The battle with the Gorr'ka had left the tribe bruised but victorious. Over the following days, they reinforced their defenses and ensured their survival against any future threats. Though exhausted, Jack found himself feeling more at home than ever. The pain of his warrior's mark had faded, leaving behind a scar that served as a constant reminder—he was no longer just a visitor in this frozen world. He was one of them.
Yet, as the days passed, a different unease settled within him. He had fought, bled, and survived among the tribe, but deep in his heart, the thought of home crept back into his mind. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Would he ever see the world he had come from again? He had spent so long struggling to survive that the idea of returning had almost seemed impossible. But now, it haunted his dreams.
One night, he dreamt of city lights, the hum of cars, and the warmth of the sun against modern glass windows. He saw himself walking down familiar streets, people moving past him, oblivious to what he had been through. He reached out, calling to them, but no one heard him. Then, just as he felt the warmth of home, he was pulled back into the icy winds of the past.
Jack woke with a start, breath visible in the cold night air. He stared at the rough ceiling of his shelter, heart pounding. The dream had been so vivid. Was it his subconscious clinging to memories of the past, or was it a sign? A reminder that he did not belong here forever?
He sat up and looked around the darkened camp. The fires had burned low, casting flickering shadows over the sleeping tribe. He spotted Garrak sitting by the embers of the central fire, deep in thought. Taking a deep breath, Jack stood and approached him.
"You are troubled," Garrak said without looking up.
Jack hesitated before answering. "I don't know if I belong here," he admitted. "This tribe… this life… it's become my home, but I wasn't meant to stay here forever."
Garrak was silent for a long time before finally speaking. "You have the heart of a warrior, but your spirit is divided. You look to the horizon, always searching." He turned to Jack, his gaze unreadable. "If your path lies beyond the valley, then you must follow it. But understand this—you will always be one of us."
Jack swallowed hard. Garrak's words were both comforting and painful. He didn't want to abandon the people who had saved him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was meant to return to his own time. The only question was—how?
Over the next few days, Jack began gathering supplies, preparing for what he knew would be a long journey. He didn't know where to begin looking for a way back, but he knew he had to try. Each evening, as the sun dipped below the icy horizon, he would stare into the distance, his mind filled with possibilities.
Then, one day, an elderly woman named Yarra approached him. She was one of the wisest members of the tribe, a keeper of stories passed down through generations.
"You seek something," she said, studying him with knowing eyes.
Jack nodded. "A way home."
Yarra's face darkened. "There are old tales," she said. "Stories of strange places beyond the mountains, where the world is different. Where the air hums with energy and the ground itself is sacred."
Jack felt a chill run down his spine. "What kind of place?"
She hesitated before answering. "A place where the sky opens, where time bends."
Jack's heart pounded. Could this be the key? A place where time bends—could it be the answer to his return?
Determined, Jack made his decision. He would find this place, no matter how far or how dangerous the journey would be. And so, with the tribe's blessing, he prepared to leave, stepping onto a path that could lead him back to the world he once knew.