𝙉𝙮𝙭𝙚𝙧𝙖 ✧

Whispers of the Night Wind

The lower floor of the Stadium of the Sacred Flame buzzed with energy, as lively and chaotic as the open markets in Natlan's villages.

The scent of roasted meats and spiced fruits hung in the air, blending with the sounds of music, laughter, and chatter from guilds and revelers.

Long tables were piled high with food, and adventurers shared stories of victories, losses, and everything in between.

Frisk maneuvered through the bustling crowds, bidding farewell to Kachina, who was caught up in conversation with a group of warriors.

"See you later, Frisk!" she called out, giving them a bright grin before disappearing into the crowd.

Frisk smiled softly and gave a small wave. Kachina was going to be fine-her path was laid out clearly in front of her, strong and determined.

As for Frisk? Things felt... different.

What does it even mean to walk a path of my own?

That question hung in their mind as they moved toward a shadowed corner of the stadium.

They had been summoned by someone important-a figure from the tribe of the Masters of the Night Wind, one of the most mysterious tribes in Natlan.

In the dim corner, away from the rowdy crowd, stood a figure draped in light, flowing robes, patterned with symbols of the night sky.

This was Citlali, an elder of the Masters of the Night Wind-a tribe known for their deep connection to shadows, winds, and secrets whispered under the moonlight.

At first glance, Citlali didn't look much like an elder.

Her youthful appearance was a contradiction to her years, and her sharp, mischievous smile gave her an almost playful aura.

But the moment she turned her piercing gaze toward Frisk, they knew this was someone not to be taken lightly.

"There you are," Citlali said, hands on her hips. "I was starting to think you'd run off to join the Saurians or something."

Frisk blinked in surprise. "Uh... no? I just-"

Citlali waved a hand, cutting them off with a smirk.
"Relax, kid. I'm just teasing. Come on, sit down." She gestured toward a quieter spot where the two could talk.
"We have some things to discuss."

As Frisk sat down beside her, Citlali crossed her legs and gave them a once-over, as if sizing them up.
"You're... an odd one, aren't you?" she said with a grin that didn't seem unkind, just curious.
"You probably don't know why I'm so interested in you, do you?"

Frisk shook their head.
"No, not really."

Citlali leaned closer, her eyes glinting with intrigue. "It's your ancient name."

Frisk furrowed their brow. "What about it?"

Citlali sighed, leaning back with a dramatic flair that felt almost too sassy for someone in her position.
"Look, every tribe has their ancient names. These names are more than just words-they carry power, history, and meaning.
Most of us get names that have been passed down for generations, linking us to our ancestors and our roles within the tribe."

She gave Frisk a pointed look. "But your name? Your ancient name isn't tied to anything. No legacy, no ancestors, no history."

Frisk shifted uneasily. "So... it's a bad thing?"

"Not bad," Citlali said thoughtfully, tapping her chin.
"But it's rare. Extremely rare. In fact, I've never seen it before. An ancient name that feels... like a beginning. Like something entirely new."

Frisk felt the knot of anxiety in their chest tighten. They had always sensed something was different about them-something that set them apart, but in a way they couldn't quite understand.

Citlali grinned again, her sharp smile returning. "It's almost as if you're the start of a new generation of ancient names. That's not just rare, kid. That's... fascinating."

Frisk blinked, still trying to absorb her words. A new generation? What did that even mean?

Before they could ask more questions, Citlali's playful demeanor shifted slightly, a flicker of concern crossing her face.

"Anyway," Citlali said, waving off the subject for now.
"That's not why I called you over. I need your help."

Frisk tilted their head. "Help with what?"

Citlali sighed, the playfulness fading from her voice. "It's about my grandson, Ororon. That boy has a talent for sneaking off when he shouldn't. And now, he's gone missing again."

Frisk frowned. "Is... is he in danger?"

"Not exactly," Citlali muttered, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.
"He's a clever one, too clever for his own good. But he's still a kid. And if he's sneaking around places he shouldn't be, well... I'd rather not have to drag him out of trouble again."

There was a flicker of something softer in her expression-worry, perhaps, though she quickly masked it with exasperation.
"Honestly, I'm going to scold him to pieces if I find him, but I still need to find him first."

Frisk offered a small smile.
"I'll help you look for him."

Citlali raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by their quick response. But then she gave them a sly grin. "Good. I knew I liked you."

With the sun dipping below the horizon, the two set out into the night, weaving through the quieter corners of the stadium and the surrounding village.

Citlali moved with a surprising lightness, her steps as silent as the night wind itself.

"Ororon likes to sneak around near the outskirts," Citlali explained as they walked. "There are places out there that aren't... exactly safe. He has a talent for finding trouble, that boy."

Frisk followed closely, the cool night air brushing against their skin.

The shadows seemed deeper now, the wind carrying faint whispers that only the Masters of the Night Wind could understand.

Citlali's presence was oddly reassuring-though she seemed calculating yet carefree, Frisk could tell there was a sharpness to her. She knew these shadows well.

"Do you think he's okay?" Frisk asked quietly as they searched.

Citlali gave a small sigh.
"He's fine. Just a little brat sometimes."
But there was a flicker of worry in her voice, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

As they ventured further into the outskirts, the sounds of the stadium faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the night.

The two searched through narrow alleyways, abandoned shrines, and the edges of the canyon cliffs, calling softly for Ororon.

And then...

"There!" Citlali hissed, spotting a small figure darting through the shadows ahead.

Frisk barely caught a glimpse-a boy, looked like a teenager, with wild hair and a grim face, sneaking around as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Ororon!" Citlali called, her voice sharp with both relief and annoyance. "Get back here!"

The boy froze for a moment, his eyes wide like a caught animal, and then-

"Oh no you don't!" Citlali muttered, springing forward with surprising speed.

Frisk followed close behind, a mix of amusement and concern bubbling in their chest as they chased the boy through the shadows.

The night wind swirled around them as the chase began, laughter and exasperation mingling under the starlit sky.

Ororon was fast, but Citlali was faster, and Frisk found themselves smiling despite everything.

This night had started with questions-questions about ancient names and mysterious paths-but now, it was just a chase under the stars.

And somehow, that felt right.