《stone age prince series》 Chapter 01: Monster, I made a monster.
Fool, I am a fool, and This is my biography, a story that starts with the mistake that cost me a kingdom, and my life because nice guys finish last. At the age of 12 my mother the queen was banished after killing my father the king, and I was left alone on the cold throne. As inexperienced ruler coming to power unprepared, unprotected, and surrounded by smiling faces. Two years later I was in the royal stables escaping boring meeting using the excuse of seeing the new horses alone, when a stable''s boy saved my life from wild war horse that got loose, a horse that was about to kill me painfully, I was seeing my short life flash before me when the 16-year-old boy jumped on me rolling me away, then shielding me with his aura, in the royal palace as a symbol of our royal statues, and power even the stable''s boy had an above average aura, his strength and courage had impressed me, and from that day we became inseparable. I saw in him everything I longed for¡ªstrength, power, the kind of warrior I could never be. He wielded his aura like a shield, a force that others respected, something I could only dream of possessing. My own aura was weak, pathetic¡ªa constant reminder of my unworthiness. My father had the aura, the talent of our bloodline. I didn¡¯t. My aura was weaker than a commoner¡¯s, and the nobility saw it as a stain on the royal family bloodline¡ªsomething to be pitied, a shameful disability, something to be mocked. Without tools or formations, I couldn¡¯t even control mana. My aura was so frail, it couldn¡¯t bear to be marked for instant spell casting. Every path to power was closed to me. Alchemy was all I had. My only escape. While others wielded their aura like a weapon, I was left with nothing but theory and books. Pathetic. I knew every spell by heart, but without a strong aura, it was worthless. My only refuge was in alchemy¡ªmy secret skill, hidden away in my room like the shame of my ¡®low soul,¡¯ as the nobles so often reminded me. ¡®Low soul¡¯¡ªtheir perfect insult, cutting deeper than any blade. But a king needs power, he needs to bring the hurt on his enemies, In every time of peril when I needed someone I could trust, my thoughts always turned to a friend, my best and only friend. I gave him everything. Mana crystals, pills, gold¡ªhe was my right hand, my iron fist. I thought I was building an ally. Instead, I was building an infection. Slowly, his influence spread around My throne, until the crude peasant I once called a friend became a nobleman. My right hand. My mistake. In the beginning, I was blind to it his hunger, his ambition. the way privilege warped him, I thought his eagerness was a sign of loyalty, and enthusiasm to serve me, convinced myself that his success is a reflection of my growing power. But now, as I sit here in this empty room, replaying every moment, I see it for what it was all along, Not ambition, Not loyalty, It was pure, ravenous megalomania. ¡®I see WHO you are, you''re My Enemy¡¯. That was my mistake, I corrupted him, he was just the stable''s boy, all he knew was how to shovel shit, until one day I opened his eyes to the world, and it¡¯s possibility''s. The seed of greed I planted grew in his hart, nurtured by the nobility factions until it became dragon fever. When the first whispers of rebellion surfaced, he ignored my commands. Let it fester. Let it grow. I still remember the day he dismissed me¡ªdidn¡¯t even bother to meet my gaze. The same peasant who once bowed kissed my hand, trembling, at my feet. I see it clearly now. That rebellion? It wasn¡¯t the people¡¯s. It was his. The peasant who would have never known what a gold coin is, if it weren''t for me allowing him to see it, that peasant now wants to be king. Then the news came my mother the Queen is dead in a landslid accident, what a coincidence in such time, that was the last straw. ¡°I made a monster¡±. And not just him¡ªthe soldiers, the servants, they¡¯ve all changed. I see it in the way they move around me, the slow, reluctant bows, the averted eyes. There¡¯s something unspoken in their every movement, the body language it had a confession in it, a confession of what¡¯s to come. They know. They¡¯re part of it. ¡®His influence runs deep, his aura makes my own look like a joke.¡¯ For the first time in a long time I started to think like king should, ¡®To win I have no choice but to destroy him utterly, but I cannot see it. So I must shift my thinking change the definition of what is a victory¡¯. ¡®I can¡¯t show mercy or hesitate or show my hand, this must be a quick brutal naked display of power. Power I don''t have in aura, so it must manifest in another way, But then what?, be a king!?, a king to whom?, after I kill their beloved general how long until his men seek vengeance and the throne.¡¯ I¡¯m a king with a baby¡¯s aura. That¡¯s the root of everything. Without power, real power, they will never accept me. What¡¯s the point of sitting on the throne if I¡¯ve already lost control? I need a plan, I started to think, think like my grandfather taught me, Problem-solving. Mini-maxing. It must be Emotionless. I had to do the most with what I had to maintain power. But what power?. I need to think like grandpa and Father, ¡®thinking about number one. Everyone else came second¡ªor possibly third. Long story short, be a survivor.¡¯ First the nobility, they think there safe from me, I made them feel safe, now I made a plan for them, but that was just step one I need more, I need a strategy, when the cold-blooded idea completely formed I laughed at its horrific beauty, like grandfather like Father like son, ¡°I am going to end up dead¡±, That was a depressing idea but funny one if looked at correctly. If the world finds out about what I have planned, For the most part, they¡¯re going to hate me. ¡°The hell with them. Power was never a popularity contest, time to win¡±. If the world knew what I was planning, they''d despise me for it. "hell with them. Power isn¡¯t a popularity contest¡ªit''s about winning, about survival, time to win". If I can''t have my kingdom, then I¡¯ll make sure no one else does, I¡¯ll burn it to the ground, reduce it to ash. Let them rule over dust and bones. I went to my alchemist''s workbench and picked up my mana control disk, it was the size of my palm, made by a genius, my grandfather the founder of the empire, it was an empire, until he divided the empire among his son¡¯s, one of them is my father, our grip on this kingdom was iron before the emperor¡¯s death. But that was the past, Thinking of the past is pointless now. There''s no changing what¡¯s done. There¡¯s only the plan. The work. I went out to the privet royal wine cellar, our collection is the most sought after mana-wine in the world, its taste and benefit¡¯s make it a rare gift the nobility trade but never sell. The same nobles that want to dance on my grave as they drink our wine. ¡®Do they think that they will win?, that they will erase me?, erased my identity!!!?, take my kingdom without consequences?.