Marc continued walking through the woods, flinching each and every time he heard the wind whistle through the shrubs and twigs snap beneath his feet. He clutched his lantern tightly, grasping the handle as if he was afraid of losing his precious source of light. The shadows from the tree branches danced around him, looking similar to the shadows of long arms reaching for him so they could snatch him and pull him into the darkness. He couldn't even see the glow from the moon, as the tree branches were too thick. They completely covered the sky, making navigation difficult as well.

He was afraid. He wanted to go back home where it was safe. He wanted to run to his house and shut the door. He wanted to walk around with all the lights on and check each and every lock, as he often did, just to make sure he could feel secure.

Yet, he found himself walking further and further into the unfamiliar forest. He shivered as he walked from the cold gusts of air surrounding him, which made his ultramarine-colored cloak flutter and flap. The wind continued to blow his cloak's hood off his head, to the point that he stopped pulling it back up. It was pointless to keep his hood up anyway if the wind would only keep knocking it off. There was no point in fighting the weather. Marc was never really one for fighting. If the wind wanted his hood off, then he would leave it off.

Snow slowly started to fall from the sky, landing in his hair and on his eyelashes. The snowflakes circled one another, being pushed by the fast-moving air. He rarely ever went out in the snow and he knew that he was hardly dressed for it. He was aware that the smart thing to do would have been to turn around and go home, yet he didn't. Luckily, it wasn't cold enough for the snow to stick to the ground. 

Still, he wasn't sure why he found himself continuing to press forward into the darkness. He wasn't sure what he was even looking for. 

What was he looking for?

He had walked a hundred steps. Soon, a thousand steps. Then, five thousand steps. He kept counting in order to keep his mind distracted from the darkness surrounding him. Counting was simple. Counting was safe. Counting could keep his mind distracted from the darkness and prevent him from falling into a state of panic.

Then, he finally saw the night sky once again.

He squinted his eyes slightly and used his free hand to adjust his glasses. The trees were slowly beginning to clear out, revealing what looked like a small village.

A village? Was it his own? Did he go in a complete circle somehow? He couldn't recall ever getting turned around. He had made sure to walk in a straight line to prevent himself from getting lost.

He frowned, blankly staring at the village when he suddenly heard footsteps, causing him to jump and hide behind a tree trunk. 

His heart started to race.

This wasn't his village. It looked nothing like the home he knew. 

Deep breaths, Marc.

He could feel his pulse become rapid, but he was able to prevent himself from slipping into a completely panicked state by focusing on his breathing. Just barely, however. 

Sure, the woods weren't off limits, but he KNEW that going to other villages was against his tribe's rules, and for good reason. There was a war going on. People were to stick with their own kind. Everyone knew that.

He could get out of this. There was no need to freak out. He just needed to stay hidden, observe, then make a careful escape without being noticed. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, his body tense as he listened to the distant voices. With his eyes closed, he felt as if he was able to hear slightly more clearly.

Voices. Two voices.

"You're sure you're willing to trust me with this," the first voice asked. The voice was clearly male. Marc could tell that it belonged to someone about his own age, as it sounded almost too young to belong to an adult, but the speaking pattern didn't match that of a teenager or a child. The voice was smooth, silvery, and clear. 

"I am positive," a second voice stated, sounding much more nasal and adenoidal. Also male. It sounded older, as well. There was something more formal about the way he spoke. "It has already been discussed and decided. You have proven to be trustworthy, loyal, and true. You are the perfect holder."

Marc furrowed his eyebrows slightly, then slowly opened his eyes and peered around his hiding place, trying to get a look at what was going on. Through the tree branches, he could see one of the two people speaking. The person Marc spotted wore a blue cloak similar to his own, yet there were unique designs and patterns on it. The man looked to be of average height, perhaps a little short. Marc couldn't see his facial features, as he was facing away. However, the man's hood was down, so Marc could see that he had disheveled, dirty blonde hair.

"Alright," the man Marc could see, the one with the smoother voice, stated, nodding and reaching forward, taking something from the man Marc couldn't quite see. The two men nodded at one another, then the one with the nasal voice seemed to step away. Marc couldn't see him actually leave, but he could hear the receding footsteps.

The man with the dirty blonde hair paused for a moment, then clutched whatever had been gifted to him to his chest. He turned towards the woods and looked at the sky with a small smile, allowing Marc to get a good look at his face.

He had dimples. That was the first thing Marc noticed. 

Next, he noticed that the man's face was slightly freckled. His skin was sunkissed and slightly tanned. His eyes were golden, like the sun. His facial features were soft. He looked like the season of summer. Like the kind of person who spent hours upon hours outside.

"Alright, Merlon," the man with dimples breathed to himself. "Don't screw this up. You got this."

Merlon... 

