Date: March 15, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on the faces of those around it. Night had fallen over the hills, and somewhere in the distance an owl hooted mournfully, but here by the clearing, it was warm and cozy, as if the fire itself shielded them from the outside world.
Datuk sat on his haunches, warming his hands over the flames. Sobra lay beside him, his heavy head on the dwarf's knees, occasionally opening one eye to glance at the old shaman. Krogan sat opposite, slowly stirring the coals with a long stick, silent. In his silence was no tension — only the calm confidence of a man in no hurry, knowing everything would happen in its own time.
"Uncle Krogan," Datuk finally broke the silence, "you said we need to talk. We're listening."
The shaman grunted, set the stick aside, and reached for his flask. He took a sip, grunted, wiped his gray mustache.
"Talking is one thing," he said. "Understanding is another. You, Datuk, always liked to talk. But you only learned to listen from Sobra."
The bear, hearing his name, opened both eyes and looked questioningly at the old man.
"I'm listening," Datuk pouted. "Sobra will vouch for me."
Sobra snorted and closed his eyes again. He didn't seem inclined to vouch.
Krogan laughed — softly, with a wheeze — and in that laugh was so much warmth that Datuk couldn't help but grin back.
"Alright, listener," the shaman reached into his coat. "I didn't just come here. I was waiting for you."
"Waiting?" Datuk was surprised. "But how did you know we'd come this way?"
"I knew," Krogan pulled out two small wooden boxes, intricately carved. "Or maybe I didn't. What's the difference? You're here, I'm here — that's how it should be."
He handed the boxes to Datuk. They were warm to the touch, as if freshly from the craftsman's hands, though the carving looked ancient, smoothed by time.
"Open them," the shaman instructed.
Datuk opened the first. Inside, on soft suede, lay a compass. But not one that pointed north. Its needle was made of the finest silver wire, which didn't tremble or waver but glowed with a dim blue light. The casing was carved from dark wood, and on the back, Datuk could just make out faint runes — not those used by dwarves in Krag-Mhor, but something older.
"This isn't for the road," Krogan said, his voice turning serious. "It's for the path."
"What's the difference?" Datuk asked, examining the device.
"The road is chosen by your feet," the shaman tossed a dry branch onto the fire, and the flames flared, briefly illuminating his deeply lined face. "The path is chosen by your heart. This compass won't show you north or south. It will show you where to go to become who you're meant to be."
Datuk looked at the needle. It was moving slowly, tracing smooth circles, stopping at nothing. The blue light flickered, dimmed, as if the device was listening to something beyond human perception.
"When will it stop?" Datuk asked.
"When you're ready," Krogan's eyes twinkled. "Or when you stop asking foolish questions. Right now, the latter is closer."
Datuk snorted and put the compass in his pack, alongside the honey pot from Sobra's father. Then he opened the second box. Inside lay an identical device — the same dark wood, the same glowing needle.
"This one's for your friend," the shaman nodded at Sobra, who raised his head, curious.
"Can he even use it?" Datuk asked doubtfully. "He has two paws, but they're not very… dexterous."
Sobra snorted, as if offended, and carefully took the compass in his teeth. He turned his head, examining it from all sides, then, to Datuk's surprise, deftly tucked it into the thick fur at his scruff. The device vanished into its depths, only the faint blue glow revealing its location.
"See?" Krogan laughed, leaning back and pillowing his head on a bundle of travel gear. "Smarter than he looks."
"I always knew he was smart," Datuk scratched Sobra's neck, carefully avoiding the compass spot. "He just sometimes pretends to be dumb so I don't feel so stupid."
The bear rumbled contentedly and put his head back on the dwarf's lap.
Krogan watched them, and in his eyes, squinting and cunning, shone something more than simple approval. Before him was not just a dwarf and a bear off on an adventure. Before him was something that happened once in a hundred years, maybe less: two beings whose paths had intertwined so tightly they could never be untangled.
"These compasses," he said, once Datuk had settled by the fire, "will lead you where you need to go. But first, you have to decide whose to follow."
"Whose?" Datuk frowned. "Aren't they pointing the same way?"
"They point," Krogan smiled mysteriously. "Each to its own. One to where your trial awaits. The other to where his trial awaits. The paths will diverge, then converge again. But first, you must choose."
Datuk and Sobra exchanged glances. The bear raised his head, and in his eyes was the same question Datuk felt: how to choose?
"We don't know where they lead," Datuk said. "How can we decide?"
"You can't," Krogan yawned and stretched, joints cracking. "Your head won't help. Your heart will tell you. Or something else. But you have to decide. And I'm going to sleep. I'm old now. We leave tomorrow."
He turned on his side, pulled his bundle close, and within minutes was breathing steadily, feigning sleep — or perhaps truly asleep; with shamans, you never knew.
Datuk sat by the fire, staring into the flames, thinking. Sobra lay beside him, his warm, heavy body the only thing keeping the dwarf from jumping up and setting out immediately.
"What do you think?" he asked quietly. "Whose compass should we follow?"
Sobra sighed. Long, expressive, with a slight shake of the air. Don't know, let's decide tomorrow.
"How about this," Datuk scratched behind the bear's ear. "We'll have a contest. Whoever wins more, we follow their compass. Fair. No hard feelings."
Sobra raised his head and looked at him. In his amber eyes danced merry sparks.
"No fighting," Datuk remembered. "Mother said: settle disputes with your head. Not your fists."
The bear nodded and put his nose back on the dwarf's knees. They sat like that a while longer, watching the fire die, as a huge moon rose over the hills, flooding everything in silver light.
Krogan, who apparently hadn't been sleeping at all, quietly chuckled into his gray beard and, smiling, closed his eyes for real.
Morning would come soon. And with it, the first contests, the arguments, the decision of which compass to follow. But for now, they could sit by the fire, listen to the coals crackle, and feel beside them the one with whom they were destined to walk this path.
Sobra began to snore, settling comfortably. Datuk closed his eyes. In his pack lay the honey pot from Sobra's father, and two compasses whose needles still circled, undecided. But they would decide. When the time came.
The moon rose higher, and its light, mingling with the last embers of the dying fire, lit the clearing with a soft, ghostly glow. Two slept, pressed close together, while the third, the old shaman, sat with eyes open, watching the stars form patterns only he could read.
"Let them lead," he whispered, barely audible. "They have their own path. But together, they'll make it."
And the stars, it seemed, agreed, shining a little brighter that night over the hills where two friends were just beginning their true journey.