Hours passed, the sun climbing higher as the fire smoldered under watchful eyes. When at last Torya rose to check the rack, the others gathered close. The meat, once raw and damp, had darkened and begun to firm under the smoke's embrace. The scent was strong earthy and sharp, different from roasted flesh but far from spoiled.
One of the elders leaned in, surprise flickering across his face. "It… it holds. Not cooked, not rotting. Perhaps this truly works."
A cheer rose from the youths, their excitement echoing off the cave walls. "It worked! It worked!"
Torya allowed himself a rare smile, the weight on his shoulders easing for a heartbeat. He didn't know how long the meat would last, but it was a beginning a step forward carved from memory and determination.
And as he looked at the eager faces around him, Torya felt something stir inside. For the first time, he believed the tribe's future might not be survival alone but growth.
Only time would reveal whether the smoked meat truly lasted longer. For now, it seemed promising—but Torya's relief quickly faded as another thought struck him.
We have no place to store it.
He cursed silently, his jaw tightening. What use was preservation if animals, insects, or rain could ruin it before they ever tasted the benefit? His eyes wandered over the clearing, then lifted to the sky. The sun now blazed at its peak, the heat pressing down on the world, yet he knew there was still time left in the day. Time to act.
Rising to his feet, he called out again, drawing the attention of the youths. "We're not done. If the meat lasts, it will need shelter. We cannot leave it in the open."
One of the boys scratched his head. "Shelter… like a hut?"
"Something like it," Torya said, already scanning the land in his mind. "Raised from the ground so pests can't reach it, walls to keep out the rain, with gaps so air can flow." He tapped the haft of his spear against the dirt as if sketching the image. "It doesn't need to be large, just strong enough to hold what we preserve."
The youths nodded, some already moving to gather more wood and stone. Others looked to him with eager eyes, awaiting more instructions.
Torya exhaled slowly. Torya paced slowly, eyes drifting across the clearing. For a moment, he imagined building a hut, but doubts quickly surfaced would it keep out animals? Would the wood rot in the rains? He rubbed his temple, muttering under his breath.
Then his gaze shifted back toward the cave, its dark mouth yawning wide. He frowned, thinking of the damp chill that always lingered deeper inside. A spark flickered in his mind.
"The cave…" he whispered.
One of the girls tilted her head. "What about it, Chieftain?"
He straightened, a faint brightness lighting his eyes. "The deepest part. It's always cool there, even at midday. If we keep the meat there, it may last longer and animals will find it harder to reach."
The youths glanced at one another, and murmurs of agreement spread. An elder gave a slow nod. "Cool and dark. Yes… it might work."
Encouraged, Torya pointed toward the cave. "Then we'll make space. Bring stones to raise the meat off the ground, and wood for racks. If the smoke keeps it from spoiling, the cool air inside will guard it longer."
Some hurried off to gather what he asked for, while others followed him into the cave. The deeper they went, the more the air shifted damp, cold, and heavy with silence. Torya ran his hand along the rough wall, already envisioning rows of meat hanging in the shadows.
He still fumbled over the details Should the racks stand close to the walls? How high should the stones be? but each small answer came as he worked, piecing ideas together like fragments of a puzzle. And though uncertainty remained, the light in his eyes did not fade.
Every step forward carried a burden of risk, but also a promise if they succeeded, the tribe would have taken another stride out of mere survival and into something greater.
Work began soon after. The youths carried stones and armfuls of dirt into the cave, their chatter echoing faintly in the cool dark. Torya crouched low, running his fingers over the damp ground, the cold seeping into his skin.
"We can't leave it like this," he said, frowning. "Moisture will rot the meat too quickly." He grabbed a flat stone and pressed it into the earth. "Level it. Spread the dirt over, pack it down. We need it dry."
The boys and girls set to work, scraping and patting the soil flat with their hands, mixing in stones until the ground felt firmer. Slowly, the damp smell thinned beneath the dry covering.
One of the younger hunters pointed toward the wall. "Should we build the racks here, Chieftain? Easier to lean them against the stone."
Torya hesitated, chewing on his lip. His first instinct was to agree but then he remembered how often he had seen bugs crawling along those very walls.
"No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "Not too close. Keep the racks away from the walls bugs can climb in. Leave a gap. The air must flow around it."
The elder woman gave him an approving look, as if surprised by his thoughtfulness. The youths murmured agreement, and they shifted their work further toward the center of the chamber.
Little by little, the place took shape no longer just a damp hollow in the earth, but the beginnings of a storage hall. The sound of stones thudding, dirt scraping, and voices laughing filled the cavern, and though Torya knew the work was crude and imperfect, he couldn't help but feel a small spark of pride.
By the time the dirt floor was packed and leveled, the people who had gone to collect wood finally returned. They carried bundles of branches on their backs, dropping them with relieved sighs just outside the cave.
