The rain was still falling in fine, silvery strands when the summons came. A young girl, no more than twelve, padded barefoot through the wet earth to find Charlisa. Her voice was hushed, carrying the weight of something solemn.
"The Circle calls for you, Charlisa. They gather in the Bone House."
Charlisa's heart tightened at the name. The Bone House was no ordinary hall—it was a place of judgment, of memory, and of sacred decisions. Built from the bleached bones of great beasts long gone, its ribs arched high like the frame of a colossal body. Skulls, polished smooth by countless hands, were set into the walls, watching with hollow eyes. It was a place where no one lied, for the ancestors listened.
Kael sat nearby, repairing a strap of leather. He stilled at the words, his golden gaze hardening. Slowly, he rose and brushed a stray lock of hair from Charlisa's face, his rough thumb lingering as if to anchor her. His hand slid from her cheek to her wrist, a fleeting, grounding pressure. He did not speak—but the quiet command in his eyes said everything: Be strong.
Inside the Bone House, the air smelled of smoke and sacred herbs. The Circle of Matriarchs sat upon woven mats, their forms steady, their jewelry of bone and shell catching the dim firelight. At their center sat Elder Maradi, her age-worn face carved with lines of both hardship and wisdom, silver braids falling across her chest. Around her, five others waited, each one watching Charlisa with sharp, measuring eyes.
Elder Maradi's voice rose above the hiss of the rain on bone.
"You stood before us when Kael's beast emerged. The rains bore witness. Some call you chosen of the goddess, others whisper danger clings to you. Tell us, Charlisa—what do you believe yourself to be in this village?"
The words struck deep, like a trial set at the foot of the ancestors.
Charlisa's throat tightened, but she lifted her chin. "I came here as an outsider. But the land has tested me, the seasons have weighed me, and I have stayed. I have worked beside your women, carried your baskets, tended your sick. I have shared your food, your labor, your sorrows. I do not seek to rule, nor to divide. I only wish to live as one of you—with Kael, and with this village."
A murmur swept the Circle, voices rising and falling like the tide.
One matriarch, sharp-eyed as a hawk, leaned forward, her voice cutting.
"Words are wind. Can you bear the weight of what he is? Can you raise children who may be like him? Will you guard not only your love, but the tribe itself? The beast is not Kael's alone. It will be yours, too."
The challenge was heavy. Charlisa felt the pressure of all those skulls watching, the ancestors measuring her answer. For a heartbeat her resolve wavered—but then she remembered Kael's hand, the laughter of children in the rain, the women who had shared their secrets with her.
"I can," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Not because I am greater than any woman here, but because I will not turn away. If Kael carries both gift and curse, I carry it with him. And if our children carry it too, then I will teach them not to fear themselves. I will raise them to belong."
The Bone House grew utterly silent. Elder Maradi's gaze bored into her, ancient and unflinching. Then, slowly, the elder struck her staff against the bone floor.
"So be it. You are no longer merely guest. You will walk as kin in trial. The rains have blessed you, but the seasons ahead will test you still."
Charlisa bowed low, the weight of her vow settling in her bones like an unshakable truth.
When she stepped out into the rain again, Kael was waiting. His shoulders were tense, as though ready to fight his way inside if the verdict had turned against her. At her trembling smile, his breath left him in relief. He gathered her into his arms despite the watching eyes, heedless of whispers.
And though the people still murmured, Charlisa knew this moment marked a shift. She was no longer the stranger who came with Kael. She was bound now—to him, to the tribe, and to the judgment of the seasons yet to come.