As they traveled, the day's warmth grew more oppressive, beads of sweat prickling Jack’s brow.

  His thoughts drifted to the strange tattoo he’d glimpsed on Kleo’s upper arm when she’d removed her overshirt. The design was intricate, blending artistry and symbolism that fascinated him. It depicted a pair of twisted eyes above a wide maw, encircled by eight evenly spaced symbols, each etched with delicate precision. The eyes seemed to stare with devious intent, and the maw hinted at something dark and insatiable.

  From time to time, Jack caught himself glancing at it, wondering at its significance. Whenever Kleo noticed his gaze, her expression turned cool, warning him away from questions.

  Despite her unspoken warning, his curiosity gnawed at him. In Cabal, tattoos were more than decoration; they marked tribal affiliations, family ties, and sometimes even trades. They were symbols of identity and belonging. Jack had no tattoos, no family marks, or tribal insignias.

  In his younger years, he dreamed of joining a noble band of thieves—visionary outlaws who would rob the wealthy to help the downtrodden. They would earn the admiration and loyalty of all—except those they robbed. They would all have tattoos to mark their brotherhood.

  Born to poverty, with no family or steady shelter, he had always lived on the edges, scraping by in Cabal’s dark alleys and crowded marketplaces.

  His closest companions had been the rats nested in the sewers beneath the city. They lived off the scraps they managed to scavenge. They would venture out at night, scouring the deserted streets for bread crusts, bruised vegetables, and discarded meat. The rats didn’t judge him; they accepted his presence, content to share in the spoils of the city’s waste, swarming around him as they ate. Among them, he found camaraderie. Like him, they fought to survive, bound by the brutal laws of the street.

  Human friends had been rare but precious. Most were street kids like himself. Outcasts who, by the simple fate of birth, were cut off from Cabal’s more fortunate citizens. Together, they had shared hardships and dreams, finding solace in each other’s company. Jack liked to think they were his tribe, his chosen family. They had each other’s backs, even if the world looked down on them as nobodies.

  One day, he would convince his friends to mark themselves with a tattoo. A symbol of their brotherhood. A mark to show they belonged to something greater than themselves.

  He was grateful for a moment of shade and rest when they stopped for a brief lunch. Following Kleo’s example, Jack splashed his face in the cool stream. He washed his hands and neck, the water bringing a welcome reprieve from the day’s heat.

  Resuming their journey, he kept their spirits up with stories of his life in Cabal. He painted colorful images of the city’s chaotic streets and his friends’ antics. He recast his hardships as humorous adventures, reframing close calls and scrapes with danger as tales of mischief. Kleo remained silent but attentive, her occasional laughter encouraging him to continue.

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  Hours later, they descended into a valley, the path sloping toward a vast clearing. The trees had thinned, and sunlight poured over the landscape, casting everything in a stark, white light that washed out the details. The countryside was breathtaking, its rugged beauty a far cry from Cabal's narrow streets and fetid air.

  It was the air that struck Jack hardest—it was clean and crisp, free from the grime and desperation that clung to Cabal’s streets. The freshness filled his lungs, washing over him in waves. He felt a strange, bittersweet pang. At twenty-four, Jack had never known such air existed—air untouched by suffering. He knew he’d never want to return to Cabal, even though he knew he would for a time. But the longing to stay would forever be absent.

  Kleo paused, pointing toward the valley’s eastern edge. “There, in that clearing-”

  Jack followed her gaze, spotting a small, isolated patch of land surrounded by a marsh. It was an island of life amid gray, stagnant water, its edges dotted with reeds and the remnants of dead trees. The clearing held a semi-circle of large stones arranged around a clear pool, each mirrored in the water, creating an illusion of a perfect circle.

  “When the nights are cold, and the moon is high, skeletons gather there to dance,” she said, her voice soft. “Perhaps to relieve something from their lives—something sacred or ordinary. Whatever the reason, it must be meaningful to them.”

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “Skeletons?”

  She nodded. “Skeletons.”

  “Have you seen them dance?”

  “No,” she replied with a hint of a smile. “But I will someday… when I’m older.”

  Jack suppressed a shiver, curious yet unnerved by her words. “I’d like to see something like that. Skeletons dancing under the moonlight.”

  She looked at him, thinking. “I hope you’re that fortunate. This world holds many wonders—things that force you to look beyond your world and into the unknown.”

  “That’s why I left Cabal,” Jack admitted. “I want to see things for myself. To understand the things I would never know if I stayed.”

  Kleo’s gaze sharpened. “Is that why you travel to Astiria? To know it?”

  “Yes. Everything I’ve heard about it is shrouded in mystery. I wasn’t even sure it existed until I met you. I thought it might be a tale spun by drunk old men in taverns.”

  She studied him as if weighing his words but offered no response. After a moment, she changed the subject.

  “There’ll be a storm tonight. We’ll need shelter. There’s an abandoned temple west of here.”

  She gestured toward a distant rise. “It’s off our path, but it’ll give us better protection than sleeping out in the open.”

  Jack squinted at the clear blue sky, doubting her prediction, but shrugged. “A temple sounds intriguing. Should we head there now or rest here a bit longer?”

  “We’ll rest once we reach it,” she replied. “It’s about two hours away.”

  Jack perked up. A hidden temple in the forest sounded interesting—not that he was bored, but seeing anything that wasn't the dreary streets of Cabal sounded good.

  They set off, veering toward the tall, dry grass that stretched away from them. Jack remarked on the parched land, joking that the rain would be a welcome blessing. She nodded, her expression unreadable.

  He huffed in frustration. He couldn’t get her to open up. He decided to keep the conversation sparse. Maybe the silence would feel awkward, encouraging her to say something, ask a question—anything.

  Instead, they walked in the hot sun until the outlines of the temple began to rise from the horizon.