gifts, not raze everything in their path.
If that knowledge leaked out, bandits would swarm this sacred ground, defiling the past's remnants and stripping the last hope for the future—all to please the Masters and stroke their egos.
The woman gently brushed the gleaming side of the forest folk's relic. The silver orb sat in her home's corner, waking only in danger—alerting to approaching foes and trail activations.
It also aided in training young Guiders. Each novice, hitting their limit, came to Dukuna for help. She'd perform the awakening ritual, unlocking hidden paths and control over their power. No pupil of hers had ever died on a trail because of it.
Losing this relic would end the village. Raiders would flood the forest, destroying everything—the settlement, its people, and the scraps of hope left.
"Dukuna!" A scruffy boy burst into the hut. "Dukuna!"
"Don't holler, Yerma," she grumbled, annoyed. "Something happen?"
"You bet it did, Granny Valya!" he blurted. "Outsiders came—whole village worth! Never seen so many spill off a trail at once! Their leader nearly killed Ditrass—pounced like a beast, pounding him! Took all the chief's skill to wriggle free. Big stuff!"
The kid dumped it all in one breath—a special talent of Yerma's. Some swore he could spit three speeches in a minute.
"And Ditrass?" Dukuna chewed her lip, asking. She'd long adapted to her aide's chatter—though without his knack, she'd have booted him ages ago. His tongue ran from here to the forest's edge.
"Ditrass jumped up! Yelled loud!" Yerma shot back. "The folks on the clearing, from another village, were odd. Their elder knew Grandpa Fox. Our guys grabbed bows, but the outsider stood tall, said, 'We're not enemies!' A girl's with them too—elder from that western trail village said Fox left her per some old deal. She's out of it, though—carried the whole way."
"Should've started with that!" Dukuna sighed, smacking his forehead with a bony hand. "Lead on, you pest! Where'd they go?"
"They're right here, Granny Valya!" Yerma rubbed his bruised brow, sulking. "That's what I'm saying! Their head wants to talk—get the girl back on her feet."
Dukuna tuned out the rest, stepping outside and shutting the door tight—the only way to ditch the motormouth.
A crowd of strangers loomed outdoors—plain folk, no spark of the gift. Names glowed over their heads, but even monsters had those.
"Who's in charge?" she barked. The crowd shoved forward a gray-haired old man with a fawning look—a familiar one. "Nox? That you, you old gossip?"
"It's me, esteemed Valentina," he replied quick.
"Couldn't talk your way out of Wolf's Raiders?" she smirked. "Not like you…"
"No time for talk, esteemed one," Nox winced. "Trouble hit us out of nowhere. Took in a stranger—curse him."
Dukuna pressed forward. Despite her frail frame, the crowd parted fast—some even fell.
"Look what you've done to the girl…" Kneeling by Doe, Valentina shook her head, scolding.
"Not our fault!" Nox protested, but she waved him off.
"Far as I recall, you're never at fault," she muttered. "How long ago? How much time's passed?"
"She tried opening the trail gate," he offered eagerly. "Couldn't handle it."
"Seen your mob?" Dukuna snapped. "Miracle you made it at all. Who opened the gate?"
"The stranger," a village warrior cut in. "With the Masters' glow."
"Bring her inside," she ordered curtly. "I'll help however I can."
Two warriors hauled Doe's stretcher into the hut. Dukuna followed. Nox stepped forward—door slammed in his face.
"Set her here," Valentina pointed near the relic. "They took the stranger to the mountain?"
"Yes, Dukuna," a border guard nodded. "Ditrass led him himself—after they hashed it out."
"Heard what they said?" she asked, pouring a healing brew into a bowl.
"That they're not enemies," he replied briefly. "And to shelter the villagers. The stranger asked us to watch the girl—said she overdid it."
"He's right," Valentina nodded, placing the brew in a relic groove to warm. "How she didn't burn out's a wonder. What's the Nameless like?"
"Took Ditrass captive," the fighter said glumly, like it was his fault. "Warrior like few others. Good thing it ended peaceably. Our guys headed to the mountain watchpost—maybe they'll handle that demon without losses…"
Dukuna nodded silently, lifted the warmed brew, and gently raised Doe's head.
"Drink, daughter," she pried the girl's teeth apart, speaking softly. "It'll burn inside, but there's no other way."
The potion hit Doe's mouth. Her throat spasmed, then she erupted in a wild coughing fit.
"Water! Give me water!!!" she rasped, eyes barely open.
"Bear it, dear," Dukuna soothed. "It'll pass soon."
"Where's Achilles?" Doe shifted to bigger questions. "Who are you?"
"Out," Valentina waved imperiously. The warriors filed out. "We'll chat. Where were you leading them?"
"To the forests," Doe replied. "Through the trail to calm lands."
"And you did," Valentina smiled, easing some queries.
"Where's Achilles?" Doe pressed again.
"Your betrothed?" Valentina teased. "Waiting outside with the rest, I'd guess."
"Not my betrothed," Doe flushed instantly. "He's a stranger—dragged to our village half-dead days ago."
"A Nameless?" Dukuna raised a brow, surprised.
"Him," Doe said quietly.
"Why fret over him?" Valentina leaned in, curious. "A stranger's a stranger. Caught your eye?"
"He's different," Doe said shyly. "Not like our folk… Strong. Proud…"
"Nox said you had to flee because of him."
"True," Doe sighed. "Wolf's Raiders came for tribute—off-schedule, just because. Wanted fun too… Achilles was barely alive but stood up for me. Killed one bandit—seemed to perk him up. Then two more…"
"And he got better again?" Dukuna paled instantly.
