A full year had passed since James Peterson's trial in the arena, a year that carved his name deeper into the memory of the D'kari tribe. Now six years old in this strange galaxy, his small frame had begun to grow lean muscle from countless hours of training, and his eyes carried a quiet intensity that set him apart. He was no longer just the outsider's child. He was the Flame Survivor.
In that year, the stories surrounding his victory over Tharak had morphed into legend. Children still swung sticks in mock battles, calling each other by James's name. Hunters now greeted him with nods of recognition, and the tribe's shaman began to speak of him in half-whispered tones as a figure touched by destiny. His reputation had grown, but James remained grounded. He could not afford to lose himself in the myth the tribe had built around him.
He never once mentioned Earth. Never spoke of his old life. The memory of dying in a sterile white hospital bed, cancer hollowing him out, lived only in the corners of his dreams. Here, he was something new. Something becoming.
The D'kari viewed him now not just as a survivor, but as a possible future.
The effects of the trial never truly faded. James trained with the warriors every morning, practicing with staff, knife, and spear. At night, he reviewed every skill in his growing mental system interface. As he practiced techniques, the system built skill trees based on repetition and core fundamentals.
[Staff Combat: 58%]
[Tactical Insight: Stance Reading Lv. 2]
[Knife Basics Unlocked – Skill Tree Available]
[Force Body: Lv. 2 – Bonus: +10% durability, +5% stamina recovery]
[New Stat Developed – Leadership Potential (Latent)]
He trained in silence. Rarely did he boast. But every move, every sparring session, every bruised muscle and calloused palm was noticed. The tribe watched him grow. Not just in strength, but in discipline.
The whispers began.
"Perhaps he should lead the hunters."
"He has eyes like the stars. Like he sees more than we do."
"He's only six," the elders would counter. "But the old ways did say the Flame Survivor would be more than flesh..."
Even his mother, who kept mostly to herself, had found her own standing raised. No longer treated as the outsider's widow, she was now respected as the woman who birthed the tribe's omen.
Only she knew James's secret—that the boy with the intense stare had once been a man. And only she knew the pressure he carried.
In the final weeks of his sixth year, James was summoned to the Circle of Flame—the inner chamber where tribe leaders met when death loomed.
Elder Ataka, a man of fifty cycles and deep battle scars, motioned for James to sit beside him. The war tent smelled of dust, dried blood, and the smoke of seer's incense.
Three other elders sat around the stone circle. All watched James with varying degrees of curiosity and approval. His presence here, at such a young age, was highly irregular.
"Flame Survivor," Ataka said, voice low but firm. "The Skarn raiders return every cycle. Stronger. Bolder. We lose warriors, crops, children."
"We have seen your growth," another elder added. "Your tactics. Your influence."
"The tribe is afraid," Ataka said. "But they look to you. And some of us begin to wonder… whether the boy who beat Tharak might be something more than just a warrior."
James said nothing. He watched the fire flicker in the central pit, the flames mirrored in his calm eyes.
"You would speak for your people?" one elder asked, almost testing him.
"I would bleed for them," James answered. "But I'll speak when I have the answer. Not before."
Silence.
Ataka leaned forward. "Then we ask you: if you had power to guide us... what would you do to survive the next Skarn raid?"
The air grew still. Even the flames seemed to quiet.
James didn't answer.
"I will give you that answer," he said, voice even. "At the next council. But it will not be what you expect."
Ataka smiled faintly. "So be it."
And just like that, the tribe's path shifted, ever so slightly, toward a boy who had once died in another world—who now walked forward into legend, one year at a time.