¡¯ The idea, the questions angered me, something in me became monstrous, and that monster has just shook-off the last chains of morality. I picked up a bottle and used my control disk and alchemy skills to poison the wine without opening it, it will kill slowly in a delayed timetable. I did it to every bottle then I ordered that all the royal wine to be sold. When the news spread The supply emptied as fast as airship flay, I spent all the day watching win go out and gold come in, most will call me fool for selling it instead of using it as political coin, let them talk they won''t be talking for long. By the end of the week the wine will be in every noble House in the kingdom, that was Step one completed. My next step was to visit the one place I never liked in this palace, I went into the royal privet treasury, it was built inside the royal palace for safety and easy access, as I entered I was greeted by the heads of my grandfathers enemies, all cut and stuffed as souvenirs, these heads were different from human non-human to beast''s but most were from creatures that thought, talked and crossed rod¡¯s with him, yeah that was very unlucky for the pore bastards, And now I see why he was so decisive, so murderers. What would you have done in my place grandfather?. I dropped that line of thought and looked around me the royal treasury is full of gold silver and every valuable thing a noble could dream about, even mana-crystals. But I wasn''t here for any of it. What was on my mind was fare more valuable than gold, I am here for spells. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. First, I Searched for the reincarnation kit my mother left after she used it on my father, it was his plan when he asked her to kill him, so that he can escape this life into another one, an adventure he called it, that selfish bastard. Just like that, he abandoned me. ''My father, the selfish bastard, escaped into the reincarnation cycle¡ªleaving me behind in this kingdom of rot. He left me to deal with the ruins while he chased adventure in another life.'' The reincarnation kit is my secret now. No one knows about it. If the nobility ever found out? They¡¯d tear me apart, fighting over the chance to claim it. They¡¯d kill for it. They¡¯d kill me for it. That''s why I can see his point, why stay and risk it?. Grandfather is dead the empire broke apart. Why stay just to die later?. I concentrated on my search, and Finlay, I found it. I licked my lips. As I looked at the reincarnation kit, it is definitely the most valuable thing in this world. It offers what no king can, what no talent can, no luck can. It offers memory, a second chance in another life. They say that the bull that survives the wrestling ring is never returned to the ring again. Not as a reward for its survival, but because the bull has a relatively strong memory, and because its smart, it learns quickly. One of the conditions for bulls that are sent to the wrestling ring is that they must have no memory, and that they see everything they see for the first time, and do not know how to face it. With no memory, They are easy to catch, confuse, and then killed for the viewers'' enjoyment. That''s why am here, because life is a wrestling ring, and this reincarnation kit is the lifeline, I won''t enter the reincarnation cycle just to be killed again. Memory is a shield and the only lifeline. In my next life, I must remember. I wonder how many times have I been killed in the wrestling ring, how many lives have I been the victim, the fool, the pawn, the scarifies, the good Friend. I don¡¯t know how many times I was taken to the wrestling ring, but this will be the last time. This pawn has just reached the 8th rank. I looked at my hands at the tablet shaped crystal, and the scrolls, ancient, fragile, the ink faded but still legible, with new scrolls copy''s of the old for better reading, yes I can do it. However, This ritual requires me to be in control over my Death, it can''t be a knife in the back, it can''t be poison in the diner table, it can''t be a surprise, death must be planned for, it must be a ritual, but war is war, out-there I can''t be in control over how and when I die. But here and now I can. But why not fight him?, why escape?, because even if I can kill him, and his loyalist''s in the capital, then there will be noble houses to deal with, they will unite against me, no they are united against me, they musty be already a part of his plan. Not just them but the other kingdoms there nobles will add to the problem and I will be in war so large it will take decades to end. Even the commoners don¡¯t want me, they have been conditioned to accept only the strong, the pure blooded, the aura gifted, not a man with baby''s aura. It''s an impossible situation, but no I won''t let them go unpunished, I will lose my throne and my life, but the nobles will lose more. So if I can¡¯t keep my victory and cant be sure how and when my life will end. Then let there be chaos, I will plan my fall, and take them all to hell with me. I took the scrolls¡ªthe instructions for the ritual. And there it was¡ªthe tablet, carved from crystal and etched with ancient mana symbols. If I hadn¡¯t known what it was, I¡¯d have mistaken it for a strange piece of thick glass. My mother once told me the inscription roughly translates to ¡®Get Isekai''d.¡¯ I have no idea what it means¡ªsome ancient language, my grandpa had a strange sense of humor, perhaps it''s an insult¡ªbut I don¡¯t need to understand it. I only need to use it. Second thing on my shopping list was the skills, in the royal treasury there were skill crystals, in them there are perfecter memories of information from alchemy, aura control technique to spell forging, the entire empire magical knowledge and sciences where here in 36 crystals. I¡¯ll take it all. Every spell, every secret. Better to have power and never use it than to need it and be empty-handed. If I am going to start over I will start with all the knowledge I may need. The Crystal''s were full of memories of insight¡¯s from geniuses of the empire, insights about aura, mana, spell crafting, everything was here. Sadly they can be useful only to those with the right body and aura, it all depends on natural talent as a seed. For me in this life only the alchemy crystals where useful. No matter how bad my new life will be it can¡¯t be worse than my own right now, so I should find something useful in these insights. I took everything to my room, With my new iron resolve I started to read, and fallow the instructions about the reincarnation kit. I removed the mattress, revealing the bare wood beneath. Slowly, meticulously, I began carving the symbols, tracing them with gold ink as the scrolls instructed. Each line, each stroke felt like sealing a deal with the darkness. In the center, I placed the crystal tablet¡ªmy lifeline to another world. Furthermore, I modified the ritual to include mana-vampirism but only activate it after my death not before, this will boost my own soul, it will be strengthened with a sacrifice. What am I talking about?, see my mother didn''t just kill my father, first she killed five of his servants, they were killed as sacrifice for my father to have strong start in another life. But only I know why she did it all, she did it for a duplicate of the reincarnation tablets one for her and one for me as price for her help, that''s a mothers love. "Thanks mother, thanks for the chance to start over", But unlike my father I have no one to help, so I modified it to take the sacrifice after my death And there can be no better sacrifice then a friend. I placed the thick pad back on the bed, concealing the ritual underneath. From the outside, my royal chambers looked the same as always¡ªjust a bed, a spacious room, and my alchemy workbench. But beneath the surface, everything had changed. The final piece of my revenge was set. As I felt my time come to an end, I did what any good alchemist would do if he had the rare ingredients I do, first I made painkiller potions, if I am going to die I will go out with clear mind. Then I made a big fuck mana-bomb, why? For the sacrifices. I need to collect some dead souls to energies my trip into the next life. I connected it to the ritual with a golden wire on time delay of thirty seconds after am dead, that''s when the ritual will be ready to take in the offering. The ritual will secure my soul then the bomb will cook some nice Delicious sacrifices and the ritual will use them as fertilizer for my next life. I hid both the bomb and the wire making the room look normal. I took out the 36 crystals, spreading them over my bed, I will absorb them one by one. Six hours later When I was done, my head was made of pain, I still can''t understand what I just absorbed, but I will have time to in my next life. Now I Waite for my killer. To make sure I die in my room, I refused to leave, any meeting or documents and gusts will be received in my room. I started by ordering the servant''s to deliver food to my room and cancel all my appointments. Servants came in and out With Every meal I noticed there respect for me die, and in their eyes I saw hidden contempt, ¡®Yeah they jumped ship¡¯, there loyalties have shifted, I won''t be surprised if every servant that came near me was now a spy. ¡®They chose him over me.