"What the hell does that mean?"

The question startled the ship's captain, who was promptly stapled against one of the columns below deck.

"Ranier!" exclaimed Fynn, who ran after the boy along with the rest of the marked ones. The fine-clothed boy took advantage of the moment when the sailors were back on deck to ambush the ship's captain.

"Take your hands off me, you demon!" exclaimed the red-coated man between his teeth and with great contempt.

"Who are those who just boarded the ship?" asked Ranier with menacing firmness.

"What's it to you?" asked the man, who was holding the boy's hand in an attempt to shake it off. But, no matter how hard he tried, the captain could not remove the boy's arm.

"Ranier, let him go," exclaimed Fynn, watching the boy fixedly.

"Why?" asked the marked boy. "How do we know he isn't betraying us?"

"What I felt doesn't mean it's a betrayal!" soon replied Fynn, trying with his words to make that boy come to his senses.

"You have lost your mind, all of you!" exclaimed the captain, trying to struggle with his prisoner. At one point, he tried to scream but soon knew that would not be a good option.

"Scream, and I'll punch your jaw off," Ranier threatened with angry eyes.

The captain fell silent, they all did, and from one moment to the next, only the sound of waves and sailors could be heard above them.

Fynn held Ranier's wrist; he felt how tense that warrior's forearm was.

"There's no point in hurting him," Fynn pointed out calmly. "He's the captain, and unless you want to do the same to the sailors, you must let go..."

Ranier watched Fynn, saw him with his hazel eyes; they were withering, and even if the finely-dressed boy was much taller than he was, of a more athletic build than he was, Fynn looked much more determined.

Finally, Ranier pushed the captain against the column and released him.

The man in charge of the ship quickly grabbed his shirt's neck. Breathing heavily, he felt his trembling legs would soon make him fall.

The captain still saw that marked boy who prevented the other one from being attacked just a few steps away from him.

"Are you all right?" asked Fynn, concerned.

The hazel-eyed boy tried to approach him, but when he tried to grab his shoulder to help him stand, his hand was slapped by the captain.

"You devilish thing, take your hands off me!" the captain spat in annoyance. "I don't have to explain who I hired to work on my ship!"

"Oh, so you hired them?" asked Yue quickly and suspiciously. "Do you even know who you hired?"

The captain, avoiding listening to the akajsi girl, just glared at her and buttoned his coat collar with his big golden buttons.

"I don't have to tell you anything," the captain reiterated. "Be thankful that the company agreed to transport you. If you didn't wish to proceed, you would have got off at Ramley before we sailed again."

"Look, you piece of--"

Fynn quickly stopped Ranier, placing his arm in front of him, for it was not difficult for him to sense that his intentions were to strike the captain. However, the dark-skinned boy maintained his silence.

The captain climbed through the door toward the deck, grumbling, and cursing.

"What do you think?" asked Yue to his friend, looking for some certainty from him.

Fynn was doubtful, and on her face was plastered that concern. The boy then saw his friend and the rest of his own; Pollard was trying to calm Ranier down, but Ranier soon left for the cabins once more, at the same time as the rest of them followed him.

That night, there would be trouble.

It was to be expected that Erna would strongly disapprove of her husband taking her son's place to buy firewood at dawn. Samson, however, didn't listen to her, and that, he knew, would bring troubles for him when he returned.

The trip wouldn't be long, but it would take all morning to get there and back. Thus, Ronan would use his time to prepare himself while riding with the man in his two-horse wagon.

The marked man, still wounded, was going through all his belongings, making various preparations. From inside his bag, he managed to find a thick, loose-fitting white shirt to cover the extent of his mark's hand and the wounds on his body.

It was a shock to Samson, a man who had seen magic very few times in his life, to see the man get his entire arm into his worn travel bag and pull out books, papers, and gadgets.

"I see you travel full, Ronan of Vila," Samson remarked with a hoarse laugh.

