The next morning, Torya woke earlier than the rest of his people. He stepped out of the cave and settled onto a large boulder, watching the sun climb slowly over the horizon. Its warm light painted the world in gold, yet his thoughts were heavy.
Once, he had been nothing more than an ordinary architecture student, a young man who had pushed himself too far until exhaustion claimed his life. That past felt distant now, yet three years had passed since his memories had returned, and he had long since adapted to the harsh rhythm of this new world. Still, the weight of being a chieftain pressed on his shoulders like a mantle he had not chosen.
His mind wandered, sifting through fragments of old knowledge, searching for anything that could aid his tribe. The laughter and fullness of last night's feast flickered in his thoughts. They had eaten well, but their cooking methods remained simple roasting meat over an open fire, with only the occasional pinch of salt, a resource too precious to waste. The rest of the meat had to be consumed within the week before it spoiled, with only a small portion preserved by the traded salt from neighboring tribes.
Behind him, the cave stirred with life. One by one, his tribesmen began to rise, their footsteps soft on the earth as they stepped out into the morning light. A few children's sleepy voices echoed faintly, followed by the low murmur of women greeting the day. Above them all, the occasional chirping of birds broke the quiet, weaving nature's song into the tribe's awakening.
Then a memory surfaced an old method he had once read about: smoking meat to preserve it. The details were hazy, the process incomplete in his mind, yet the idea lingered with stubborn clarity. He was not certain how it should be done, but uncertainty had become a constant companion in this life. Still, he knew one truth doing nothing would only let their hard-won food rot away.
With that thought, Torya clenched his hands and resolved to try. Better to attempt and fail than to waste the gift of the hunt.
Torya rose from the boulder and called out to the youths nearby, motioning for them to follow. Soon, a handful of young hunters and a few elders gathered around the fire, their eyes curious at being summoned so early.
"I've been thinking," Torya began, his voice steady though a flicker of doubt stirred within him. "We need a better way to keep our meat from spoiling. Salt is scarce, and we waste too much of our hunts."
An elder frowned, his brow creasing. "And what way is that, Chieftain? We've salted meat since our fathers' time."
"Not with salt," Torya said, shaking his head. "I remembered something from… before." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "It's called smoking. We hang the meat above a fire—not to cook it, but to let the smoke dry and preserve it. It lasts longer."
One of the youths leaned forward, wide-eyed. "So… it's like roasting, but slower?"
"Slower, and without burning," Torya explained, drawing shapes in the dirt with a stick. "We need a steady fire, low and smoking, not too hot. The smoke will coat the meat, drive away pests, and keep it from rotting so quickly."
The elder woman with the scarred hands spoke up, her tone thoughtful. "It sounds strange… but if it works, it will save us much salt." She gave a small nod. "It is worth the attempt."
Another elder stroked his chin, skeptical. "And if the meat spoils anyway?"
"Then we learn," Torya answered firmly. His gaze swept over them, the firelight catching in his eyes. "But if it works… then our tribe will never go hungry so quickly again."
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Then one by one, the youths murmured their agreement, curiosity and excitement sparking in their voices.
"Let's try it, Chieftain."
"Yes, show us how."
Torya exhaled quietly, a small weight lifting from his chest. He didn't know if the method would succeed but he knew he had taken the first step.
As such, they gathered the remaining meat from the hunt of the previous day. Torya crouched beside the slabs, his mind racing through fragments of half-remembered knowledge. He straightened, then pointed toward the clearing.
"You," he said to one of the taller boys, "gather dry wood—nothing too thick. We'll need it to keep the fire low and steady."
The youth nodded and darted off eagerly.
Turning to another, Torya added, "Find stones. Flat ones, if you can. We'll need them to line the pit and keep the fire contained."
"Yes, Chieftain!" the boy replied, running with excitement.
Some of the younger girls lingered, uncertain. Torya softened his tone. "You can help prepare the meat. Cut it into strips long and thin. That way the smoke can reach every part."
They exchanged nervous glances but obeyed, fetching knives from the elders.
One of the older men watched him with skeptical eyes. "Are you sure of this, Torya? Fire cooks, it does not preserve."
Torya's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice calm. "I am not certain. But the smoke if kept steady dries the meat without burning it. If I am wrong, we lose little. If I am right, we gain much."
The elder grunted, unconvinced, but said no more.
Before long, the clearing grew busy with movement youths dragging branches, children balancing stones in their arms, and the scent of raw meat mixing with the crisp morning air. Torya guided them step by step, arranging the stones, shaping a shallow pit, and explaining as best he could. Though doubt gnawed at him, each order spoken with confidence seemed to steady his own heart.
For the first time since he woke on that boulder, Torya felt like a chieftain not just by title, but by action.
After much work, the tribe finished a crude drying rack. It wobbled slightly when touched, the frame bound together with rough ropes and strips of hide. Smoke curled up from the shallow pit beneath it, and several of the elders kept a watchful eye, waving branches now and then to choke any flame that tried to spark to life. The air smelled of burning wood and raw meat.
With the rack in place, Torya gathered the youths and set them to other tasks while they waited. Some stripped long branches of bark and sharpened them into spears, their knives scraping in rhythmic strokes. Others chipped away at stones, knocking them into jagged shapes to lash onto the ends.
Torya sat among them, his own hands busy as he carved a point onto a sturdy shaft of wood. For a while, only the rasp of stone against wood filled the air, but then one of the boys glanced up at him.
"Chieftain," he said, hesitant, "do you really think the smoke will work? My father says meat spoils no matter what."
Torya gave a small smile, though he didn't stop working. "Maybe it will, maybe it won't. But every new thing begins as a doubt. If we never tried, we'd never know."
A younger girl piped up, excitement shining in her eyes. "If it does work, we won't have to rush eating everything. We could keep meat for when the hunts are bad."
"Exactly," Torya said, nodding. "And maybe one day we'll find more ways to use what we have. Hunting, building, farming none of it must remain as it always was."
The youths murmured to each other, their voices carrying a mix of wonder and determination. For the first time, Torya felt not just like a leader, but like an elder brother to them guiding, teaching, and learning alongside his people.
As the spears took shape, the chatter grew livelier. A boy grinned as he tested the point of his wooden weapon. "Chieftain, how do you know all these strange things? Smoke, tools, even the way you tie ropes it's like you've lived many lives."
The others laughed softly, but their eyes held the same curiosity.
Torya paused, running a thumb along the sharp tip of his spear. He chose his words with care. "I've seen other ways of living, far from here. My memories are… scattered. Sometimes I remember, sometimes I don't. But what I do recall, I want to share so we can all live better."
A girl tilted her head. "So you carry the wisdom of the ancestors?"
He gave a wry smile. "Something like that. But remember knowledge only matters if we use it together. Alone, I can't change anything."
Their laughter softened into thoughtful silence, and for a moment the group felt bound not just by blood, but by hope.