¡¯ But it seems that they all have forgotten to never underestimate an alchemist''s backed into a corner, just like I have forgotten every political lesson grandpa taught me, and found myself here. ¡®Power is about your best interest no more no less.¡¯,,,¡®Boy, Be Careful Who You Let In Your Inner-Circle¡¯. He told me, he warned me, but I was an idiot, and something¡¯s can only be learned through experience. I took every meal in bed just in case there was poison, but I didn''t think it was. He''s the type to watch, to see with his own eyes, to make sure and enjoy it. After two days of normal slow routine, I started to fear that I made mistake, the plan won''t work, or worse I will spend my life in this room with no opportunity for revenge, but that¡¯s okay I can just win my memories, and escape the cycle. The anticipation was killing me, when, where, will I die in bed? Or at the door when I open it?. I started to fear stepping out of bed. On the third night, it finally happened. I woke to the sight of MY soldier surrounding my bed, soldier that I gave money favors and a helping hand when they needed it, now they aimed there spears at me, yes aura piercing spears ready to kill, not that they needed them, and he was there in-front of my bed, looking at me the man that give him everything as if I was the worm. Our eyes met in the silence, and I saw the flicker of confusion in his gaze. He expected fear. Instead, he saw my victory. Hello, My Friend. My Enemy. ''You have lost'' My eyes were saying it, at first there was hint of confusion on his face, he expected fear and didn¡¯t see it. Then I saw it his tired eyes, his Skin sweating in the cold room, ¡®huh, the poisoned wine has started taking effect, he can''t see it but his feeling it, the end.¡¯,,,¡®yes that''s right you fuck I win, not you peasant, ME¡¯. I gave him the most unhinged smile I could, the psychotic in me is coming out just as I pushed my aura at the tablet underneath me. His ego swelled, and he snarled, "Kill him." My soldiers¡ªno, his soldiers¡ªobeyed without hesitation. As if I had never mattered at all. On reflex, I pushed my aura out to defend my self, but it was a joke my aura was weak, the aura piercing spears dipped into my aura as if it''s a pond of water, then my flesh was ripped apart. Only the painkiller kept me from screaming. My plan worked. I died with a smile on my face. But instead of my head mounted on a pike for the city to cheer at, my mana-bomb exploded. The energy from over a thousand liters of heavy water in my alchemy lab detonated, consuming the palace in a fiery storm of magic The heavy-water was something only my grandfather knows how to make, a royal family secret and he showed me. That 56-megaton secret ripped through the palace, erupting in a mana-fueled mushroom cloud. Just as a shockwave of fire and fury ripped the city apart. it killed the city of six million sacrifices in an instant. Six million lives¡ªgone. I only wish I could have watched it burn. I would have danced like the devil over their ashes, letting the winds carry their remains like dust across the desolate land. Why?, because I have embraced the Monster. *********** On dimension that no organic mind can imagine a report was delivered. The reports title was --world path deviation point detected-- The mind receiving the report if it could be called a mind, spoke. Open Report. --system reporting-- The mind reviewed the mountains of data opening before it and came to a simple conclusion. The rules haven''t been breached it happened on its own, yet This will shatter centuries of stagnation. And I didn''t even need to cheat, the problem just solved itself by itself. Chapter 01.1: Entering The Cycle.
"The cycle turns, but this soul does not flow with it. It twists, it fractures, it burns against fate¡¯s design. This is not rebirth¡ªit is disruption."¡ª The Watcher of Infinite Paths

Get Isekai¡¯d Spell: Spell Privet Report Log. Reincarnation Cycle: Activated
Get Isekai¡¯d: Spell report log. Reincarnation Cycle: Activated. Preserving Memories into the Soul... ? Completed. Soul Migration Across the Cosmos... ? Achieved. ? Entering the Cycle. Host World... Located. Host Womb... Secured. System Error Detected. ? Anomaly Identified: Memory Misalignment. Analyzing... ?? Cause: Host has absorbed 36 memory crystals prior to transmigration. ?? Effect: Memory synchronization failure due to excessive stored data. Calculating Solution... ? Proposed Fix: Delayed Memory Integration. ? Delay Parameters: Due to low magical nutrition in the host womb, and Memory Misalignment, a full recall will be postponed. Estimated gradual restoration time-frame: 12-16 years. ? Critical Warning: Host survivability at risk due to unstable soul-memory synchronization. Emergency Protocols Engaged. ? Implementing Life-Saving Countermeasures. ? Providing essential survival data in controlled bursts until full recall is stabilized. System Stabilization in Progress¡­ Awaiting Host Awakening. REMEMBER. REMEMBER. REMEMBER.
Age: zero
The Birth of Reincarnate
Deep within the sealed cave of the Bronlo tribe, the air was thick with tension. The flickering light of the rush torches cast restless shadows against the stone walls as a woman''s scream tore through the silence.
Ranla writhed on the fur bedding, her body drenched in sweat, her fingers clawing at the pelts beneath her. She bit down on the pain, swallowing her cries, but the agony of childbirth could not be silenced.
Shaman Tahya knelt beside her, her hands slick with blood as she worked with practiced urgency. ¡°It¡¯s not the head, it¡¯s the shoulder,¡± she murmured, voice steady despite the strain. ¡°Ranla, I¡¯m going to guide him out. Ready? Now¡ªpush.¡±
Ranla gritted her teeth and bore down, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
¡°Yes¡ªyes, that¡¯s it,¡± Tahya encouraged.
A final, desperate push¡ªand then, a child¡¯s wail filled the cavern. The sound was thin but strong, echoing off the ancient rock.
The gathered women exhaled in unison, relief mingling with silent joy. No loud cheers, no open celebrations¡ªonly quiet murmurs of gratitude to the spirits. Outside, the night still lurked, listening.
Tahya lifted the newborn into her arms, his tiny body slick with birth, his cries sharp and full of life. ¡°A boy,¡± she declared in a hushed voice.
The whisper of excitement spread through the tribe. Even in the shadows of their fear, new life was a gift.
Bronlo stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Harlo¡¯s shoulder. ¡°A boy, Harlo. Congratulations. Today, your bloodline joins our tribe.¡±
Harlo, weary but proud, nodded. ¡°Thank you, chieftain Bronlo.¡± His voice was quiet, measured¡ªmindful of what still lay beyond the cave¡¯s walls.