Torya rose quickly, wiping sweat from his brow. "Good. We'll need those for the racks," he said, trying to sound steady. He crouched and sketched a rough frame into the dirt with a stick. "Two posts here, two there—tie them together, make it strong. Then cross beams… no, wait closer together, or the meat will sag between them."
The youths tried to follow, fumbling with ropes and uneven logs. Torya hovered nearby, correcting when he could, though his voice sometimes faltered. "No, tighter… tie it again, or it'll slip. Yes like that. Wait, not too high. We don't want to hit our heads each time we hang the meat."
One of the able-bodied old men chuckled as he stepped in, his calloused hands tightening a knot in a way that put Torya's attempt to shame. "Like this, boy. A rope must bite the wood, not just hug it."
Torya watched carefully, swallowing his pride, and nodded. "Yes… that's what I meant."
The old man grinned but said no more, letting the youths return to their work with his example fresh in mind.
Meanwhile, some of the women entered the cave carrying gourds filled with water. They passed them around, smiling as the tired youths drank deeply, their laughter echoing in the cool chamber. A young girl dabbed her brother's dirt-smeared face with her sleeve, and even the elders cracked small smiles at the sight.
Though Torya still fumbled in his instructions, something was happening that he couldn't ignore the tribe was working together, each adding their strength where his knowledge faltered. And in that moment, Torya realized that leadership was not about knowing everything, but about guiding others to build something greater than themselves.
The steady scraping of dirt and the thump of stones filled the cave as the work went on. Torya paced about, pointing here and there with a sharp stick, fumbling with his words at times, but pressing forward with a stubborn fire in his eyes. "No...no, not too close to the wall. Leave a space yes, like that," he said, though his voice wavered with uncertainty.
A few of the older men, their backs still strong despite their age, lent their hands to lifting the heavier rocks. They did not mock his clumsy orders, only nodded and followed, quietly correcting what needed fixing without breaking his stride. Women came and went with clay bowls of water, the youths drank greedily before diving back into the work.
Sweat dripped from Torya's brow as he knelt, patting down a layer of dry soil to cover the damp earth. He looked around at their half-made pit, at the racks and frames that took shape through trial and error. Not perfect, but theirs.
When the last stone was set and the floor finally leveled, the small group stepped back. The air in the cave was cooler here, shadows holding the space like a secret. Torya's chest rose and fell with tired pride.
"It will keep the meat safe… maybe longer than we ever had before," he said softly, more to himself than anyone.
An elder clapped his shoulder, rough but approving. The others murmured their agreement, a spark of hope in their weary faces. For the first time, Torya felt that his fumbling thoughts had weight—that perhaps he could shape more than just tools, but the very way his people lived.
The night came, cool and heavy, and the tribe's murmurs faded into the quiet breathing of sleep. Yet Torya lay awake, eyes wide open, staring at the uneven ceiling of the cave. His body ached from the day's labor, but his mind refused to rest.
"Nova… why didn't I get a mission today?" he asked inwardly, his voice sharp with curiosity, almost expectant.
The familiar chime of the system echoed faintly in his head, calm and detached.
[Not every action will generate a mission. Mission triggers are randomized, and not all progress requires one.]
Torya frowned, turning to his side. "So I could work all day, and… nothing? No reward? No knowledge?"
[Correct. Some paths you must walk on your own. Not all growth is given. Much must be earned.]
A heavy sigh escaped him. The thought that he couldn't simply rely on the system gnawed at him. The taste of disappointment was sharp no instant tools, no hidden knowledge, no sudden gift of strength. Just sweat and calloused hands.
Still, as he stared into the darkness, a faint light flickered in his chest. He remembered the racks, the storage, the way his people looked at him when it was finished not with doubt, but with hope.
"So… I can't depend on you for everything." His lips curved into a tired, wry smile. "Then I'll just have to think harder, do better."
The system gave no answer this time. Silence stretched in his mind, broken only by the steady drip of water deeper in the cave. But Torya's eyes stayed bright, refusing to dim, even as the night wore on.
Torya rolled onto his back, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders. The day's work had been grueling, yet under the dull ache he felt a curious sensation like a cool stream running through his veins, easing the burn of his muscles.
His eyes narrowed. "Nova… this feeling. What is it?"
The reply came as steady as always.
[This is the effect of your bloodline talent, Smoldering Ember. As your body recovers, it refines itself, returning a fraction of strength with every strain endured.]
Torya's eyes widened slightly. "So that's it… I knew I had the talent, but I didn't expect it to work like this."
He clenched his fists, surprised at the faint vigor still lingering in his tired body. The exhaustion wasn't gone, but it no longer weighed him down completely almost as if the pain itself was being recycled into fuel.
A slow smile tugged at his lips. "Then even suffering has its use… I can live with that."
He turned his head, gazing at the faint glow of embers near the cave's center, and finally allowed his body to rest, comforted by the knowledge that each hardship was forging him stronger.