"Like a second wind," Doe said honestly. "Pre-fight, he could hardly walk—post-fight, nearly danced."
Valentina swayed, sliding down the wall to a stool. She felt ill but kept probing.
"Where'd they find him, you know?"
"Near Bald Mountain," Doe said simply. "Shaking and booming hit the night before, so the men checked it out. Found him there, half-dead—skinny, but all knotted muscle…"
"Knotted," Dukuna echoed. "Came from the mountain in thunder and lightning, fought for what's right on death's edge. Yerma!!!"
Her shout jolted Doe. The door crashed open—Yerma, flanked by two sword-wielding warriors.
"Run to the watchpost," Valentina barked, scrambling to gather gear. "Fast as you can. Tell Ditrass to bring the Nameless back—if he's alive. If he's dead, drag the body down. We might revive him. I'll follow quick as I can. And…" she paused, thinking, "tell him to protect him at all costs till I get there. Maybe he'll forgive our stupidity and mistrust. Who could've known?"
The Forest Folk Watchpost
Ditrass routinely positioned his warriors for the trial's final stage. His gut churned—dark hunches clashed with reluctance to follow tribal ways.
The stranger was dangerous—more than anyone Ditrass had ever met, and he'd seen plenty: Raiders, their bosses.
Tradition demanded the Nameless die. No normal human returned from the mountain. Those who did weren't human—just Masters' lapdogs.
The mountain beasts couldn't be killed. Elders spoke of old campaigns against them—back when the village was twice its size. Not one warrior returned.
But Nameless came back—sometimes with loot: stones, gear… Never a beast's head. That was the trial's point—Nameless couldn't touch the Masters' creatures, nor could the creatures touch them. Yet this stranger felt different. Ditrass sensed it but couldn't pin it down in words.
The contradiction gnawed. Achilles didn't seem the type to serve anyone—willingly or otherwise. You'd follow him into battle, take his orders, fight for something just.
Instead, Ditrass set up fighters and checked firing lanes. Unwittingly, he bid each man farewell, like prepping for a last stand.
Achilles was a terror in combat—a killing thirst beyond normal men. Ditrass knew only the stranger's urge to talk—and the villagers he shielded—spared him today. Nameless never acted so. At best, they used people as shields; at worst, they killed, joining Raiders. Tales of their savagery reached even these woods.
"Uncle Ditrass!" A shrill cry shattered the quiet, twisting his insides. Thoughts raced—village? Outsiders? Attack?! "Uncle Ditrass!!!"
"What's wrong in the village, Yerma?" he snapped. The boy collapsed on the grass, breathless—for once, speechless in Ditrass's memory. "Well?!"
"All's fine there," Yerma panted, and Ditrass nearly flopped beside him. "Dukuna sent me. She's coming soon."
"Why?" Ditrass tensed instantly.
"How should I know?" Yerma shrugged. "Said to tell you to bring the Nameless back."
"He's probably dead by now…" Ditrass muttered. Enough time had passed to reach the peak.
"If he's dead," Yerma mimicked Dukuna's tone perfectly, "drag his body back. If not, protect him with all you've got. Maybe he'll forgive our stupidity and mistrust."
"No way…" Ditrass rasped, voice hoarse.
"Dunno about that," Yerma grinned. "Need me to pass anything? Or can I tag along?"
"Back to the village," Ditrass cuffed him and turned to the forest. "We're heading up!"
Fifteen fighters stirred—on trees, behind trunks, in hidden pits. Only now did Ditrass realize how seriously he'd prepped for war—and how deeply Achilles unnerved him.
No questions came, though all knew the risks. They trusted Dukuna wouldn't stir panic for nothing. They'd heard his chat with Yerma too.
"I'll scout ahead," Anar said calmly. A loner, parents long gone.
No one argued. Seasoned trackers averted eyes—Anar volunteered as the sacrificial lamb, sparing the rest.
"Thirty meters," Ditrass clapped his shoulder. "No further. Trouble, you fall back."
The group climbed. Forest folk caught every sound, moving whisper-quiet—tales of the beasts' sound-sensitivity drilled in since childhood.
The first kilometer passed smooth—farther than they'd ever gone, maybe even their ancestors. Anar glided ahead, rock to rock; the rest watched his silhouette, tense.
Suddenly, he froze, then rose slowly to full height.
"Run!" Ditrass hissed, slamming a fist on stone. "Back, you fool!"
Anar stood still a minute, then turned, waving urgently—his face oddly twisted.
"Forward!" Ditrass barked, bolting first. He reached the pale scout ahead of all. A deep gully in the slope held what stunned the tracker. "Can't be…"
The hollow swam in black blood. Huge scaly carcasses littered it—beasts the forest folk had never seen alive, let alone dead.
"Impossible…" a fighter muttered, dazed. "This doesn't happen, right?"
"There," Anar raised a shaky hand. He was just grasping what he'd signed up for.
Eyes followed—turning to an ugly rock pile, shadowed by a boulder, easy to miss.
"Heads…" a guy gasped, awestruck. "Heads of all these things… He stacked them into a pyramid and walked off—just kept going!"
"Ditrass," Anar croaked. "Who's this Nameless? This who we were supposed to kill?"
The same question froze in every veteran's eyes. None could fathom a being capable of this.
"Onward," Ditrass said firmly. "He piled the heads—he's alive. Dukuna said find and protect him."
A few laughed nervously; Ditrass didn't hush them. He felt the same and got his men perfectly.
The peak took twenty minutes. The last hundred meters, they dropped stealth, sprinting full-out. Roars and combat clatter echoed ahead. Fifteen men hit the crater's edge near-simultaneously.
"Holy… hell," Ditrass breathed.