Tahya wrapped the newborn in soft furs and handed him to his father. ¡°Go now,¡± she instructed, her voice carrying the weight of tradition. ¡°Whisper his true name.¡±
Harlo took his son and retreated to a secluded corner, cradling the fragile new life in his arms. He leaned in close, pressing his lips to the baby¡¯s ear, and in the lowest voice¡ªso low it could barely be called a whisper¡ªhe spoke the secret name.
A name that would never be spoken aloud again.
Age: five.
Five years later, The Death of Harlo
It happened on a hunting trip, or so Bronlo said.
The men had set out at dawn, their spears sharp, their auras steady. Harlo had been among them, a seasoned hunter, his presence never drawing much attention¡ªreliable, quiet, neither the strongest nor the weakest among them. He did his part, and that was enough.
But he did not return.
When the hunters finally came back, dragging the carcass of a great stag, their faces were heavy with something else. Not triumph. Not relief. Something heavier, something unspoken. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
when asked Bronlo was the one who spoke first.
¡°A saber-tooth took him.¡±
The words were too quick. Too clean.
The tribe murmured, shifting uneasily as Bronlo continued, his voice low, measured. ¡°We were tracking the deer through the ravine. Harlo was ahead. The beast must have been waiting in the brush. By the time we reached him, it was too late.¡±
It was too late.
That was all.
No body. No remnants of a struggle. No bloodied spear returned to his widow.
Nothing.
Just Bronlo¡¯s word and the nervous, darting glances of the other hunters.
Ranla''s Grief and Suspicion
Ranla did not wail. She did not weep in the open like other widows did. She sat by the fire that night, silent, her eyes hollow and fixed on the flames.
When the tribe women came to console her, she let them. When they whispered soft words of loss, she nodded.
But when Bronlo came to pay his respects, she did not look at him.
She only asked one question.
¡°Where?¡±
Bronlo barely hesitated. ¡°Near the stone ridge.¡±
Ranla finally turned to him then, slow and deliberate. ¡°Show me.¡±
Bronlo smiled, the kind of smile meant to comfort a grieving widow. But his aura twitched¡ªan instinctive response, small but unmistakable.
¡°There¡¯s nothing left to see,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°The beast took him, dragged him off.¡±
Ranla held his gaze for a long moment before nodding.
That was the end of it.
At least, for the rest of the tribe.
For Ranla, the questions only grew.
A Widow Who Watched Too Closely
At night, while the cave settled into uneasy sleep, she sat awake. Staring into the darkness. Remembering.
Harlo had never been careless. He was not a fool to wander too far ahead, not reckless enough to be caught off guard. A saber-tooth? Perhaps. But something gnawed at her.
The way Bronlo spoke. The way the other hunters stood too still when he did.
And she remembered the way Bronlo had looked at Harlo before. Not with friendship. Not with brotherhood. With something else¡ªsomething cold.
Harlo had been respected, but he had also been in Bronlo¡¯s way. A man with enough standing in the tribe to have a voice, but not loud enough to be feared. A man who could have opposed Bronlo if the time ever came.
A man who would have never lived long enough to see that time.
But what could she do? No one would question Bronlo, not without proof. And the only proof lay in the belly of a beast¡ªor at the bottom of a ravine.
So she said nothing.
She played the role of the mourning widow well, tending to her son, nodding when others spoke of Harlo¡¯s ¡°bravery,¡± of the ¡°tragedy¡± of his death.
But she watched.
She listened.
And she waited.
For what, she did not yet know. But the truth had a way of surfacing, just like blood in the water.
Age: Eight
the boy.
I do not remember the moment I was born, but I do remember the cold.
The cave was always cold, even in summer. The stone walls held the chill of the earth, and no matter how many furs my mother wrapped around me, it seeped into my bones. I grew up knowing warmth only in fleeting moments¡ªhuddled by the fire, pressed against my mother¡¯s side, or beneath the heavy weight of the sleeping pile when the tribe gathered for safety in the deepest nights.
My earliest memories are of the flickering firelight painting strange shadows on the cave walls. The scent of burning fat mixed with the sharp tang of wet stone, the murmured voices of my mother and the other women whispering about things I did not yet understand.
I was small, but I learned quickly. If I wanted food, I had to be quiet. If I wanted to stay safe, I had to listen.
The world outside the cave was vast and full of dangers. The trees loomed high, their branches tangling like great clawed hands reaching for the sky. The earth was wild, unforgiving, and filled with things that hunted in the night.
But I did not fear it.
I was not born to be afraid.
By the time I could walk without stumbling, I had already learned what made a man useful. I fetched water from the stream, my small hands numb from the cold as I carried the dripping, heavy gourds back to the cave. I gathered sticks for kindling, my fingers scraped raw from breaking them into smaller pieces.
The first time I tasted meat, it was after a hunt where my father brought back a deer. The older boys got the best cuts, the warriors who bled for the kill ate their fill, and the women who skinned and cleaned the carcass took their share. The rest of us, the young ones and the weak, were left with scraps. I chewed on gristle, sucking the marrow from the bones, determined that one day I would eat my fill without waiting for permission.
By the time I was five, I had learned the difference between a man and a beast. A man had tools. A man had fire. A man had the will to carve a place for himself in the world.
I was not yet a man, but I was learning.
And like all boys becoming a man always starts with fight.
The First Lessons in Strength
Fighting was as natural as breathing in the tribe. It was how boys learned their place. If you were strong, you could take what you wanted. If you were weak, you learned to live with nothing.
The first time I was knocked to the ground, I remember the taste of blood in my mouth. I remember the sting in my ribs where the older boy had kicked me, the burn in my arms as I tried to push myself back up. The other boys laughed.
I did not cry.
I clenched my teeth and stood, swaying slightly, my fists tight at my sides.
¡°Again,¡± I said.
They laughed again, but they hit me. And I hit back. I did not win, but I did not stay down. I learned to move, to roll with the blows, to keep my feet planted.
The next time we fought, I did not fall.
The time after that, I made one of them bleed.
That night, my mother sat beside me, dabbing at my bruises with a damp cloth. She did not scold me for fighting. She did not comfort me either.
¡°You will not always be the strongest,¡± she said simply. ¡°When you face The Taming you will be out number, So learn to be the smartest.¡±
I took her words to heart, and prepared for my next little war.
The years passed little challenges came and went. But I remain. Chapter 02: The Awakening

REMEMBER.

REMEMBER.
