Phobos had not chosen the north by accident.

  Beyond the inconspicuous warehouses and leaning houses stood a place known only to insiders. No sign, just an ordinary tool repair workshop.

  But behind a false wall lay one of his clan’s nodes.

  Phobos entered without knocking.

  A thin man with closely cropped hair stepped out from the shadows. His movements were quiet.

  “You’ve been gone a long time,” he said calmly.

  Phobos recognized him immediately.

  “Didn’t get tired of rotting away in this village?”

  “Work is work.”

  They exchanged a brief handshake, not friendly, but evaluative.

  “I need information,” Phobos went straight to the point. “The village leader. Who is it? Where are they?”

  His colleague smirked.

  “I’d like to know that myself. If you find out, share.”

  Phobos narrowed his eyes.

  “You’ve been working here how long? A year?”

  “Three year.”

  “And?”

  The man scratched the back of his head.

  “I’ve never once seen anyone who could be called the head of this village. No residence, guard, official receptions..... Nothing.”

  “So they’re hiding?”

  “Either that… or maybe there isn’t one. Though that’s unlikely. More probable they understand that once their identity is exposed, the hunt begins.”

  Phobos fell silent for a moment.

  “You tried looking?”

  “Of course. Through merchants, street elders, supply chains. I even tried tracking who signs construction permits. Every trail goes cold.”

  “The black market?” Phobos pressed. “Don’t tell me there isn’t one here.”

  “There is,” the man replied. “But no one talks about the leader there. And if you start asking, they’ll string you up on the spot. It’s too dangerous.”

  Silence lingered between them.

  “Why did you even take a job here?” the colleague finally asked. “Never thought you’d have contracts in this place.”

  “I was ordered to work for the government,” Phobos answered shortly.

  “The government? You’re on contract now?”

  Phobos nodded.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Understanding flickered in the other man’s eyes.

  “So you’re hanging by a thread too.” He gestured toward a table. “Sit. Maybe you need other intel about the village.”

  Phobos paused, considering, then walked over and sat down.

  _______

  Namkhai walked behind Finn and his companions in silence.

  They stopped before massive metal gates. Carved into them was a symbol: intertwined branches forming a circle.

  Armored guards opened the gates without a word.

  Beyond them lay an entire quarter. Not just a courtyard a separate world.

  To the left stretched stables: large warhorses, well groomed, thick-maned, snorting and stamping their hooves. Farther ahead stood not one forge, but a whole row of workshops. The ringing of metal echoed from open doorways. Knights in light training armor practiced strikes against wooden dummies.

  “Not bad,” Namkhai muttered.

  They walked deeper.

  At the center of the quarter stood a tree.

  Not yet gigantic, but far too large to be called ordinary. Its trunk was thicker than any tree nearby. The bark was dark, veined with silver streaks. Its leaves shimmered faintly with a soft green glow.

  Nearby, helmetless knights stood in prayer.

  Namkhai stopped.

  “I’m guessing that tree isn’t normal.”

  Finn looked at it differently than anything else.

  “It is our god.”

  Namkhai raised a brow.

  “You said god?”

  “In our homeland,” Finn continued, “there is a Great Tree. It grants us strength, blesses us, binds generations together. Without it, our ancestors would never have survived our enemies.”

  “You had enemies?” Namkhai asked, sitting cross-legged on the ground.

  “I never saw them myself,” Finn replied. “But the stories speak of bloodthirsty monsters. And enormous lizards, what this world calls dragons.”

  “Sounds like fantasy tales,” Namkhai muttered, glancing at the tree. “So you planted a new one?”

  “Exactly,” Finn nodded. “When our ancestors were brought here, they knew the connection was severed. But they carried seeds.”

  He gestured toward the trunk.

  “One of them took root.”

  “And it gives you strength?”

  Dorn smirked.

  “It does. But not like in our world.”

  “The Great Tree there is millions of years old,” Finn said. “It towers above cities. Its roots stretch for hundreds of miles. Its crown covers the sky.”

  He looked up at the comparatively young branches.

  “This one… has only existed for a few generations. To resemble what we lost will take centuries.”

  “So if it’s smaller,” Namkhai asked bluntly, “you’re weaker?”

  Dorn didn’t take offense.

  “Weaker than we should be.”

  Namkhai studied the tree, then turned back to Finn.

  “You said you honor monks. What exactly did we do for you? And briefly, please, time’s short.”

  Finn grew serious.

  "In short, several decades ago, the government learned about our tree. They didn't like that we had our own territory... our own faith... and a source of power that could eventually become a threat to them."

  Dorn’s jaw tightened.

  “They decided to destroy the tree. And us with it.”

  Namkhai frowned.

  “And?”

  “They would have crushed us,” Finn said calmly. “We were even weaker then. The tree had just taken root. If it had been destroyed, everything would have ended.”

  He placed a respectful hand against the bark.

  “But a monk intervened.”

  Namkhai froze, already suspecting who this monk might be.

  “His name was Dorje,” Finn said. “He came on his own. The government had already sent forces.”

  “And he convinced them,” Dorn added with a rough laugh. “Convinced them so well they never dared return. I’ve never seen a warrior like that.”

  Finn allowed himself a small smile.

  “He did more than defend us. He helped conceal the tree, here, in the village. Created a barrier. Since then, most outsiders fail to perceive the true scale of our quarter.”

  Namkhai slowly exhaled.

  “That was my grandfather.”

  Silence fell. Then Finn smiled wider.

  “We know.”

  “He spoke of you,” Dorn said.

  “Spoke of me?” Namkhai blinked. “I doubt I was even born.”

  “He didn’t mean you personally,” Finn clarified. “He said that if fate were kind, the next monk we would meet beyond monastery walls would be his descendant.”

  Ga?tan chuckled.

  “Because, in his words, ‘that child was not made to sit quietly behind stone walls.’”

  Namkhai couldn’t help but smile. Pride spread warmly through his chest.

  Finn stepped back and dropped to one knee.

  Dorn followed. Then Ga?tan.

  The sound of armor echoed around them.

  Knights nearby approached the tree. One by one, they bowed, hands to chest or heads lowered.

  “We owe your lineage,” Finn said. “And you, as his heir.”

  Namkhai stood before the tree, feeling dozens of lowered gazes upon him.

  Wind stirred through the glowing leaves.

  He placed his palm against the warm bark.

  “So the old man did do something right sometimes…” he murmured softly.