A freezing night settled over the small tribes of Xiang. The air bit at the skin, and each breath turned into mist. A young delta carefully made her way across the rocks, her paws searching for stable ground as she went to find her mother, the omega, resting farther away from the wind.
"Mom… Mom… I was wondering… why is the sky blue?"
The omega slowly opened one eye, her voice soft and heavy with sleep.
"I don't know. You can ask the beta… maybe she knows."
The delta, excited at the thought of getting an answer, quickly ran to the other den where her second mother, the beta, rested. The beta always seemed alert, even in sleep, as if part of her was constantly guarding the tribe.
The delta asked the same question.
And the beta gave the same answer.
In truth, the question did not really matter. In the life of a tribe, some knowledge simply had no practical use. Even if you knew why the sky was blue… would it give you a better chance of survival? More food? Would it help you avoid the fangs of a brutal predator?
Slightly disappointed, the delta returned to her place. She curled up among the others, surrounded by the steady rhythm of breathing… and eventually, the sun rose.
It was a new day for the delta.
That morning, the beta explained how the tribe functioned.
At the top stood the alpha—the one who ruled the group. Her primary duty was to protect the tribe from external threats and ensure survival… and food. When the alpha spoke, others listened. When she moved, others stepped aside.
Next came the beta. Often the second strongest in the group, her role was different from the alpha's. She possessed a strong protective instinct. She was responsible for teaching the young—the deltas—how to walk, hunt, obey, and understand the unspoken rules of the tribe.
Then there were the omegas. Fundamentally, ninety percent of deltas, once reaching adulthood, became omegas. They were certainly less powerful than the alpha or the beta. Individually, they held little authority. But their true strength lay elsewhere—in unity, in numbers, in holding the tribe together when everything else threatened to break apart.
And finally… there was the "omega alpha." The alpha herself—the one who held the peak steady, even when the world trembled.
As the morning seemed ordinary, a sudden scream echoed from the northern side of the tribe.
The delta lifted her head. Her ears twitched, catching the sound as it bounced between the rocks. She looked toward the source but saw nothing—only shadows and cold stone.
She waited. The alpha had already risen and was heading toward the noise with confident, controlled steps.
Yet the screams continued, even after the alpha had gone.
And then… the earth began to dry.
Beneath her paws, the ground felt lifeless. Cracks appeared as if moisture had been drained away in an instant, as if something invisible was pulling the life out of the soil.
The delta had never heard of such a thing. But one thought formed, cold and unsettling: magic.
If magic was truly involved, then the situation was far more serious than it appeared. Nearly thirty centuries ago, a great war had erupted, and according to the beta's stories, the effects of magic had looked very much like this.
Curious—and now uneasy—the delta decided to go north to see for herself.
The tribe was small, but she still had to travel nearly a kilometer before reaching the area.
And what she saw… were bodies.
Many bodies. As if a battle had taken place.
But that was impossible. It had not even been four minutes.
How could so many have died so quickly? For that many individuals to be slaughtered, there should have been noise, scent, panic spreading through the air.
The alphas possessed a special sense of smell—an alert that warned the tribe of approaching danger.
Yet they had detected nothing.
And still… there were bodies.
How was that possible?