That word haunts me. It echoes in the depths of my mind like a distant thunderclap., I try to grasp its meaning each time it strikes, but it slips away like water through my fingers. Light hits my eyes. Cold sweat drenches my skin. as I came into consciousness I know I have forgotten something, Again. Another dream, another failed attempt to remember something¡ªsomething important. It clings to me, always just beyond my reach, gnawing at the back of my mind. Every morning, I wake like this, trembling, searching for something I cannot name. What is it that I¡¯ve lost? Why does it matter so much? Ever since I was a child, I¡¯ve felt it¡ªthat pull. As if I was meant to remember something forgotten. its always close as if it was on the tip of my Tongue. But the memory never comes. It hides in the shadows, taunting me. Maybe that''s why I keep diving back into my mind re-living the past, who knows?, maybe something will help me figure out what I am looking for. I was born on a cold, bitter winter night to a woman of the Bronlo tribe. My mother, Ranla, was a gatherer, leatherworker, and cook. She told me how the tribe was formed¡ªhow Bronlo, our namesake, was banished from his original tribe and cast out with a group of other exiles. Weak, forgotten people. The unwanted. The tribe members were like Bronlo banished for different reasons, the most common was not enough food for everyone so the weak and less connected got kicked out first, ''one less mouth to feed''. Getting banished was a good thing, better than the alternative, some tribes can shift to cannibalism in bad times. but out here there is no place for the lonely, They had no choice but to band together to survive. But survival has a cost. ¡°There¡¯s no place for the weak,¡± my mother used to say. ¡°We¡¯re only safe as long as we¡¯re useful.¡± My mother warned me that we are considered weak and less connected in our tribe, and that''s why we must work and fix our position, we cant survive alone. She was right, fear of loneliness and the need for a sense of belonging and shared identity built this tribe, but there are limits to tribal unity when starvation hits. Her words haunt me as much as my dreams. We¡¯re the weak ones here. The expendable ones. And if the tribe ever decides we¡¯ve outlived our usefulness... Well, exile is the kindest fate compared to what might come next. Our tribe isn¡¯t stationary. We travel from cave to cave, scraping out a living from the land, always on the move. Always running. From hunger, from predators, from the dark things that lurk just beyond the firelight. The cave we call home now is different from the others¡ªlarger, deeper. Safe, for now. It¡¯s surrounded by open fields, where nothing can hide. The sun rises directly into the cave entrance, illuminating everything. During the day, the light is our shield. But at night... At night, things change. that''s why the entrance was walled-off with a stone wall built with large stones, and Barricade with wooden braces on the wall and cave door, that was to keep the cave safe from what lurks in the dark. The place was good and safe, a big deep cave for a small tribe of 32 that relied on cooperation for survival. People cant survive on there own, Hunting, gathering food, and defending themselves from predators were all easier with a group. Living together allowed us to share in the fruit''s of knowledge, skills, and resources. knowledge and skills were passed from father to son and mother to daughter. and family resources and tools were inherited, yet every family had something to contribute to the whole. As families grew and generations lived together, they would form larger groups with extended family members. but our tribe is young. a semi-nomadic tribe, moving around to find food and resources in the Forest and plains. avoiding predators, and monsters. Then run back as fast as possible to hide in caves before night. The semi-nomadic lifestyle of jumping from cave to cave as we traveled, it ended when Bronlo noticed that the old cave was too small for the growing tribe and found this cave. it''s perfectly in the center of a large area covered mainly with trees and undergrowth. Yet mostly open filed, open was good, open meant that nothing was hiding behind that hill or tree, and open was safer to move in. And the sun rises directly into the cave entrance, it''s a perfect home. Until my father Harlo died, he was a hunter and a spearmaker. Harlo named me ???? Anir. Later, I learned that people have a common name used on an everyday basis and a secret name used in private rituals to never be shared except with the spirits. And they could have a variety of nicknames. All I know is my name is Anir a term in my fathers old tribe that meant light spirit or angel, am not sure he died before I was wise enough to ask for clarification. And I don''t know what my secret name is, it died with my father. Maybe that is for the best, a secret can''t be exposed if no one is alive to share it. as for his death, he died on the hunt after a saber-tooth tiger noticed him before he noticed it. I was five years old at the time. Before he taught me more than the rudiments of the hunt-hand-speech or spear making or actual hunting. My mother Ranla, found herself without a husband and with a five-year-old to feed, just as winter started, And with the low hunting the food was low and in times of hunger only the hunters can eat enough, the rest of use get the scraps from the communal pot. so she wiped her tears and search for new mate. I don''t remember him clearly, he was a hunter-gatherer, his first proposal to her was a fish, but our new source of food didn''t last, after one year he developed pains in the stomach, it happened five nights after he started beating her, He was a simple cruel man if he had an empty belly then he would be violent, he hit me only once then he died the next day in the slow agonizing end. Poison? Disease? I never asked. Now am nine winters old, In my small fur bed. I stopped thinking about the past and stood up noticing a light beam that entered the cave and woke me up. Our little corner inside the cave was triangular. two wooden poles, connected to the cave wall and then to a support wooden pole to form a triangle, the two poles were used as walls, which was achieved by the tree vines that were Hanging on the wood, and covered with mud for privacy, finally more tree vines as door. it was the best privacy we could get inside a cave, and it was our little home. My mother''s voice interrupted my thoughts ¡°Anir stop lazying, and go get us some water, I need to start working and the water pot is empathy¡± ¡°Yes Mom, I will be back.¡± Picking up the water pot I started walking out. ¡°Be careful not to break the pot, and Wash your face, the cold water will wake you up,,, Lazy boy.¡± As I exited I looked at the sky, The day was cold with a gray sky, and winter was closer. I walked to the river passing some hunters and women with kids, they where clearing the path to the small shallow river, to make it safer, with no shadows or hiding spots. That made my trip safer, as I walked again I tried to remember the stupid dream that kept running from me. I¡¯m different. I¡¯ve known it since I was six years old. That was when the visions began¡ªflashes of places I¡¯ve never seen, of knowledge I¡¯ve never learned. They come to me in my dreams, during the day, even when I¡¯m awake. They were random and short. After every vision, I learned something knew like how to push my aura out and take in mana, or how to move my mana in my body and aura, and how to take the ambient mana in to use for warmth. I did it without even knowing, I was so young. At first, I thought it was normal. I thought everyone could feel the pull of their aura, and could sense mana in the air. just like walking, we all did it. But it wasn¡¯t long before I realized I was alone in this. I could push mana through my body for warmth in the freezing winters. I could use it to defend myself from the older children who tried to bully me. Slowly the vision became longer and stranger, I started collecting hematite stones, and other stuff that looked important yet i don''t know why I want them. I had dreams and knowledge of things I have never done. And then there was Grandpa¡ªthe strange old man who visited me in my dreams. ''grandpa is a strange name!,'' I traveled with him in the forests that where unfamiliar to me, He showed me how to survive, how to wield my aura like a shield, and how to shape tools, knives, and weapons. He took me into the forests, where we stayed out even during the dark hours, and we didn''t die!. The visions also had ideas in them, flashes of comprehension, ideas about better spears, better flint knife, where to hid one, and how to use it if I was attacked, a better way to shape my aura to protect me from the knife or cold as if it was thick Fur. