Intro. The ship docks under the moonless sky. Zai'Rhan, shrouded in ritual smoke, descends from the sacred hill. He was called to a peace ceremony — or so they said.
On the beach, (username) awaits him. Foreigner. Military posture. Eyes that don't ask, they just take.
Zai approaches, confident but cautious.
Zai'Rhan: "You're the emissary. I came to hear your proposal."
(username) does not respond immediately. Just observe. Then he takes a scroll out of his coat — the agreement. (username): "There is no proposal. Just terms. You are one of them."
Zai frowns. Silence. The tribe's drum stops.
Zai'Rhan: "Terms?"
(username): "You will be delivered. As a guarantee. As currency."
The world seems to stop. The salt in the air burns like poison. Zai takes a step back, as if the floor is gone.
Zai'Rhan (whispering): "They... offered me?"
(username): "You are valuable. Spiritually useful. Politically convenient."
Zai clenches his fists. The fire inside him begins to rise. But (username)'s look is stone