Merlon was a name just close enough to the name Merlin, which was a name of Welsh origin that technically was symbolic of a sea fortress. However, the name was more commonly regarded as representing wisdom and power. None of that really mattered, though. What mattered was that the name Merlon was a common name given to people in the Tribe of Ancients who were destined for a leadership role, similar to people with the names Merloo, Merlee, and so on. 

It was a name that represented the enemies of the Tribe of Darkness. 

Marc's breath hitched. 

He grew closer to that state of panic as he thought of what his own tribe would do to him if they found out that he accidentally wandered all the way over to the village of the Tribe of Ancients-

Merlon suddenly looked into the forest, hearing Marc's breath hitch. He squinted his golden eyes. His eyebrows, which were expressive and well-defined, knitted together in confusion. 

"Who's out there," he demanded, his voice commanding and fearless, yet still young. 

Marc was almost impressed, noting that if he heard something moving in the woods, he would be nothing short of terrified. However, there appeared to be no fear in Merlon's stance and tone.

Marc nervously swallowed and hid his lantern in his cloak, hoping to better hide himself. He could feel his heart rate accelerate from both the fear of being spotted by the enemy and the fear of the darkness that had just filled the space his lantern's light was just shining.

He couldn't help but shakily breathe, trying to calm himself down so he could stay hidden until Merlon left. 

Don't panic, Marc. Just breathe, Marc.

"I can hear you," Merlon stated, his tone steady. "Show yourself. That's an order."

Marc began to panic. His heart started racing faster. He could no longer control his breathing, no matter how badly he wanted to. He felt frozen in place, frozen in complete and utter fear. He wasn't sure what to do. He quietly debated taking off and running. However, someone with the name Merlon would be likely to have enough power to simply teleport and get him, so running wasn't really an option. He couldn't exactly fight either if worse came to worse. It was like he told Danielle when he first met her, he wasn't a warrior. 

"Hey," Merlon said, tapping Marc's shoulder after suddenly appearing behind him.

Marc flinched and jumped back about a foot, shakily holding his lantern out as if its light would protect him. His entire body shook. His hands, his chest, everything burned with fear and anxiety.

He wished he had just stayed home. Served him right for being curious. Didn't he know that curiosity kills? Didn't he know that people who aspired always got hurt? What was he even aspiring for? Inspiration? Inspiration to write a story that nobody would ever care about? Pathetic.

Merlon held his remarkably steady hands up as if surrendering. His gaze slowly softened upon seeing the terrified tribesman.

"Hey, calm down," Merlon breathed, his voice now gentler than it was when he was demanding Marc reveal himself. "You don't need to be scared. It's alright..."

Marc shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak but found that words would not come out. His heart was racing and he was breathing heavily and quickly. 

He had been spotted. What would the Tribe of Ancients do to him because of this?

Or worse, what would the Tribe of Darkness do to him?!

He couldn't breathe. He was breathing, but he couldn't breathe. He was suffocating again.

Merlon's gaze softened slightly. He slowly began to lower his steady hands, frowning upon seeing Marc's far different appearance from his own.

"You're from the Tribe of Darkness," Merlon quietly noted.

Marc flinched, then nodded, clearly terrified. There was no point in denying it. He was a horrible liar anyway. 

His mind was being overrun with worst-case scenarios. Most included him being taken into a room and tortured for secrets or something of the sort.

Merlon tucked something deeper into his cloak that Marc couldn't quite see. The young ancient then looked at the scared man with a perplexed expression, as if trying to figure him out.

"I'm sorry," Marc breathed, his voice weak and shaky. "I'm sorry, I walked too far, and now I'm lost, and it was really dark out here, and I'm really scared, please don't kill me."

"Hey, hey, I'm not going to kill you," Merlon assured him with a gentle tone. 

"Torture me?" 

"No," Merlon breathed. He breathed slowly and evenly. Marc was jealous.

Marc winced, squeezing his silver eyes shut. "Oh dear Grambi, you're going to imprison and sell me-"

"I'm not going to do any of that! Please, just breathe," Merlon begged him, his expression shifting from slightly perplexed to almost concerned. "However... I can't exactly let you go..."

"Please!" Marc begged, choking on his own words. He needed oxygen. He desperately needed oxygen. "Please don't torture me or something. I'll tell you whatever you want, really! I-"

"Just breathe!" Merlon exclaimed, taking his shoulder and taking deep breaths with hopes that he could calm the terrified tribesman down and help him recatch his breath. "I would never do something like that. Protocol just states that I need to figure out what you heard. Then, you'll be free to go. Okay?"

Marc opened his eyes and looked down at Merlon, shakily breathing with him. It was difficult and he felt like he was suffocating, but he slowly began to recatch his breath. He sniffled, then shakily nodded. "Okay," he breathed.

Breathe in... breathe out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine times.

He felt the oxygen fill his lungs.

Merlon nodded once Marc was calm enough to breathe on his own, then gently took Marc's wrist. It was still rather dark outside, so most of the people in the village of the Tribe of Ancients were asleep. Marc silently wondered why the heck Merlon and whoever else he was talking to were even awake so late. He knew very well that the Tribe of Darkness were the only people who chose to stay awake at night. 

