I stand at the edge of the river, the humid air thick with the scent of rotting vegetation and distant smoke. My son Jack is beside me, breathing hard, his clothes torn from days of forced march. We’ve been attacked, chased, and stripped of supplies—yet we’re closer than ever. The compass in my pocket still points forward, not north. It’s been doing that for days.

Behind us, the warriors who ambushed us are gone. Ahead, a tribe we’ve never seen emerges from the mist. Their faces are painted with geometric patterns, their eyes knowing. One elder steps forward, speaking in a dialect I don’t recognize—but somehow, I understand.

'You have come,' he says. 'But your spirits are torn. They do not belong here, nor in your world. You must find where they do.'

Jack grips my arm. 'Father, what are they saying?'

I don’t answer. I already know what comes next. The ceremony. The drink. The surrender.

Do I let go of everything I’ve ever known? Or do I fight for a truth that may not exist?