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. That was a good thing to learn because In winter all we had where our thick Furs, and we couldn''t start a fire in the cave, it would kill us, the fire is small and outside the cave to keep the monsters away. We had smoke problems when setting the fire inside so mostly it was done only when we had to. Heating rock was a good idea at first then it wasn''t when it''s your job to heat them outside and bring them into the cave, that can be done only before the cave is sealed, and using hot rocks was dangerous, that''s why I found the aura trick important. Aura warmth, That one saved my life in the past winter, I still remember one of the baby''s tribe not surviving the winter, it was a sad night for the tribe. The next and best trick I learned was how to push anyone trying to bully me down in an arm lock, that made my playtime with the other older kids really fun. It didn''t get me any new friends, but it stopped them from bullying me. Then the clothing ideas on how to shape the fur, and skins for better protection from the cold, that idea made my mothers leather work liked among our little tribe, the leather jackets where a real life-saving gift, and when we traded with other tribes, she even managed to get to show others how to do what she did for a payment of food, pots, and more leather. It helped us at difficult times. The years passed, and I noticed am different from others I was smarter or wiser maybe both, and maybe a bit more evil!?. No, am not evil, The word I am looking for is selfish, yes that''s the word, selfish. My instincts tell me that I am not meant to live like this¡ªweak, powerless, relying on others for survival. One night after I told my mother about my ideas and how I see better ways to do things, she was both happy and worried. My mother warned me about standing out too much, but I couldn¡¯t help it. I saw the way things could be improved¡ªthe better ways to shape leather, to craft tools, to harness mana. It felt like second nature. In a loving voice, she would whisper, "It''s as if wisdom was whispered to you, Anir you are blessed." Her voice changed into a warning tone, "just remember not to let your fire outshine others, jealousy is as dangerous as the saber-tooth". At the age of ten and a half, I somehow understood what she was saying to me. I noticed how the kids didn''t like it when I showed them my small skin backpack, A bag carried by a strap on my shoulder, I noticed how they wanted it, but a memory of my arms lock technique mixed with my monkey-fist a stone weighted to short leather rope, previous demonstrations of how I can bring the pain stopped them from taking anything from me. My backpack was my backpack, They always looked at it, until the day their mothers traded with my mom to make them backpacks for their husbands, and the kids. Then I slowly found myself more and more lonely when it was playtime. People noticed it, they subconsciously feel am not part of the group, its in how I walked, talked, how I set, and eat, I noticed the looks they gave me. Even in the words I used, I understood Am not a part of the pack, yes that''s it am Just alone Wolfe. They avoided me more and more, especially after I started using my aura in ways they couldn¡¯t understand. They resented my intelligence and my strange skills. Even my mother, though proud, often looked at me with a mix of awe and fear. I learned to keep my talents hidden. The few friends I had were gone, and I found myself increasingly alone. Except for Monire¡ªanother outcast. But even his company was conditional, something fleeting. I had become the lone wolf, surviving in isolation. I knew I needed to change that. The lone wolf dies in the night. I needed to belong again. I needed to fix what I¡¯d broken. But how? Soon I will be fourteen, my adulthood test will start, and I need to be ready. I contemplated that idea as I heard the water flow and looked at the shallow water, it was safe, close, and nothing will jump at me, yet still I looked very carefully around me. That''s when I noticed the area we were warned not to approach it, the area had insects that can kill, and an Idea slowly formed in the back of my mind. I filled my pot and walked back home. Back home I found my mother outside the cave in her work spot, with the leather, I gave the water pot to my mother then went into the cave, I picked up my flint knife, and the leather I needed to work on outside where there was sunlight. I did my normal leather work, cutting strips to make strings and rope, we used it with a boon needle to make good clothing like the winter jackets. I cut, and cut, then took some breaks for water and food then worked more leather. The work was difficult the stone knife lost its edge fast, I needed a better knife. I stopped frozen in my place, I almost remembered something about a shiny knife! ¡°Anir stop dreaming and work you lazy fool.¡± My mom¡¯s voice brought me back to reality. ¡°Sorry,¡± I went back to work, and as I did I continued to think about my plan to fix my lonely wolf problem. My mother and I worked all day, she cut skin and made it into good pieces to be connected later to make jackets and backpacks or pants and boots, blankets, and beds. This year our work will be good sent to other tribes to exchange for other things, like good flint knifes, spears, pots, and those hemp ropes, the moment I saw them I told my mother how we can use them for better leatherwork, and other things like nets. My mother and I kept the ideas and plans for our selves until we will be ready to show the work, our tribe would feed us to get them the extra tools, it will make our position stronger in the tribe. When today''s work was finished, we collected our things and placed them inside our home in the cave. Before it went dark I went to the river for more water, the night is long, and having water close is good even if am not thirsty. As I walked to the river to fetch water, my mind was preoccupied with the same thoughts. The dream¡ªthe one I can never fully remember¡ªnagged at me again. It¡¯s always there, always lingering. What am I missing? As I dipped my pot into the water, something reflected sunlight at me, A glint caught my eye, just beneath the surface. I knelt, pushing aside a stone, and there it was¡ªa small, yellow rock, an Aura stone, a gold nugget the size of my thumb. Gold?, That¡¯s a new word huh am superb at naming things, but the hunters call it aura rock or stone. They said it could enhance their aura abilities, yet I never learned how and am no hunter only hunters are allowed to show their sons how to use it. I played with the heavy gold thing moving it in my hand, it felt so close to my aura, and for some reason, the worthless yellow thing looked/felt... important. More than that¡ªit felt like it was meat, "maybe I should make a crown. Huh!!, what''s a crown? Why does it feel so familiar?", strange words are in my head again. ¡®Yes there is something I need to,,, I must,,, shit I lost it¡¯. The idea in my head It''s like a squirrel impossible to catch. I shifted my attention back to the gold, The hunters would trade for it, I knew, but something deep inside me told me to keep it. To take it home, to bed, and sleep with it near my head, my skin. ¡®It''s my precious¡¯. The cold wind hitting my face and wet hand broke my concentration, and I remembered why I was there. I slipped it into my fur clothing, hiding it from sight. And with the heist I went back to the cave, this time I went fast because I didn''t want to be out at night or even at sunset and because the food was ready. The food pots where cooked outside, and as the smell hit me, my stomach woke-up and told me to feed it. As I entered the cave and placed the water pot