After Jean departed, the light atmosphere on the balcony faded almost immediately.
Chief Odin's laughter slowly died down, his broad shoulders stiffening as responsibility settled back onto him like an invisible cloak. The distant sounds of the village—voices, footsteps, the closing of gates—felt muted now, as though separated by an unseen veil.
"Honey," Odin said at last, his voice low and measured, "do you truly believe what Jean said about that boy—James?"
Madam Elizabeth remained seated, her hands resting calmly on her lap, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun dipped slowly behind the forested ridges.
"Is it truly safe," Odin continued, turning toward her, "to allow him into the camp? That place holds secrets upon which the tribe's survival depends."
If anyone else had witnessed this moment, they would have been stunned.
The mighty Odin—Root Tribe's war chief, slayer of monsters, living legend—was seeking reassurance from his wife.
But to those who truly knew Elizabeth, there was nothing strange about it.
Behind her gentle appearance resided a mind sharper than steel and a will once soaked in blood.
Elizabeth was not merely the Chief's wife.
She had once been feared across the Neutral Zone.
In her youth, she bore the title Bloodroot Strategist—a name whispered with dread among mercenary bands and outlaw tribes. Where Odin was overwhelming force, Elizabeth was calculated annihilation. Her strategies had led hundreds of hunters into traps from which none returned. She commanded battlefields not through brute strength alone, but through foresight, deception, and absolute clarity of purpose.
Beauty, intellect, and brutality—she possessed all three.
And yet, when she married Odin and ascended as the tribe's Shaman, she relinquished her position as strategist without complaint. The Shaman was an apostle of the Totem Spirits, bound to the altar, to rituals, to communion with forces beyond mortal reach. It was a role that demanded sacrifice—distance from governance, distance from warfare, distance from the village's daily affairs.
Still, her rank never fell.
At eighty stars Tier Three Totem General, she stood shoulder to shoulder with Odin, even now.
Elizabeth finally turned her head, meeting her husband's gaze.
"Are you doubting Jean," she asked gently, "or are you doubting yourself?"
Odin frowned. "That girl's gift… if not for her foresight, the tribe would have fallen into ruin years ago. I know that."
His jaw tightened.
"If we had trusted her fully back then," Elizabeth said softly, a trace of guilt slipping into her voice, "that incident might never have happened. The tribe would not have suffered such losses… and perhaps we would not have been forced back to a small tribe but instead promoted into a medium tribe."
Silence stretched between them.
Elizabeth exhaled slowly.
"To ease your heart," she continued, "I will read the future of the tribe using the stars—and the Totem Spirits themselves."
Odin's eyes widened slightly. "You divined the future again?"
"Yes," she answered.
She stood and approached him, placing a hand against his arm.
"The boy, James… his path is blurred. Not hidden—blurred. I cannot see his past, and I cannot see his end. That alone is reason enough to observe rather than reject."
Odin frowned deeply. "That has never happened before."
"No," Elizabeth agreed. "Which is why he must not be discarded."
---
The following day passed swiftly.
Jean returned once more before her departure, meeting Elizabeth in a quiet corner of the residence while Odin addressed hunters, thanking them for their sacrifices and taking the mission.
Elizabeth studied Jean carefully.
The woman before her was strong—too strong for her age, burdened by questions that cut deeper than blades. Elizabeth saw herself reflected in Jean: relentless, stubborn, unwilling to accept convenient truths.
"Jean," Elizabeth said suddenly, reaching toward her waist.
She removed a small leather pouch, its surface etched with faint runes that shimmered briefly in the light.
"Take this."
Jean's eyes widened in shock.
"Madam—no. I cannot accept this," she said hastily. "This is far too valuable."
Elizabeth smiled. "Nonsense. This is a dimensional sack. I used it in my youth. I've already placed items inside that may help you survive."
The artifact was priceless—crafted in the Forge City, capable of storing five cubic meters of material within a pocket of compressed space.
Jean clenched her fists. "Madam, this is—"
"Hahaha," Elizabeth interrupted lightly. "You must accept it."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping playfully.
"Consider it a betrothal gift."
Jean froze.
Her face flushed crimson.
"I—I—"
Elizabeth laughed softly. "Take it in advance. If it helps you come back alive, then it has served its purpose."
Jean finally accepted the pouch, bowing deeply.
"Thank you," she said sincerely.
With this artifact alone, their survival rate would increase drastically. The expedition's existing storage was nothing more than a common leather pack with barely two cubic meters of space—adequate, but limiting. This changed everything.
After bidding farewell, Jean departed.
---
Later that evening, Odin noticed something amiss.
"Honey," he said slowly, "did you give your pouch to Jean?"
Elizabeth nodded.
"That pouch was your Father's," Odin said. "You've kept it all these years."
"Yes," she replied calmly. "With me, it holds memories. With Jean, it holds a chance at survival."
She smiled faintly.
"And besides, it is not the only thing I did."
Odin turned sharply. "What do you mean?"
Elizabeth hesitated, then spoke quietly.
"I read the stars again last night."
Odin's expression darkened. "And?"
"I still cannot see James's past," she said. "So I gauged his character through the Totem Spirits instead."
Odin stiffened. "You tested him?"
"Yes."
She met his gaze.
"When I offered his blood to the Totem Spirit… it was not repulsed."
Odin's eyes widened. "That's impossible."
"It asked to consume more."
Odin felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"That has never happened," he said slowly.
"I asked why," Elizabeth continued. "The spirit answered only this: 'The blood smells sweet.'"
She shook her head.
"No corruption. No backlash. No blessing revealed. Only… sweetness."
Odin fell silent.
"A child whose past cannot be read," he murmured, "whose soul burns like fire… whose blood is favored by the Totem."
Elizabeth nodded.
"What a peculiar child," Odin said at last. "Perhaps now… I can rest easier."
He turned toward the staircase.
"We should inform Father."
Elizabeth followed beside him, her expression unreadable.
Far away, beyond wooden gates and stone walls, a boy stepped into a camp that would strip innocence from most who entered.
Whether James would remain a flower—
—or bloom into something far more dangerous—
even the stars refused to say.