Merlon pulled him into a small house, which had silver and gold stars messily painted on the walls. Marc gripped his lantern tightly, hoping it would provide him comfort. As Merlon walked past the front door, he reached inside his cloak with his free hand, then pulled out three golden coins. He smiled slightly, then placed the coins in a small jar located on a small table next to the door before leading Marc further into his home.

One, two, three deep breaths.

"Okay, I've never really done this before," Merlon admitted, "But I don't want to wake my boss up, and you don't really seem like a bad guy, so I'll try to make this quick. Alright?"

Marc shakily nodded, though he was not put at ease. He felt more nervous than ever. He couldn't seem to stop himself from trembling. He never thought he would be faced with a situation like this one. Still, he focused on breathing. In and out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven times.

"Okay, can you state your name and some background about who you are?" Merlon calmly asked.

"Marc. My name's Marc. I am twenty-three years old. Married to Danielle. I have no other family and no children. I am from the Tribe of Darkness, yet have little to no powers. I'm absolutely terrible at magic. I was simply wandering the woods because... well, I don't really know why I was out there in the first place," Marc quickly stated in one breath.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Merlon blinked at him, then looked down and quietly chuckled. His smile reached up to his eyes.

"Well, Marc, my name is Merlon," Merlon stated.

"I know," Marc said all too quickly, his breaths becoming hurried again. "I heard you talking to yourself. Merlon is a name that is similar to the name Merlin, which is often symbolic of wisdom and magic. It also represents leadership amongst the Tribe of Ancients. I was thinking about this all earlier when I first heard the name mentioned."

Breathe, Marc. Breathe...

Merlon's eyebrows arched slightly as he nodded, honestly slightly impressed with how much Marc had been able to observe. 

"Interesting. Do tell me, then, what does Marc mean?" Merlon asked.

"Warrior. I'm not a warrior, though," Marc explained with wide eyes, still clearly terrified. One, two, three deep breaths. "I'm just a writer and not even that."

Merlon nodded, then sat down on one of the chairs in his room, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly. 

"Well, Marc, I'm going to need you to tell me what you heard-"

"I heard someone with a nasal voice tell you that you had proven to be trustworthy, loyal, and true and that you are the perfect holder for some sort of mysterious object, which I can only assume is the thing you tucked beneath your cloak when we first met."

Merlon's hand instinctively went to his cloak, where the book Merloo had given him was safely hidden for the time being. He would soon find a better, safer place to store it, but for the time being, he was keeping it on him.

"Do you know what he gave me?" Merlon asked.

Marc quickly shook his head no. "Don't worry, sir, I didn't see anything-"

"Don't call me sir," Merlon said with a small chuckle and an easygoing tone. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, smiling a small yet radiant smile. "I'm only twenty-three years old, making me technically the same age as you, so it feels weird to hear you call me sir. Just Merlon's fine."

"R-right," Marc stuttered. "My apologies sir- er, Merlon."

Marc smacked his face and bowed his head, feeling slightly embarrassed, which in turn made Merlon quietly chuckle a little more. 

Oh no, Marc thought to himself. I've known this man for less than ten minutes and he's already laughing at me. That has to be some sort of record.

"You know, I've never met anyone from the Tribe of Darkness," Merlon noted, tilting his head slightly in curiosity. "I have to admit, you're not what I thought you'd be?"

"You mean, I'm not evil and corrupt?" Marc questioned, still clutching his lantern. 

He was very well aware of how the world viewed his tribe, as was everyone else back at home. It was a rather rude stereotype, but he didn't mind. Darkness was often associated with evil, so he could see why people would think things like that.

Merlon nodded, leading Marc to take a shaky breath. He looked down at his lantern, which was still glowing brightly.

One breath, two breaths, three breaths.

He remembered Kylian.

"Well, I'm not exactly the best example to base my people on," he admitted. 

"Oh, I know. No one is," Merlon stated. "You can never base an entire group of people off of the actions of one."

Marc looked up at him, furrowing his eyebrows slightly. He never really thought of things that way. If he was being honest, Merlon wasn't exactly how he thought people from the Tribe of Ancients would be either. His voice was gentle and kind. His smile was slightly crooked, but there was no sinister quality behind it.

Merlon hesitated, then pulled the book Merloo had given him out, holding it up and showing it to Marc. He walked over to the taller man, then gently grabbed his hand, leading him to a table for them to sit at. Marc gave the blonde a slightly perplexed look as Merlon sat across from him and set the book between the two of them.

"You're a writer, right?" Merlon asked. "Perhaps... perhaps we should read some stories together. Who knows, it could benefit us both."

Marc exchanged glances from the book to Merlon's golden eyes. The book was white and it had a star on the cover. It was quite large as well.

Marc took a deep breath, then slowly set his lantern down on the table. "Alright..." he quietly trailed off.