Ronan mumbled for a moment, traced, and made scribbles that that farmer did not understand.

"What?" exclaimed Ronan, having heard his name.

"Oh, nothing. I see you're very focused," exclaimed the farmer.

Ronan returned a smile and a chuckle, "You would be concentrating if you were going to the destination, my good friend."

"It must be something very important; important enough to have come all the way back here..."

The man looked at the writings in his research log. Everything was there, from the advances he had made to the rituals he had investigated. Years of exploration among caves, mountains, valleys, and pits seemed to be paying off.

"What exactly do you do, Ronan of Vilna?" asked Samson, curious.

"It's quite complex," Ronan pointed out without looking at the man.

"Oh..."

Ronan rushed, "Wait, I didn't say that questioning your intelligence or anything."

The man looked at him with a steady gaze. Ronan cringed slightly at that look and the sheer size of the man.

However, Samson couldn't contain his laughter and soon burst out laughing.

"By Lithal! You should have seen the look on your face!"

Ronan sighed in relief, "You should have seen the look on yours..."

Samson's face reddened from so much laughter, and he soon leaned back in his cart to grab his water boot and drink from it.

"Do you still want to know what I do?" asked Ronan.

"Sure, it must be more interesting than harvesting and milking animals."

Ronan shook his head mockingly, "Maybe, just a little."

"So?" Samson insisted.

Ronan turned his gaze to his research journal and soon closed it. He had reread the pages of his research hundreds of times, so he could avoid them a while longer.

Ronan pondered his words for a few moments in the silence of the road, where a gentle breeze on that sunny day was the only sound that could be heard.

"I study my people, my kin," Ronan explained simply. "There is so much that isn't known about us. So much that the continent's people should learn to stop hunting us."

"It must be a life's work," Samson pointed out, offering the man something to drink.

Gently, Ronan declined but continued speaking.

"It is; this has taken a lot out of me to get ahead," Ronan exclaimed in a toneless voice as he took his logbook in hand. "Well, it didn't really take it away from me. I guess it was myself who took it from me..."

"All for a greater cause, right?" asked Samson, his eyes on the road.

Ronan watched him and nodded at that truth, "Yes, all for a greater cause. You know, the history of mankind, at least the written history, is perhaps four or six thousand years ago. However, the Akajsi people have been around since before that, or the Aj'naga, since much earlier."

"Ajshawhat'?" asked Samson.

"Serpentforlk," replied Ronan. "serpent-like humanoids."

"Do such things exist?" asked Samson in genuine amazement.

Ronan nodded, "They are human-like, living north of Aeton, across the seas from Dyndra."

"By Lithal, I pray I never come across a snake man in my life."

"I don't want to cross paths with one either... again."

Ronan smiled but soon gave a big sigh. He wanted to control his nerves.

He needed to control his nerves.

"What do humans, elves, and snake people have to do with the marked ones?" asked Samson.

Ronan answered truthfully, "Everything and nothing."

"That's..."

"Confusing and absurd, I know," the marked man soon replied.

"How are you people born?" asked Samson.

"We don't; we just appear. We do it in caves, wells, and holes worldwide. We do it in forests, mountains, islands, and deserts all over the world. We don't just exist in Aeton but in Feinsia, the Central Isles..."

"Where is Feinsia?" asked Samson.

"To the north," Ronan pointed. "Most of the continent is a giant desert. That's where the Talhari comes from, people with dark skin and very light eyes."

"Oh, similar to Fynn," Samson pointed out with a smile.

Ronan nodded, "I'm convinced he's a Talhari and not an Una or a Dulandir since they have different complexions..."

Samson watched him, a bit confused, and soon burst out laughing at the man's excitement, "That's too many names for me. I feel like my world just got smaller than it was."

A chuckle came over Ronan, "Sorry, sometimes they say I talk my head off. Fynn and Yue had to put up with me, and even when they wanted to know, they got too distracted along the way."

