Echoes of the Abyssal Blade: Path to Free Will-Chapter 80: Dragon’s Tooth Colony

Following behind the Native Hunter, Jonan walked in silence. His steps were no longer unsteady, though exhaustion clung to his bones like an insect.

One thing that gave him comfort was that the Native Hunter, who moved ahead of him, was unbothered by the wilderness, its dangerous beasts were frightened by him, and they kept a certain distance from them as if acknowledging the man’s dominance.

Jonan didn’t know what power the Native Hunter carried, but it was enough to keep the jungle’s nightmares at bay.

"At least I won’t be shredded to pieces before reaching the settlement", Jonan thought grimly, and it was better than before, at least, where he was just walking in circles.

But then another worry gnawed at him.

"What if the people there are hostile? What if they see me as a trespasser? What if they kill me on sight?"

He gritted his teeth, his lips curling into a worried grimace. The sun was setting, painting the sky in bruised hues of purple and dying orange, the jungle, as if in mourning, began to quiet, even the insects held their tongues.

It seemed the Native Hunter was speeding forth with an ease imparted by his long, powerful limbs. Jonan hurried after him from the sheer force of instinct, not daring to be left behind; the last thing he wanted was for the man to interpret his lagging by for hesitation.

The soil changed underfoot from muddy with tangled roots to firm and rocky; the strangling, impenetrable thicket was thinning, and finally, after what must have been an endless pursuit, the jungle threw a curtain between them.

Jonan’s heart thudded against his ribs, he was nervous of what his fate would be.

He could see rough-hewn stone cottages rose from the earth, their walls built from massive slabs of rock, there were no delicate windows present in any of the houses, nor were there doors present in those houses, which was a bit stunner for Jonan.

Jonan mused to himself that these homes were forged to withstand the native’s enemies, and for them to be quick in taking action too. Smoke coiled from thick chimneys, and he could hear the faint clang of metal against stone somewhere deeper in the village.

And then came the people.

They emerged from doorways and shaded paths, drawn by the unfamiliar presence trailing their hunter, Jonan’s face was plastered with a mask of pure astonishment.

These people were giants.

Tall, broad-shouldered men with skin like burnished bronze, their muscles were coiled beneath rough, sewn clothes and hardened leather.

Surprisingly, none of them had any scars, their physiques were of the type that was rarely seen even by those in Dreavows, but what struck Jonan most was the women.

They were no less imposing than the men, equally tall, equally muscular, their faces were sharp and ferocious and severe, lacking the softer features Jonan had grown accustomed to among the women of Dreavows.

If anything, their presence felt even more dangerous; their eyes were cold, calculating, as if measuring his worth from the moment their gaze landed on him.

Every pair of eyes in the settlement carried vigilance, it was as if they were born of bloodshed and war.

But when those eyes fell on Jonan, something shifted.

He saw confusion ripple through them, curiosity, even disbelief.

Jonan realized, with a start, that they had likely never seen someone like him before; his skin was pale and smooth in comparison, and not rough and coarse like the natives here.

Possessing the inherent good looks of the Starfall bloodline, a trait attributed to their Forefather, The Hero Draven, Jonan’s appearance perplexed the natives of this land.

The Native Hunter didn’t stop, he led Jonan deeper into the village, along past wary onlookers and clusters of warriors sharpening weapons or tending fires, some whispered to one another, others simply stared.

Jonan kept his head low but couldn’t help noticing the stone cottages they passed, each was solid, built with a kind of primal elegance, no wasted space, no frivolous design. Every structure was made for utility.

He understood that Life here wasn’t about luxury; it was about survival.

At last, they reached a larger stone structure at the village’s heart, which dwarfed the others; it also did not have any doors, but it did have guards present with long spears, their faces were ferocious and bloodthirsty.

Without hesitation, the Native Hunter bypassed them, nor did the guards stop him; they also had faces of surprise written all over their faces, upon looking at Jonan.

Jonan followed behind the native hunter obediently.

