The thought hit like a sharp stone—Your motherfucker, you’re just a kid... maybe I should get his wife to give birth to another one... bitch.
The frustration coiled in my chest, but beneath it, sothing colder and more calculated took root. If I wanted to survive here, if I wanted to thrive, I needed them to trust . And what was easier to trust than a child?
I thought maybe I should follow that guy, as I believed it would be easier to make them trust if I were a kid.
The leader’s voice cut through my thoughts like a blade, deep and commanding. "So then... I ask you this—do you want to be part of our tribe?" His eyes bore into mine, unblinking, as if he could see straight through the lies I hadn’t even spoken yet. The air felt heavy, thick with the weight of his question. One wrong word, one misplaced glance, and I’d be back in the wilderness—or worse.
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to tremble just enough. "Will... will I get enough to eat?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, raw and desperate. For a second, I hated myself for it. But then, the laughter started.
It began with one of them—a deep, rumbling chuckle—before spreading like wildfire. The sound was rich, almost musical, the kind of laughter that ca from bellies full of at and hearts full of pride. "Hah! Hahaha!" The tallest one slapped his knee, nearly doubling over. "Kid, we’re the best hunters in all the villages! Even if the whole world starves, we won’t!"
I let my eyes widen, my mouth falling open just slightly. "Really?" The awe in my voice wasn’t entirely faked. There was sothing intoxicating about their confidence, the way they carried themselves like kings in a world that should’ve broken them.
The leader—no, Elder Ryan, as he’d later correct —nodded, his expression softening just a fraction. "If you want to stay, you can. But there are rules." His tone left no room for argunt. This wasn’t an invitation; it was a test.
I kept my gaze locked on his, my spine straight. I could feel the weight of every eye on , judging, asuring.
"1. Always follow the village head’s order... that is ..." A flicker of sothing—amusent? satisfaction?—crossed his face as he watched process that. The hierarchy here wasn’t just clear; it was absolute.
"2. Betrayal is death..." No trial. No second chances. Just the finality of a blade or a rope. I forced myself to nod, my pulse hamring in my throat.
"3. Respect the won and elders of the tribe. They are the heart and wisdom of our people. You will treat them with kindness and honor, always." His voice was firm, carrying the weight of tradition and the importance of their social fabric.
As I stood there, listening intently to the village chief, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of determination wash over . My eyes never left his, trying to show the respect and obedience I needed to show.
I knew that this was just the beginning, that there would be challenges and obstacles ahead. But I also knew that I had the potential to overco them, to carve out a new life for myself in this strange new world.
I nodded and said, "Understood, Village Chief..." The words were a mix of respect and determination, a reminder of the complex social structures that existed even in this primitive world.
The leader nodded with a bit of satisfaction and said, "You call Elder... Ryan..." The na was a surprise, a stark contrast to the primitive world around us.
But I knew that it might be because of translation, a Universal Language ability that allowed to understand any language and be understood.
I nodded, "Elder Ryan..."
The village chief introduced the others, his voice full of pride and authority.
He turned to the others, pride bleeding into his voice as he introduced them. "These are my brothers, the best hunters you’ll ever et."
He introduced a person who was as tall as I, his body a testant to the physical labor he endured daily. He looked to be in his 30s.
The chief said, "He is the youngest hunter we have... You can call him... Elder brother... Tusk.." The words were full of affection, felt like the bonds of family and friendship that held these people together.
The chief introduced the other person, who had a big belly, a testant to the abundance of food in this village. He said, "He is your Elder Mitt..."
Then Ryan’s gaze shifted to the man beside him—a mountain of a human with a belly that spoke of too many successful hunts and not enough running. "And this," he said, grinning now, "is Mitt. He’s got a hut big enough for two. Mitt, take him back to the village. Let him stay with you."
Mitt nodded, his eyes a mix of kindness and curiosity. He looked at and said, "Kid, what is your na?" The word was a mix of curiosity and kindness, as if he really was concerned about .
I said, "I am Dexter..." I said my real na. Mitt nodded, his eyes were full of kindness and sympathy, maybe toward the story I had just forged.
As Mitt and I walked towards the village, I couldn’t help but notice the children playing together, their laughter a stark contrast to the primitive world around us.
The village unfolded before like sothing out of a half-rembered dream. The huts, built from mud and straw, stood in a rough circle, their thatched roofs sagging under the weight of the sun.
Smoke curled from small fires, carrying the scent of cooking at and burning herbs. Children darted between the structures, their laughter sharp and bright, their bodies streaked with dirt and joy.
The structures were a stark contrast to the untad wilderness that surrounded us, a reminder of the advanced Stone Age period these people were in. They were not living in caves but in organized groups.
The huts were arranged in a circular pattern, creating a sense of community and protection. Each hut was unique, so larger than others, indicating the status or size of the family within.
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