"I think it's interesting, though I still don't understand how they come into the world," Samson explained. "Are you the creations of some god?"

Ronan watched the farmer and widened his eyes before averting his gaze, "If a god is the one who creates us, I must demand too many answers. Why does it leave us at the mercy of others? Why the marks? Why do we exist?"

"They sound like tough questions to answer..."

Ronan asked, "You believe in Lithal, don't you?"

"That's right," the man said.

"Lithal is the mother of light, mercy, and mercy, right?"

Samson nodded.

"But there are evils, pestilence, suffering and..."

"And should I believe she doesn't exist or is she wrong because of that?"

Ronan paused and began to turn his hand over as he tried to get back to the thread of his words, "I didn't mean it that way, but..."

"Look, kid," Samson exclaimed, settling into his deep, gravelly, calm voice, "I'm going, to be honest with you; sometimes life is horrible. I lost a daughter not too long ago to an illness, and I thought I would lose my son Ruelle that day he traveled to pay tribute to the bandits..."

Ronan cleared his throat and looked shocked, "I was sorry to hear about your daughter..."

"She was a little sunshine, always the first to wake up and the last to go to sleep. Erna spent days and nights trying to find a way to heal. We implored the gods; I went through all the abbeys and cathedrals of Lithal all over Mizuna. But, unfortunately, it was all in vain; she died a few weeks before I returned home..."

Ronan interlaced his fingers and waited for that man to continue once he took a breath. Samson's voice had become slightly brittle.

Samson stilled his crying and emotions, "It was hard for our family; Erna didn't speak for several days, my youngest children kept asking, 'Papa, where is Adela?'. Then the bandit attacks started. Ronan of Vilna, I have seen the war, the pain, the suffering, and my wife and children cry. But, I never blamed Lithal for my torments, and it wasn't until recently that I felt her protective warmth."

Ronan looked at the man quizzically and asked, "You speak of a miracle?"

"A miracle, a twist of fate, something that made me believe she was watching over us despite the odds. The day Fynn and Yue arrived at my farm, my first thought was to chase them away because I quickly realized they were Marked. 'Demons,' 'monsters,' 'aberrations,' that was what I always heard. But, do you know what I saw?"

Ronan pondered his words and soon came up with an answer, "Children?"

Samson nodded, "I only saw two ragged, fearful, starving children. That day, when I saw them, I felt Lithal's warm caress telling me that I should accept them under my roof. Had I not done so, perhaps the next day, they would have executed my son for not having enough wealth to pay, possibly ending up destroying Erna... and me. Now, I don't know what the gods think of me, why I'm here, or anything like that. I only care about my family, I care about my wife, and I care about my children. To me, that's all the truth I need to hear once I lay my head on my pillow. Maybe you think I'm ignorant for thinking that..."

"Quite the opposite!" interrupted Ronan with a smile. "You may not be one for books and stuff, but you are wise; life made you a wise person, Samson."

"I can share even more of my wisdom if you put my name in one of your books," Samson smilingly, as he put his arm around the man amicably.

By mid-morning, most of the journey was made, so once the grove was in front of them again, Ronan saddled one of the horses pulling the wagon to mount it.

"If you make it back, I'll follow this path," Samson explained.

"I'll be back, don't worry," exclaimed Ronan, who, still sore from his wounds, found it challenging to mount his horse.

"Don't you want me to ride with you?" asked the farmer.

Ronan shook his head, "I'd rather do this alone; also, my pride won't be so sullied by not having to ask you to carry me like a princess."

The marked man and the farmer shared another laugh.

"Thank you very much, Samson. I appreciate what you've done for me, and I appreciate even more what you did for the kids."

"I only did what any person would have done,'' Samson pointed out.

"Not every person; just a good-hearted person."

With all words said, Ronan rode up the mountain, where the truth would lay in a cave.