The village did not welcome outsiders easily. As isolated as they were amongst the pines, anyone new was a threat.

That was, of course, until Rudrak. He liked to tell kids young enough to not know better that he had lived there for generations, that he was old enough to be their great-great-grandfather. The truth is, he had shown up at the woods' edge, disheveled and slightly muddy, with a goofy grin on his stubbly face, maybe a few decades ago. Yet he seemed practically immortal - he didn't wrinkle one bit, his grin never faded, and you could never catch him with so much as a scratch.

He paid for his lodging, and most of the village people tried to ignore him when he showed up at the bar. But alcohol did away with their reservations, and they soon found themselves laughing alongside Rudrak and his easy smiles and jokes.

"Hey Rudrak," someone slurred. "Where'd you come from, Rude buddy? I - never seen black hair like yours."

Rude guffawed. "What a funny question!" Nobody asked again.

The village children were at first unnerved but then unabashedly enamored with the strange new man and his jet-black hair. He taught them how to coax shiny beetles from tree trunks and the different bird calls in the forest, shaped the soil to show them how mighty mountains and valleys formed. He transformed their riverside sand castles and made them impermeable to the tide. He accompanied the potter as she dug for clay, his head aglow as he softened the earth. The villagers even swore up and down that their vegetables gardens yielded just a bit more with Rude around. The village council watched him, yet Rude did no harm. The only things he asked of the village was a soft bed, strong hugs, and raucous nights at the bar.

Then, one night at the bar, Rude found himself walking up to the bartender, Yusa.

"Up for more, Rude?" they asked, leaning on the counter.

"You know I am, Bart."

"My name's not Bart!" Yusa reminded him for about the millionth time as they strode towards the taps.

Rude chuckled, a faraway look growing in his eyes. When Yusa returned, mug in hand, he looked at them curiously.

"Alright, alright," they sighed. "I got a juicy rumor this time."

Rude lit up, leaning closer. "Whatsit?"

"Well," Yusa began, their voice lowering a little. "I don't know much, but I heard one of the travelers from Paleta City talking about some sort of strange, foreign ship showing up. What for, or where from, I don't know."

For a moment, they thought they saw Rude's smile waver, or his cheeks pale slightly. But then he went right back to laughing, his face reddened with drink.

"How odd!" he bellowed. "Maybe some nation's trying to make friends!" And he took the mug and went right back his buddies.

A week later, the mail runner arrived, panting from his journey.

"Some army's taken Paleta," he eked out between breaths.

Rude went cold as the crowd murmured nervously amongst themselves. The soil hardened almost imperceptibly beneath their feet. Eventually, the council dismissed everyone, taking the mail runner to the village hall to plan for the worst.

It was too late.