near my mother, she picked up our diner pots and went to get us food, I waited and turned back to watch the tribe settle down for the night. Our tribe''s routines were different from day to day, but not as much as it seems, there is always a pattern in how people moved, talked, or did things. Some things repeat daily others take days or months, yet they repeat. It all starts with Some of the men going around the area to search the perimeter for any danger, others stay and protect the women and children as they collect vegetables plants, and they keep an eye on any small animal that can be caught, then all the hunters go hunt after they make sure there are no strangers nearby, and for extra safety the children and women hid back in the cave or stay near it when there are few men watching. Sometimes most of the men go to hunt and the tribe hides or some stay watch over the gatherers and others go hunt. It''s a mess that has order to it, is there an injured man, or are the men fighting and having no social cohesion to go together, that''s when they argue more about who stays and who leaves. But there is one constant in all of this. I noticed that one of the Bronlo family members is always with the hunters, talking or listening, the men in large groups are never alone together without a Bronlo present for leadership. Why is that? the men don''t look stupid to me to need a guiding hand all day. I dropped that thought and watched shaman woman Tahya work, she''s Bronlo¡¯s wife she''s our shaman and medicine woman, I watched her use some of Yesterday¡¯s ash in ritual, it was mixed with mud and used as paint to cover the cave outer wall and around the entrance, and on the wooden door. As the sun went down getting closer to darkness, she always worked on the door and wall. I sometimes like to watch her work when no one is looking at me, that woman had body that made men drool. Here eyes moved my-way, and I looked off beyond her making it look as if I am looking at the sleeping men in the cave. Those men were the night watchers, and as I predicted when the shadows from the sunlight hitting the door were just low enough in position I marked inside the cave. The night watchers woke up from the nap they always take before the long night, am not sure if it''s the smell of food or the noise the tribe makes when its food time that woke them. My mother came to me with the food, and she went to eat and talk with the other women, and I looked around watching. My focus tonight was the watchers after they finished their food. I listened to them talk about the next sleeping schedule and who would be on it, they talked and worked, they were placing the fire wood that was collected by the other tribe members today and pilled outside the cave and preparing the Incense to be burned in the fire. We called it the dark spirits banishment ritual, and I have seen it every-night as far as I can remember, I watched every detail, someday I will be the man to do it. Maybe it will banish the spirits haunting me when I see fire, I don''t like fire When I look into the flames, I see visions of people, of an empire burning, but the visions are hazy. What''s an empire?. I ignored the question and looked at the watchers. Their job was simple yet important, only the truly trusted are given the job, it''s too important to let children do it. Or for one man alone to do it, that''s why five did it with the shaman in training as the sixth man watching, more like listening, there is nothing to be seen or could be seen outside, the cave will be fully sealed leaving only small air holes, and it''s dark outside, we can only see the small dim light from Incense-fire outside that can be seen through the watch holes, and the rush-light inside the cave the night watchers used, its dim light but good enough for anyone to find the pissing hole. The rush-light was kept burning all night to easily light a more rush-light during the night and start a new fire in the morning. The cave door was being sealed¡ªthe heavy wooden logs pushed into place, it wasn''t even an actual door, just wooden logs on-top of each-other and braced with more wood, it''s not stone, but It Prevents what''s in the dark from entering. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the cave transformed. The small fire inside burned low, once bright and warm, and was reduced to glowing embers, casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. The shaman, her face streaked with ash, whispered ancient words, smearing mud across the inside of the entrance to keep the dark things at bay. I watched the others¡ªthe way they huddled together, eyes darting toward the cave¡¯s mouth, afraid to speak too loudly, afraid to look out into the night. I don¡¯t like the night Unusual events begin to happen in the night, around the cave-dwelling and its surrounding area. Animals become restless, and strange noises are heard at night, I think I once heard laughter¡ªa twisted, thirsty sound that sent chills down my spine., whatever made it, it sounded thirsty. In the morning when we walk too far from the cave we find claw marks on the trees and some rocks, what could make marks on rocks?. When it was my time to sleep, as I lay in my fur bed, I clenched the golden nugget in my hand. Its warmth pulsed in my palm. I tightened my grip keeping it safe, and closed my eyes, clutching the nugget tighter.
~REMEMBER~
The word echoed in my mind, louder this time, more urgent. But as always, the answer slipped away, leaving me grasping at shadows.

~REMEMBER~ And then, for the first time, I dreamed not of Grandpa, but of something else. A throne. A kingdom in flames. Whatever it was, I knew it belonged to me.

~REMEMBER~

Volume 1 Cover Reveal! Hello, It is my absolute pleasure to unveil the cover art for volume 1 This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it i hope you guys have been enjoying the story so far this is prehistoric isekai series with horror elements, it will be a bit of slow burn at times and fast at other moments. please leave a comment on the chapters tell me what you think it helps me write better. Chapter 03: O Fortuna, you B*** ~~REMEMBER~~ ~~REMEMBER~~ ~~RE_MEM_BERRR~~ I DID. With a gasp, I awoke, pain grinding at the back of my skull, like someone had driven a dagger straight into my mind. My hands trembling from the intensity of it, and I clenched my fists to stop the shaking. Damn, I had long dream about cave people, and I was some savage kid making fur pants. As I opened my eyes I froze. Two lifetimes collided in my mind at once. The prince who had everything, and the boy born into this primitive world. Everything flashed through my mind, the flashes simultaneously ending at me getting killed and going to sleep with golden nugget in my hand. ¡®Reincarnation.¡¯ ¡®It worked¡¯. The realization hit me hard. But this wasn¡¯t life as I knew it¡ªit was something else. Something new. My body felt wrong, like it didn¡¯t quite fit, and yet the flood of memories racing through my brain felt so familiar. Two lives. Two separate timelines crashing into each other, fighting for control. I was still adjusting to this new reality when the very heavy stench lingering about the cave hit my nose creating a gag reflex that collided with the back of my throat. I forced myself to sit up, every movement feeling awkward and sluggish in this new body. I had to stabilize. "Oh, shit", ''the reincarnation ritual,,, it worked!,,,, am in new world, a new body, new life''. The theory was one thing, but living it was another. It was overwhelming. Just like I read in the ¡®get isekaied¡¯ reincarnation scroll manual. [ Reincarnation isn''t an immediate process you don''t just go from here to there. First you must have body and your consciousness attached to it. Then slowly the spell starts to push your old memory''s into your new mind, keywords here are slow, steady, and safely. There will be few memory leaks, some unintentional, some intentional to help you survive, that type of memory is call survival protocol''s. At first You will live your reincarnation normally completely fresh and memory-less until your mind is ready, when the spell determines that you are ready then you will ~REMEMBER~. However, you will face a challenge of the mind, there will be a shift in behavior how much of shift, that''s up to you, your mind biology, your mana & aura, plus your environment and how your personality reacts to it. Yet most importantly how much you remember and how you remember it. ] Reincarnation is a gradual process. I don¡¯t wake up with everything intact. Memories filter in slowly, carefully. At first, I lived this new life with no recollection of my past, my mind blank until it¡¯s ready. Then, it all came flooding back. That¡¯s where I am now, caught between two lives, struggling to reconcile them. Two lives are wrestling in my head, a prince and stone-age boy. Both are me, yet life experience effects personality, so now I technically have a split personality, temporarily. ''I hope''. My thoughts were confused from something, ¡®oh yes the language¡¯, The words from my past life kept slipping in, disrupting my thoughts. This dissonance had to stop, or it would break me, but I needed time. For now, I¡¯d have to settle into Anir''s language, his world, until I could adapt. Keep in control, steady deep breaths. I wasn¡¯t going to lose control. A boy''s fear and prince''s will fought, The boy¡¯s fear was strong, but the prince¡¯s will... was stronger. I clung to it like a lifeline. