Under the pale glow of a waning moon, the Skuggulfr clan's camp was wrapped in an unsettling silence. In recent weeks, important items had mysteriously vanished, stirring unease among the clan members. Among the stolen goods were Kjetil's precious potions—White Potions and Concentration Potions—as well as a Bevor, and even the famed Orc Sword that Dagrík had acquired years earlier during a mission in the Orc Village. Each loss was a blow to the clan's logistics and morale—especially in times of war.
Dagrík, suspecting that someone—or something—was sabotaging the clan, gathered the warriors around the central campfire. His deep, commanding voice sliced through the night air.
"These thefts end now. Whoever is behind this will learn the hard way that Skuggulfr is no easy target. Tomorrow, we set a trap. I want every one of you alert. The culprit will face the punishment they deserve."
The next morning, the plan was set into motion. Valuable items—including a Tiara and a pair of Crystal Shoes—were deliberately placed inside one of the tents. Hidden from view, the clan members waited patiently for the thief to return. The air was thick with tension, every breath held in anticipation of the moment when the silence would break.
And then, a small shadow appeared, moving with the precision of a predator. With light, cautious steps, a boy slipped silently into the tent. His green eyes glimmered with anticipation as he examined the loot. But just as he reached out for the items, the tent curtains were violently thrown aside—revealing Dagrík and three armed warriors. Blades were drawn. The boy froze in place.
"Caught the rat!" Dagrík roared, his voice echoing across the camp. The thief tried to run, but one of the warriors seized him by the collar and slammed him to the ground. Skinny and filthy, the boy struggled to break free, but it was clear he stood no chance against the clan's fighters.
The rest of the clan quickly gathered, forming a tight circle around the captured thief. Liv and Kjetil arrived moments later, their expressions a mix of shock and concern.
"Who are you, boy?" Dagrík demanded, his voice cold and sharp. "And why are you stealing from our clan?"
The boy trembled, eyes fixed on the clan leader, but said nothing. He knew well enough that on the streets, confession was weakness—and weakness could mean death.
"Speak," Dagrík growled, raising his voice, "or this will be the last time you raise a hand to steal anything."
It was Liv who stepped forward, placing herself between the fallen boy and the angry warrior.
"He's just a child, Dagrík. Look at him. We can't treat him like an enemy."
"A child who's stolen weeks' worth of supplies!" Dagrík shot back. "We don't have room for mercy."
Kjetil knelt beside the boy, offering a calm, steady hand.
"What's your name, little one?" he asked, his tone gentle and warm.
"E-Einar," the boy finally whispered, his voice shaking.
The alchemist gave a faint smile, hoping to defuse the tension.
"Well, Einar, if you needed something, you could've asked. No need to steal."
Kjetil's words seemed to break through the boy's defenses. Between sobs, Einar explained that he was an orphan living on the streets of Prontera. Surviving through theft, he had stumbled upon the camp by chance and saw an opportunity—food, valuables, things he could sell to survive.
The clan was divided. Some, like Dagrík, called for severe punishment—or even execution. Others, like Liv and Kjetil, saw a boy in need, someone whose heart could still be shaped. After hours of debate, Liv turned to Dagrík, her gaze unwavering.
"He can learn, Dagrík. Give him a chance. Haven't we all been shaped by hardship in some way? Why not show him there's another path?"
Dagrík stared long and hard at the boy, his expression unreadable. At last, he let out a heavy sigh and turned to the clan.
"He stays. But know this: I will not tolerate betrayal."
And so, Einar was taken in by the Skuggulfr clan. At first, suspicion clung to him like a shadow, and he was watched constantly. But over time, the boy began to prove his worth. He used his cunning to aid in espionage and reconnaissance missions, always finding paths and solutions that others overlooked. Being close in age to Thanatos, the two formed a fast friendship—one that would soon blossom into an unbreakable bond of brotherhood.
For the first time in his life, Einar had found something he'd never known: a home. Under the clan's protection, he began to channel his talents in service of his newfound family. Guided by Liv and Kjetil's compassion, and tempered by Dagrík's strict but fair leadership, Einar discovered a greater purpose. He became an indispensable asset to the clan's operations—and more importantly, one of its own.