Claimed by the Clan

Of the few eateries the town possessed, this one was a cacophony of sound and motion. Cera’s gaze swept across the ocean of unfamiliar faces, and a profound sense of unease coiled in her gut. The locals, in turn, did not bother to hide their curiosity; their stares were direct, sharp, and intensely assessing.

A low curse escaped Cy as he registered the collective shift in the room's focus. "They should have brought you in through the rear entrance."

Now that Cy had disclosed his past, Cera found herself mentally reframing him. In her mind, he was becoming a matriarchal figure—possessing the caution of a master marksman and an unquestionably dictatorial streak. Who was she trying to fool? He was simply bossy.

Cera heard a low growl rumble in Cy's throat as a contingent of elderly women converged on them, their questions as sharp-edged as they were intrusive. To her astonishment, he gracefully accepted their various invitations to tea, though she felt certain he had no intention of honoring any of them. Moments later, someone produced a chair, and he climbed atop it, an expression of weary resignation etched onto his features.

"Attention!" His voice, tinged with its familiar note of boredom, sliced through the din. "This is Cera. She is a new addition to our ranks. Perla and I will be responsible for her. From this moment on, she is one of us."

At this proclamation, the locals let out a deafening roar of approval, and fresh rounds of ale were promptly poured. The unspoken message resonated in the charged air: she was now under their protection, beyond the reach of any outsider. The clan had staked its claim.

"Well?" A voice startled Cera from her thoughts. It belonged to a boy who looked to be about Perla’s age. "You must be Cera, then? The new arrival?" The clan’s insignia was tattooed on his cheek, marking him as one of their own. His long, lavender hair was a shade paler than Cy’s, a startling contrast to his charcoal-dark eyes.

She gave a slight nod, sensing his question was little more than a formality. He scrutinized her with an unnervingly solemn gaze, studying her as if she were an intricate puzzle he was determined to solve.

"And you are…?" Cera prompted, forcing the words past a tight throat.

"That's Argent," Cy's voice interjected, his breath close to her ear. "He is the commander of our main force." A small gasp escaped her; the ages simply did not seem to compute. Argent and Cy locked eyes, sharing a silent nod of acknowledgment.

Sensing her bewilderment, Cy clarified, "His body may have more years, but I possess more lifetimes of experience. That is why I am the head of the clan."

Cera bit back the torrent of questions that bubbled up within her. A competent commander, she told herself, would not openly challenge her own chain of command. Besides, Argent’s intense stare had not wavered from her face.

"You possess a unique advantage," Cy added, clearly for her benefit. "Besides, Carmine is only loaning you a portion of his men, not his entire army."

She nodded once more, manufacturing an air of comprehension. She instinctively understood the critical importance of projecting confidence in this strange, new world.

At last, Argent spoke, his voice a low, resonant rumble. "Carmine has spoken of you in high regard. I trust my men will be in capable hands."

"Of course," she replied, summoning a queenly composure she was far from feeling. "Your trust is not misplaced."

Fortunately, before Argent could press her further, Cy was already steering her toward the kitchen. Her brief interview with the young commander, she mused, had been every bit as intimidating as her audience with the sage, even without the old man’s peculiar brand of madness.

"Hey, sister!" Cy called into the kitchen area.

A young man who was busy chopping carrots glanced up. "She's out enjoying herself. Don't expect her back for a couple of hours."

Cy sighed with theatrical flair. "But Saku, we're starving. And we traveled all this way. Surely you can find some food for us?"

Saku, the waiter, arched a skeptical eyebrow. "You have any gold?" he countered.

Cy heaved another dramatic sigh, his gaze flickering between Saku and Cera. "Fine."

A wide grin split Saku's face. "Don't think you're getting a discount just because of blood ties. It's bad enough you scoundrels are always stealing the leftovers." With a final, resonant chop, he swept the carrots into a bowl and bustled away to take an order.

"Sit," the cook grumbled from the other side of the room. "And shut your mouth, Cy. You're useless."

Cera was taken aback by the hostility of the reception, but she quickly reminded herself that Cy’s prickly disposition likely didn't win him many friends. And clan leaders aren't owed a measure of respect? a caustic voice in her head inquired. Or perhaps, she considered, the cook and waiter were just inherently rude.

