The trees thinned out by midafternoon, and just past a slope of grass and stone, Lucas spotted the village. He paused.
Something felt off.
It wasn't the wooden fences or the primitive watchtower. No—it was the people.
They looked… different. Subtly wrong, like a dream that kept warping the more he stared. Some villagers had a greenish hue, especially around their heads, like the color had bled in from the trees. Others had arms that resembled bark—thick, textured, tough. A few had eyes so blue they shimmered like rivers in motion. Not unnaturally colored contacts or lighting tricks. Real, moving water. And yet, their clothes were the opposite—ragged, patched, but clean. Their expressions tense, their movements guarded.
Lucas exhaled slowly. Okay, deep breath. This is fine. Just a normal bunch of tree-people staring at the smelly outsider.
He followed the narrow trail toward the village entrance, heart thumping despite the casual walk he tried to maintain. Before he even reached the gate, a tall man stepped in front of him, skin deep brown from the waist up and rough like dried soil.
"Which tribe are you from?" the man asked, eyeing Lucas with suspicion. "I don't see any markings on you."
Others nearby turned to look, eyes narrowing. The air stiffened like everyone was holding their breath.
Lucas blinked. Right. Tribes. Markings. I am now officially in a fantasy RPG without the manual.
He raised a brow and crossed his arms. "Isn't it rude to not ask someone's name first? Mine's Lucas, by the way. And as far as I know, I've never had any marks."
The man looked him up and down, confusion shadowing his face. "You're saying you have no blessings? Then how did you get here? The closest settlement is two thousand kilometers away. No normal person could make it that far."
Lucas forced a grin. "Ah, well, I was being escorted by bodyguards. We were attacked along the way."
"Attacked?" The man's suspicion lingered, but it faltered slightly. "Where were you headed?"
"Sorry. That place isn't something I'm allowed to name." Lucas rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, I'm not trying to stay long. Just here to rest and wait. If my bodyguard made it, he might circle back."
The man stayed quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. You can stay for a few days. But we can't house you long-term. You'll need to find a way out soon enough." He extended a rough hand. "Welcome to the settlement. I'm Truskal."
Lucas hesitated, then pointed. "I've seen gestures like this before, but I don't think I know what it means here."
Truskal smiled faintly. "It's just a sign to get along well."
"Right. I'm all for that." Lucas mirrored the handshake as best he could.
The wooden gate creaked open. Lucas stepped through.
The village was alive with quiet tension. Homes built from deep brown trees ringed a central square. Some had roofs grown directly from twisted branches. Others had windows that shimmered like falling curtains of water. Small vegetable patches lined the edges of homes, and wooden totems stood at corners like silent guardians.
As he walked deeper in, he noticed the markings.
They were faint glowing patterns—not tattoos, but something else. Some had them on their forearms, others across their foreheads. A few bore tiny ones on their fingertips, no larger than a fingernail. Most were green or blue, though some shimmered faintly like metal in sunlight.
Okay. So everyone here has magical tree tattoos except me. Great. Totally not suspicious.
He caught sight of children playing near a tree with hollow steps. One had vines braided into her hair, another had fingers like petals.
Lucas leaned against a fence post, watching. They don't even realize how different they are. Or maybe they do—and they just think I'm the freak.
He remembered how people used to look at him back home when his body started failing. At first it was pity. Then it was dismissal. Here… it was something different. Like he was a walking question nobody wanted to ask.
Later that night, the village gathered at a circular platform near the center. Lanterns lit with glowing moss cast warm light over the crowd. Truskal explained in passing—it was a ceremony, one performed weekly to seek protection from the spirits that watched over their tribes.
Lucas stayed at the edge of the gathering, half-intrigued, half-anxious. The villagers formed a circle, hands raised toward a carved pillar in the center. Strange symbols shimmered faintly along its surface.
Then, a pulse.
A flicker beneath his skin.
Lucas flinched.
The red ring—dormant since the forest—glowed faintly. A heartbeat of warmth against his finger, pulsing once… then fading.
No one else seemed to notice.
Not at first.
But a few moments later, murmurs rippled through the circle. Several villagers turned their heads, sniffing the air like something unfamiliar had entered the space.
The ceremony continued, but tension buzzed beneath it now. Lucas stepped back, trying to appear casual, but inside his chest, his heart pounded louder than the drums.
Afterward, a woman in ceremonial garb—her hair laced with blue feathers—walked past him, eyes lingering slightly longer than necessary.
"Did you enjoy the ceremony?" she asked, tone light but searching.
Lucas gave her his best innocent smile. "It was beautiful. You all really know how to throw a… spirit party."
Her expression didn't change. "It's rare for the spirits to stir so sharply. They're… sensitive to unfamiliar presences."
He shrugged. "Well, I am new here."
She smiled, polite but distant, and walked away.
Lucas exhaled slowly.
That wasn't just a ceremony. That was a check-in. And something definitely pinged back.