Inside, the air was full of smoke with its odious aromatics of burning herbs. Brave men were seated around a pit from which flames licked at a cauldron of iron, suspended by chains. There reigned an atmosphere of authority and tension.

In the center of it all were two men.

One was middle-aged, tall, and colossal, and his black hair was tied back. An unusual neckpiece of fangs hung loosely around his bare neck, and his eyes, hard as flint, seemed to fall on the Native Hunter, then, unexpectedly, softened.

The man stepped toward him, with an opening smile, and embraced the Hunter fiercely.

They spoke fast in a language that Jonan never caught; the abrasive sound was akin to two stones grinding together, and thus Jonan felt an agonizing pinch of frustration. What a hateful feeling it was to lose his grasp on the meaning of words spoken around him, freeing himself to take his own life into his much-desired hands!

Then the middle-aged man’s expression darkened, and he glanced at Jonan and spoke again, with a questioning tone.

The Native Hunter responded, gesturing once to Jonan.

Jonan tensed.

He could feel the weight of every gaze in the room now. These men and women weren’t ordinary. They radiated strength. Jonan’s instincts screamed at him — forget escaping, survival alone would be a miracle here.

The middle-aged man’s presence was suffocating, his might and power reminded Jonan of the elder council members of the Starfall family. Jonan knew he was helpless, in front of a being with such power.

But it was the old man sitting quietly beside the fire who unsettled Jonan the most.

Age had withered his frame, but there was an aura about him that transcended the limits of flesh. His eyes were clouded, yet they seemed to pierce straight through Jonan’s soul. And for all his newly honed senses, Jonan couldn’t sense a shred of power from him. Not a flicker. That was what terrified him.

The discussion between the Native Hunter and the middle-aged man grew hushed, their faces tightening.

Jonan’s pulse thundered in his ears.

"They know I can’t understand them, they’re deciding what to do with me, my life is at their mercy."

A cold sweat broke out on his back.

And then, the old man raised a hand.

The room fell instantly silent, and even the middle-aged warrior stepped aside, bowing his head.

The old man beckoned.

Jonan hesitated, but then saw the others parting a path for him, he swallowed any little bit of hesitation he had in his stomach and stepped forward.

As he approached, the old man reached out and took Jonan’s hand in his own, his grip was thin and dry, but it was iron-strong.

The old man closed his eyes and started to mumble something in a foreign language, after stopping, his eyes opened, but this time they were gray.

It was then that a strange warmth bloomed where their hands met. Jonan’s body stiffened as a calm and clear voice started to echo in his mind.

"What name do you carry, and from what land do you come?"

Jonan’s eyes widened.

The voice wasn’t his own, nor was it spoken aloud; it resounded within his thoughts like the ring of a temple bell, but he could not understand how the old man was able to speak to him.

He made every attempt to escape, but the withered and thin hand of the old man held tightly onto his hand.

"I... I am Jonan," he stated louder than a whisper, more as if he was afraid the old man could hear the thoughts and not the words. "From... #######."

The old man’s clouded eyes seemed to shimmer faintly, his face turned ugly.

"Ahhhh... the name of your land is forbidden to speak here, please stop. Why have you come to Dragon’s Tooth Colony, You don’t look like someone from the other colonies."

Jonan’s throat went dry.

"What should I say, and what was that, the moment I started speaking the name of Dreavows, it was as if something was interfering, what do I tell them?"

After easing his worries, Jonan then spoke in his mind, "I came upon here by mistake, even I don’t know the way back to my home, I have mistakenly wandered here."

"Hmm, you carry a bloodline not of these wilds," the voice continued. "And yet, you were fated to come here, Interesting."

The old man released Jonan’s hand.

The warmth vanished.

Jonan staggered a step back, his pulse hammering.

The old man turned to the Middle-aged man and spoke, his words carried weight, and though Jonan couldn’t understand them, he knew something had changed.

The middle-aged man’s frown deepened, but he nodded, barking an order.

Two natives stepped forward, gesturing for Jonan to follow.

Jonan glanced once more at the old man, the elder’s eyes had closed, as though the talk between them had exhausted him.