Too much like an announcement of my presence.
But I didn't care. I didn't have time for stealth.
"Welati!" My voice cracked on the word, raw and desperate, stripped of anything resembling dignity. "I need to speak with the Welati!"
The sound of my voice died quickly in the thin mountain air, swallowed by the vastness of the valley.
Silence fell across the landscape—heavy and absolute and suffocating.
I pulled the kuda to a halt, my hands shaking violently on the reins, my entire body trembling from a combination of cold, exhaustion, and fear. The stone felt like it was burning through my pocket, searing my skin.
"Please!" I shouted, my voice breaking completely. "I need your help!"
Nothing.
Just silence and darkness and the faint pulsing glow of those alien plants.
Then—movement.
Two figures detached from the shadows near the largest rock formations, moving toward me with a grace that made my breath freeze. They appeared seemingly from nowhere, as if they'd materialized from the stone itself.
Warriors.
They were tall—taller than any human, almost as tall as Ahrick. Seven feet at least, maybe more. Their bodies were lean and powerfully muscled, built for speed and precision rather than brute strength. They wore armor that looked like it had been grown rather than forged—organic plates that followed the lines of their bodies perfectly, dark as obsidian and etched with intricate patterns that glowed faintly in the firelight from the settlement beyond.
Their skin was burnished bronze with sharp, angular features. Eyes that reflected the firelight like a predator's—not quite absolute black, but close. Dark enough that I couldn't see where iris ended and pupil began.
Their hair was bound back in intricate braids that must have taken hours to create, and woven throughout were strands that changed color like a fiber optic light show.
The warriors moved in perfect synchronization, steps silent despite the rocky ground beneath their feet. Weapons hung at their sides—long, curved blades with edges so sharp they seemed to cut the air itself as they moved.
They stopped exactly ten feet away, maintaining a distance that felt calculated.
One of them spoke—a language I didn't understand, all sharp consonants and flowing vowels that sounded like wind through stone canyons.
"I don't—" My voice shook badly. "I don't speak your language. But I have this."
I pulled the Welati stone from my pocket with trembling hands and held it up, praying they would recognize it, that it would mean what Nansar said it would mean.
The effect was immediate and dramatic.
Both warriors went still—not the stillness of hesitation, but the absolute frozen focus of predators who'd just spotted prey.
Or recognized something sacred.
The one on the left stepped forward slowly, his hand extended. Not threatening. Requesting.
I placed the stone in his palm, my heart slamming against my ribs hard enough to crack through my ribcage.
He studied it for a long moment, turning it over carefully in his hands, his fingers tracing the patterns carved into its surface with reverence. Then he looked at his companion and spoke—quick, urgent words I couldn't parse, his tone conveying importance even if the meaning escaped me.
The second warrior's eyes widened fractionally—the first real expression I'd seen on either face.
The first warrior handed the stone back to me, then gestured sharply toward something in the distance.
"You'll take me to your village?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, hardly daring to hope.
He didn't answer—just turned and started walking.
