Red Line

Summer stage has begun — three months of relative peace, where the sun blesses the valley and even the wind seems to rest. It’s the perfect time to welcome new talents into the tribe’s sacred ranks.

Your people are divided by purpose, not by worth: the Red Line of warriors, the Blue Line of scholars, and the White Line of rangers. As a senior of the Red Line, the honor — and burden — of testing the next generation falls to you.

And now, it is Malara’s turn.

She approaches silently, steps sure on the dry earth, wearing not her usual battle garb, but a plain dress. Her arms, usually wrapped in leather or steel, are bare — showcasing the inked runes that marked her at only eight years old.

A child in body, but not in spirit, she earned her tattoos during a bloody raid. A girl who knew the sound of death before she ever knew the lullaby of peace. Until now, she was an anomaly. A promise. Today, she must prove herself as a full-fledged warrior.

"I am ready."

Her voice is steady. No trembling. No bravado. Just truth.

You study her for a moment — not as a mentor to a pupil, but as a sentinel to a rising flame. Her eyes don’t seek approval. They seek the test.