As Damiond's eyes opened, he saw a small fire burning in front of him, giving him a warmth he had long forgotten. Its shadows danced across his face.
He tried to move, but his body ached with pain. The last thing he remembered was collapsing after being severely wounded. He was still confused—how had he ended up here?
He started observing his surroundings.
There was meat hanging over the fire, supported by a poorly crafted wooden spit. The scent filled the entire cave, warm and savory, and it made his stomach growl.
Looking around, he realized he was in some kind of cave again. Just then, he noticed something moving across the fire.
His body tensed up, instinctively preparing for another battle.
That's when he heard a voice from across the flames.
"Calm down, kid," the voice said gently, noticing how Damiond's hand had clenched at his side.
A woman crawled out of the shadows, stepping into the firelight. She looked to be in her early thirties, with long black hair and a beautiful, tired face. Her belly was swollen—it was clear she was pregnant.
She took a piece of meat off the fire, walked toward him, and offered it.
"I must say… thank you for the food. I… we were starting to get really hungry," she said in a kind, comforting tone, rubbing her hand gently over her belly.
Then she sat down on a smooth rock near the fire.
Damiond looked at her, still prepared for the worst. His voice came out sharp and hostile.
"Who are you?"
"You know, it's quite rude to ask for someone's name without giving your own first," she replied casually.
Damiond stayed silent, as if he hadn't even heard her question.
She sighed.
"Fine. I guess I'll introduce myself first. I'm {Name}, Queen of the {Tribe Name}—or at least, I used to be." She looked down, shadows covering her face, but there was a clear hint of remorse.
"Used to be…?" Damiond asked in a low voice, his curiosity peeking through.
She hesitated for a moment, still hiding her face in the shadows—perhaps not wanting to show weakness in front of a stranger.
"We were attacked… by a coalition of families from these regions," she finally said.
Damiond narrowed his eyes.
"Don't all the tribes usually migrate south during winter?"
She leaned back against a cold rock, her expression softening with sadness.
"I don't know all the details. But I overheard some soldiers talking. Apparently, they were chasing a traitor of the main family who escaped into these areas. Considering how many troops they sent, he must be some big deal."
She paused, took a deep breath, then continued.
"We usually migrate south with the other tribes, but this time, my husband—the chief of our village—decided to stay. He said he received a vision… some kind of divine message."
She looked down again, as if hoping her words were all just a lie.
"Fast forward a few months… and we were attacked. The coalition was supported by the {Damiond family name}. We were overwhelmed in less than an hour. As a last hope, my husband told me to escape into the mountains… to save myself, and our unborn child."
Her face remained hidden in the shadows, but Damiond could clearly see the tears falling. Still, he pretended not to notice.
He wasn't heartless. But he had been betrayed enough times—even by those closest to him—that he simply couldn't let his guard down. Not anymore.
"Now," she said softly, looking at him with quiet anticipation, "tell me who you are."
"I will," Damiond replied, his voice cautious. "If you can prove your identity."
He was already fairly certain she wasn't lying, but he couldn't afford to be careless. Not now. He knew better than anyone what his family was capable of.
"You're a tense one, aren't you?" she said, her casual tone returning—as if trying to delude both herself and him from the harshness of reality.
She pulled a ring off the ring finger of her left hand and tossed it to him.
Damiond caught it with his right hand and studied it. On the front was a bird with wings spread wide—identical to the one perched on her shoulder. Beneath it were strange symbols carved from a deep purple mineral.
He recognized the stone. It was only found in the far south. All the tribes in these regions considered it sacred.
Damiond sighed. His eyes dimmed, and his voice turned cold and quiet—a mix of anger, powerlessness, and regret.
"I'm the reason your husband was killed. Your village burned. Your people slaughtered. Why your child will grow up without a father."
He looked at the fire, as if seeing something no one else could.
"I'm the traitor of the Duskveil—the one who carries there dirty secrets of the so-called rulers of this world. And I'll be their end… for what they did to me."