The great totem towered above the village, carved from the trunk of an ancient tree. Its wood had darkened over centuries, hard as stone, its surface covered in spirals and lines no child could read.
Even the elders gave different answers when asked what the carvings meant. Some called them prayers, others claimed they were seals. Most simply said the totem was a blessing, a guardian that kept evil away from the valley.
Children dared each other to touch its base when the elders were not watching. They laughed as they slapped the weathered wood and then ran, as though spirits might chase them. To most, it was nothing more than a superstition.
Kael never laughed.
He sat before it often, cross-legged in the dirt, silent. The other children mocked him for staring at dead wood, whispering that the orphan was cursed or that spirits had hollowed his mind.
He ignored them.
The more he studied the carvings, the more he noticed that they were not random scratches at all.
When he looked up at the night sky, he saw that the stars shifted in patterns that seemed to echo the grooves. The thought lingered in his mind: the totem was not just decoration.
One night, when the fires had burned low and the camp lay silent, Kael returned to the totem. Moonlight pooled across its surface, cold and silver. He reached out slowly, almost without thinking, and pressed his palm against the ancient wood.
At first, there was nothing. Then a faint warmth spread across his skin, seeping into his veins. Lines of pale light stirred across the carvings, glowing faintly before fading like breath on glass.
Kael's eyes widened.
His heart pounded so loudly he thought it might wake the tribe. He pulled his hand back sharply, staring at his palm, but it looked unchanged. He turned his gaze to the totem.
It stood silent and still, its carvings dull once more. Kael stayed there a long time, his breathing unsteady, his mind racing.
By morning, the whispers began.
"The orphan lingers too long at the totem," one woman muttered as Kael walked past with a bundle of firewood.
"He will bring curses," another hissed, pulling her child away.
The children were louder than before, jeering as they threw pebbles in his direction. Their laughter carried unease now, as though mocking him would keep fear at bay.
Kael said nothing. His face betrayed no reaction. He lowered his gaze, but his eyes remained steady, unshaken by their words.
From the edge of the camp, the elder hunter leaned on his spear. He had not slept much the night before.
He had been awake when Kael touched the totem, awake when he saw the faint glow that ran through its carvings. He had told no one, yet the image haunted him.
"Strange boy," the hunter murmured, his voice low.
"Too strange."
That evening, Kael sat beneath the stars once more, silent and still. To the villagers, he was a curse. To the hunter, he was a riddle.
Only the stars seemed to know the truth that something within the boy had stirred, and the world was not ready for it.