Cy groaned as if this were a daily affliction he was forced to suffer. He collapsed into a chair at the large kitchen table, gesturing for Cera to take the seat beside him. "You have any meat, Willem? I'm absolutely famished."

The cook shot him a look dripping with venom. "I'll give you this," he said, kicking a nearby bucket that had been sitting on the floor. Cy recognized it with casual familiarity from his visits on the previous two days.

It was brimming with raw shrimp. Cy shrugged. "I'll take it, with a mountain of rice." He procured a large metal tray and, without ceremony, dumped the bucket's entire contents onto it. A faint, unpleasant odor wafted to Cera’s nostrils, but Cy appeared entirely oblivious. She wondered if he had even noticed that the shrimp were beginning to turn. It hardly seemed to matter, as he blasted them with a concentrated jet of fire from his palm, instantly searing the flesh to a cooked, pinkish-orange hue. He then liberally doused the pile with a potent blend of fiery Eastern spices, their powerful aroma eclipsing everything else.

He attacked the meal with unbridled gusto, shoveling heaping mounds of rice and shrimp into his mouth. Cera watched with deep apprehension until the insistent rumbling of her own stomach convinced her that questionable food was superior to no food at all.

"You're not getting any gold for those rotten shrimp," Cy announced to Willem after they had finished. Cera had eaten far more slowly, her mouth now completely numb from the tear-inducing spices.

Willem didn't appear particularly troubled by this. "I suppose Perla will just have to work a double shift to compensate for the loss."

"You wouldn't dare!" Cy exclaimed with mock horror. He glanced at Cera. "I believe it's time you went to find Perla. I have some clan business to see to."

Cera nodded, though she failed to see what purpose observing Perla's market run would serve. Still, she conceded, it was an opportunity to familiarize herself with her new surroundings.

Saku jogged back into the kitchen, rattling off a long list of orders to Willem, who grunted for him to slow down. The young waiter, who couldn't have been much older than his early twenties, rolled his eyes. "You'd think you'd have the menu memorized by now."

Cy chuckled. "You're an old tool, Willem. An old dog who can't learn new tricks, is that it?"

Cera came to the conclusion that this was simply their dynamic—a casual, accepted form of rudeness that, in its own way, bound them together. She wondered if she and Cy could ever reach a point where they could trade barbs like that without drawing blood. The prospect seemed highly unlikely.

Willem gritted his teeth, a malicious smile twisting his lips. "Perhaps tomorrow I will serve you pig slop, clan leader. That should be a new trick you'll enjoy."

A vein throbbed in Cera's temple as she slipped out the back door and made her way toward the marketplace. If this continued, whatever refuse Cy was forced to consume would inevitably become her meals as well. And even fire couldn't render the inedible palatable.

A directionless anger at the world began to simmer inside her as she navigated the crowded thoroughfare. There were vendors in abundance, but she saw no sign of Perla. Where are you? she mouthed, deeply annoyed with Cy for his vague instructions.

"Looking for someone?" a voice inquired, startling her from her brooding thoughts. It belonged to a pleasant-faced young man who was selling tailored goods from a vibrant stall. He wore a sky-blue tunic that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, and he smiled warmly as his eyes fell upon the borrowed black tunic she was wearing.

"Well," Cera began, hesitating as she weighed whether to trust him before deciding the risk was minimal. "Yes. I'm looking for Perla, the clan leader's sister."

Cera’s perceptive gaze did not miss the subtle widening of his eyes, a fleeting glimmer of affection he couldn't quite conceal. He's in love with Perla, she surmised, even as his expression smoothed back into one of polite neutrality. "And what do you need her for?"

"I'm supposed to observe her while she shops," Cera said, her voice flat with resignation. "Cy's orders. I don't believe he has the faintest idea what he's doing."

She sensed his silent agreement and inwardly applauded. It appeared Cy's popularity was not particularly widespread.

"He can be… irrational at times," the man conceded. "My name is Slade Quan, by the way. I'm the main clothier in the village." And the man who has a hopeless crush on Perla, Cera added silently, a wry twist forming on her lips.

"She tells her brother she comes here after lunch, but it's a well-known secret that she spends her afternoons training in the nearby forest," Slade informed her. He offered a slight, challenging smile. "You will have to find her on your own. And if you cannot manage even that… well, then perhaps you don't deserve to find her at all."