He woke up to one more day.
He opened his eyes but did not get up; the day felt like it might be his last.
Lying there with half-closed eyes, he assessed the documentaries he had watched,
Karo's memories and knowledge, his strategic mind, the books he had read for years and the games he had played…
They were all in front of him; he had the opportunity to use them all.
If he wanted, he could stand in their eyes like a god; he carried that kind of power.
From what he gathered from their eyes, fire for them was only something that burned on its own in nature; he needed to show that he could control it.
Beneath those thoughts, a low, steady thrum of anticipation sat under his ribs.
The memory of what he had learned.
What spark makes an ember, how wind feeds flame, and how to nurse a small heat until it roars ran through him like a recipe he could perform with closed eyes.
Outside, the village was still waking: smoke threaded up from a few hearths, and somewhere a child called.
If he showed them a controlled flame that night, the distance between myth and man would narrow by the breadth of an ember.
While he was occupied with these thoughts, shouts of "Ako!" came from outside.
When he got up and went out, he saw three or four people; they had come to take him to the village and to help carry his belongings.
When they saw the enormous bird he had trapped the other day, they flinched for a moment and then looked at him in astonishment.
He told them to stay calm.
"Dead. It is our dinner tonight."
Their minds eased; they shouldered the burden and carried it.
The way they moved when they handled weight told him more about them than their questions would.
Shoulders rolled under the load, feet found paths through the scrub like worn grooves; their faces folded into concentration, respect given quietly.
He tied the last strap, checked the bundle, and felt the odd harmony of being both hunter and curiosity in their eyes.
He gathered his things and put them on; he checked so nothing was left behind.
They set off for the village.
When they arrived, they showed him the corner of a cave where he would live; it was small and earthen-floored, but he was new here and needed to prove himself.
As people passed him after the previous day's victory, they congratulated him; he was proud.
From afar he saw Karlmos: the man still bore wounds and was exhausted, while two or three women beside him rubbed soil on his injuries.
The treatment seemed strange to Ako; wasn't there a risk of infection?
He tucked that thought into a corner of his mind; later he could help them with wound care.
The cave corner they assigned smelled faintly of smoke and damp stone.
He ran his hand along the edge where they would lay hides and thought about how to improve whatever small comfort he could bring them.
Karlmos's battered silhouette was a reminder that even victors needed tending, a lesson he planned to turn into practical help when they allowed him closer.
When the chief came, he said he would show Ako the village and that he had expectations of him.
He asked that Ako teach them what he knew.
He stated his name was Pre; the last word was always his.
The village was small: about 25 men, 40 women, and 5–10 children.
Primitive but with division of labor, some made tools, some prepared food, and some watched the children; the goal was survival.
As they walked, Ako constantly looked around and noted their tools and treatment methods; he was sure he would advance quickly here.
The layout of the huts, the angle of the drying racks, and the way certain stones were used as anvils, all of it was a map to read.
Their techniques were raw but functional: a chipped flake here, a neatly twisted fiber cord there.
His head cataloged possibilities: how to improve a spear socket, where to place a smoke pit to dry meat better, which leaves staunch blood and which irritate it.
Children came up and touched him; they were fascinated by his hands and his muscles.
The women watched carefully, eager and curious; some men congratulated him, others eyed him with jealousy.
As he walked through this small village, a confidence grew: with his knowledge and skill, he could make a difference.
A child pressed his small palm to Ako's forearm and grinned; a woman studied the weave of his belt and mimicked the movement of his fingers.
Jealous men watched from the shade, hands resting on clubs with the old habit of measuring a stranger by fist.
The rhythm of the place sank into him: a machine running slowly but purposefully.
Shortly after Chief Pre left for some matters, Annabel, that beautiful woman, appeared beside him; she smiled and congratulated him, with a friend at her side.
After a little talk, he offered to prepare food for them in the evening and asked her to tell everyone.
As she listened, she leaned close to his ear and said,
"You're safe here now, but be careful; not everyone has accepted you."
He knew this; he could see the eyes watching him.
Being strong and durable was not enough; he had to keep good relations with people.
Word spread quickly: that night he would roast that huge bird in his cave and serve the meat he had accumulated.
Her whisper left a shadow of caution on his skin.
He nodded and heard the murmur begin like a wind that starts in one hut and travels.
That same whisper drew glances from doorways, and he realized the social web was already reweaving around him.
He sat and began; as people gathered in the square, he started skinning the bird.
As always, he performed the delicate work; this time he used a short, fine knife instead of his long spear, faster and more precise.
Others stopped what they were doing and watched him; he was one of them now.
He shouted aloud.
"Anyone who wants to learn, come and sit beside me. I am one of you now."
Some came, some did not; most formed a ring around him.
He narrated the steps as he went:
"Now I skin it, now I remove its organs."
he said.
They watched carefully.
His hands moved in a practiced rhythm: cut, pry, peel; the long muscle cords revealed themselves, pale and knotty.
The crowd watched the mechanics of necessity turn into craft, eyes following the path of each blade stroke.
After he removed the bird's skin and broke it into parts, he prepared it for cooking.
At that moment a child, behind his back, took a strip of meat and started to bite it.
When Ako asked why he didn't wait for it to cook, the answer shocked him:
"What does cooking mean?"
So this village did not know how to cook with fire.
Maybe they had watched his fire story at the cave entrance, but most of them had never seen it.
The child's words hung in the air like a bruise; their innocence and lack of knowledge were stark.
To them, raw meat was just meat; the transformation into warmth and softness was a foreign idea.
The knowledge he held might have seemed like a trivial trick to him, but to them it was a key.
Now was the moment to demonstrate.
He stood up, gathered twigs and dry wood, and brought logs.
Everyone watched; many had fear in their eyes, some curiosity.
He arranged the pile carefully, stacking the dry material with intention.
He stood in the middle of the square and announced loudly,
"I am Ako. I am one of you now. I faced a great warrior like Karlmos and I lived. Now I will show you the secret of warmth and good food with fire. Let the feast begin!"
He struck two large stones together to create sparks and carefully guided them to the tinder; as the sparks caught, the pile sighed into flame.
At the first sparks, some people shouted and stepped back, and some raised clubs toward him, but the majority watched with awe and excitement forming on their faces.
"It is only fire," he said.
"It will burn you only if you let it. Come closer, warm yourselves."
Reluctantly, they came forward.
He placed the meat on a flat stone, heating it slowly; fat hissed and the scent rose.
People watched, rapt.
As each piece finished, he laid it onto leaves and handed it out.
The scene was small and perfect: the first real warmth after cold, the first time a piece of meat softened in a mouth that had known only toughness and gnawing.
Someone inhaled the steam, eyes widening at the taste.
Laughter started, and then more voices answered.
The difference was physical: less chattering of teeth, bellies settling, the evening softening.
When the meat was gone, he circled the remaining carcass with snares so that the escaping bird would not return and scatter its corpse.
He explained the traps before setting them, stressing that he did not want to ensnare any of his new people; they were not to be harmed through ignorance.
He meant to catch the other bird if it came; he was hungry too, after all.
[+90 XP]
Intelligence +1
New Skill Unlocked: [Firecraft Lv.1]
Reputation: Curiosity → Interested
By the end of the night, with bellies full and a light admiration among them, he felt the fatigue of the first day pressing into his bones.
Returning to the cave, his body was heavy and tired, but his mind hummed with a steady calm and a sense of responsibility.
He had taught them something that day, and tomorrow he could teach more.
There was a ceremony to join the tribe officially the next day; he had to rest and tend his wounds.