Some tribe members gazed wistfully westward, lost in memories. Were they recalling past glories or mourning the loved ones they had left behind during their desperate flight?
In a gesture of solidarity, the tribe's women ensured that meals were prepared communally, allowing everyone, especially those grieving losses, to eat together.
The original residents of the Krasus territory, witnessing the tribe's effort to rebuild their lives, occasionally gifted them fresh fruit or vegetables. Michael's equitable policies, enforced by Julian and Arnando, had fostered mutual understanding between the newcomers and the locals.
Their breakfast was a simple yet hearty affair: thin flour dough baked on hot stones, served with goat milk and vegetable salads. As always, the matron Mahu bustled around, ensuring the seasoning was perfect and that everyone had enough to eat.
Her routine was interrupted by the sound of massive wings beating in the distance. Mahu, who had become wary and cautious from their harrowing escape, instinctively tensed. The area around their settlement in the Drago Mountains was not yet secure, and danger could strike at any moment.
As the shadow of a large creature loomed on the horizon, Mahu grabbed a pot and banged it loudly to sound the alarm.
Startled by the noise, the tribe's warriors grabbed their weapons and rushed out, ready to defend their people. Women shepherded the children and elders indoors, their large, anxious eyes betraying the lingering trauma of their flight from the Empire.
Inside one of the tents, Anita, the tribe's priestess, awoke to the commotion. Rather than fear, her face lit up with excitement as she reached for the small bell by her side and rang it.
Moments later, Ismahal, her grandson and the tribe's chieftain, burst into the tent. He appeared uncertain, torn between sending a messenger to the nearby Krasus stronghold or bracing for an attack. But Anita's radiant expression stopped him in his tracks.
"Calm everyone down," she instructed. "He's coming—the one who will change our destiny."
Ismahal's face brightened at her words. His grandmother's prophetic abilities were unerring. With newfound confidence, he stepped out to address the gathered warriors.
"Quiet! Everyone, be silent! Lady White Fox Anita says that riding this beast is the one who will become our new sun."
The tribe's tense expressions softened into relief and joy. To them, Anita's prophecies carried the weight of divine truth. There was only one person she had ever called their "new sun"—the lord of the territory, Michael.
Whispers of gratitude to their ancestors spread among the tribe members. From what they had heard, Michael commanded a fierce dragon and a sphinx as his loyal companions.
The sight of the dragon landing nearby confirmed the stories.
Michael carefully guided Marcus to land in an open field outside the village. Looking at the gathered tribe members, he knew it was time to meet her—the one who held the answers he sought.
Michael couldn't hide his admiration as he took in the view of the village before him. Its location was so cleverly chosen that one might pass by without ever realizing it was there. Without Julian's guidance, it would have been nearly impossible to find, even after an entire day of searching.
Julian, familiar with the chieftain, was the first to dismount from Marcus, bowing in greeting. Michael observed the gathered tribespeople, their gaunt and modest appearances contrasting sharply with the fiery determination in their eyes.
As Julian exchanged greetings with Ismahal, the chieftain of the Desert Fox Tribe, the latter approached Michael with a mix of caution and curiosity. Michael descended gracefully from Marcus, who, accustomed to carrying his master, instinctively bent his legs to aid in the dismount.
Despite the journey leaving him slightly fatigued, Michael exuded charisma befitting the renowned archer and rising hero of the continent. Ismahal studied him carefully, his gaze keen and analytical. As the leader of his people, Ismahal had wrestled with doubts about his decision to follow Michael. He worried that his personal judgment might lead his entire tribe into danger.
Still, the die was cast, and he had no choice but to trust his instincts. Standing before Michael, he noted the man's striking features—his long, lustrous black hair and a face so flawless it seemed sculpted from marble. Michael's reputation as a military tactician seemed almost unbelievable based on appearance alone.
But Ismahal's doubts faded when he met Michael's piercing crimson eyes. Those eyes burned with an expansive vision, steady and unwavering. If he had to trust someone based solely on their gaze, Michael would be the obvious choice.
"No one who's faced him could dismiss his victories as mere luck," Ismahal thought, suppressing a wry smile.
Convinced, Ismahal silently signaled the hidden warriors stationed nearby to lower their weapons. Michael, aware of the arrows that had been trained on him, pretended not to notice as he greeted Ismahal with a warm smile.
"It's an honor to meet you, Lord Michael—or should I say, Count? Thank you for accepting our tribal coalition," Ismahal said, his voice steady despite his youth. His sun-darkened skin and sturdy build spoke of resilience and strength.
Michael replied with measured grace. "May the desert bring you glory and your descendants prosperity. I am Michael von Krasus. The help we exchanged before was mutual, so think nothing of it. Have you settled in comfortably?"
Ismahal, his earlier wariness eased by Michael's respectful demeanor, nodded. "Thanks to Lord Julian and Lord Arnando, we've managed well enough. What remains, time will resolve."
By now, the tribespeople had gathered, drawn by curiosity. Michael's breathtaking appearance and polite mannerisms caused a stir, especially among the women. Their whispers of admiration spread quickly, turning into a growing buzz of excitement.
As the man who had freed them from the harsh conditions of the Pamir Empire and reunited families separated by war, Michael was already a figure of deep gratitude and respect. His genuine smile—a rare sight—only solidified their positive impression.
Some of the younger women blushed as they shyly invited him to join their breakfast. Julian, concerned about Michael's schedule, attempted to intervene.