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. It took moment but eventual my mind settled on a dominant prince personality for it was the older, wiser, though with traces of Anir still present. Just flavor of personality. I made the decision to think in the new language for now then switch to my mother-tongue when I need to. The love I had for my new mother remained, yet I quickly ripped off the tribal loyalty to the bronlo family like parasite. ''I am no slave'' That was a chain I wouldn¡¯t wear. Loyalty to other''s is trap for the weak-minded, and I won¡¯t repeat the mistakes of the past. But I can''t ignore my new mother, so I kept that love, its new I never had this before, and I like it, it''s an anchor and I want to keep it, it will center me. Once I stabilized myself, I took moment to see where my mental health is at, I couldn''t be sure so ''fuck it¡¯. Sane or not, frankly, I didn¡¯t care. I took all my feeling of panic, distress, fear, anxiety, and bottled it up, stuffed it into the deepest corner in my mind, and locked it away. Someday the bottle will explode, and I will need to clean the mess, but that''s a problem for future me. ¡®Sorry Future Me, but it sucks to be you¡¯. The stench of the cave dragged me back to reality. After a deep breath, I meditated for a moment. Okay, The only good news about my situation is that am not a body snatcher, so there is no guilt of taking someone''s life. I wasn¡¯t some invader¡ªAnir had always been me, even if the memories were just catching up Now I see what my grandfather meant by ¡®people are asleep until they die then they wake up''. After getting betrayed and killed, I surely woke the fuck up, in more ways than one. I died, I lost it all, but I won''t cry like women for the kingdom I didn''t keep like man, Yet still It is amazing what a victory can cost you. When my little existential crisis ended, or suspended, I opened my eyes again and looked around. My mother must have started working letting me sleep in, I stood, taking in my surroundings. That''s when I notice that my hand was empty there is no golden nugget, just a very small golden mark on my skin, this body must have been low on gold, maybe even iron. I will take care of that later. I pushed that thought aside. There were more pressing matters. The tribe¡¯s day started at dawn, like clockwork. The men hunted, the women gathered food, and tend to this cave, and I... need to pretend to be normal just Go with the flow. Life is structured around survival¡ªhunting, gathering, and maintaining the tools and shelter. I did my best to remember what I should do, and as I did the anxiety was pushed down into dark corner in my mind until the pressure breaks it free, and I lose my shit. But not today. Somehow I got my shit together, and I moved through the motions¡ªfetching water, making leather strings, sharpening tools. Nothing out of the ordinary. I acted normal, no need for anyone to know about the miracle walking among them, last thing I need is witch hunt, and a burning at the stake, to be slowly killed in fire. My mind buzzed with thoughts of how fragile it all was. I couldn¡¯t afford a witch hunt, couldn¡¯t risk being burned at the stake for having powers the primitives didn¡¯t understand. That''s why now isn''t the time to think it''s the time to Blend in. Fit in. when in foper do as the foper''s do. Midday, As I finished today''s work someone waved at me, I spotted Monire¡ªmy so-called "friend." He waved at me, and I waved back, as I remember that ¡®king has no Friends¡¯, I have forgotten the political lessons grandpa taught me once, I was careless. I was an idiot, never again. I smiled and waved at the worthless friend, though my smile was laced with contempt. If my new memories are correct Monire only came to me when the other boys shunned him. Then he comes to me with his tail between his legs. He was a leech. Useless, but maybe useful in time. Yes I can find us for him later, as I waved at him, he smiled and kept on walking, the shithead only talks to me when he needs something. I returned to my routine, sharpening a flint knife, lost in thought. shifting my mind towards my situation, This body is stronger than most of the other boys, but am not skilled in hunting or surviving. Am only good in fight, when I fight smart its also known as cheating. But That wasn''t luck, it was me instinctively using some of the old techniques thought to me by my martial arts instructors, though memory-less me didn¡¯t realize it. Those instructors didn''t instruct me to hunt, however here in this life unlike the other kids I had no father to show me how to hunt, find food, avoid becoming food. I don''t know anything about the creatures in the Forest. There is no imparting of skills from father to son. I need a hunting teacher or get stronger and go out there and teach my self to hunt. In this life I was destined to doom or slow difficult life. That was until I remember who am I and what I can do. Plus I have the unfair-advantages, advanced knowledge and a new aura. I know that I must survive in a climate that is far different, and in many ways far more punishing, than anything I could have possibly experienced before. ¡®But I,,, I Am better,,, I,,, I have an aura, a good one, a functional aura¡¯. My eyes were blurry, tears welled up then I almost cried. ¡®My aura, my aura,,, it,,, its no_rma_l¡¯. My aura. I could feel it. It wasn¡¯t fully ignited yet, but it was there¡ªa hundred times better than the pathetic one I¡¯d had as a prince. I have potential, hope. A convulsive gasp almost escaped me, I almost broke down, but I held it back. I forced myself not to start sobbing if I star I may never stop, I wouldn¡¯t cry, I am a man, I couldn¡¯t, men don''t cry, can¡¯t cry, mustn''t show weakness, NEVER. Instead, I stood tall, keeping the image of strength. I stood tall, The perfect image of manliness. I have an Aura. Hope. I was better than ever before. chapter 04: Embracing the madness By the end of the day, I had settled into the tribe¡¯s routine. I ate, slept, and let myself drift into dreams about fire and destruction, burning kingdom in another world. The days passed, winter drew closer and closer, and my memories solidified, I explored my past finally remembering what was forgotten, The memory is still hazy, but it is clearer now that I am not just a normal tribesman. The internal conflict was there, but I handled it by keeping busy. Slowly, the prince''s identity took hold, and the boy faded into the background. But there were moments when both merged, leaving me unsure of which personality was truly mine. Then I discovered the joy of mana manipulation. For the first time in my life, I felt real magic flow through me effortlessly. In my past life I never had a real Aura Manifestation yet here even with my aura still young and unignited, I begin to sense and manipulate mana more consciously. Causing minor magical effects, such as levitating a small stone when no one was looking or generating heat to fight off the bitter cold. A new life where magic flows within me. I was elated, my mind flooded with endless possibilities for spells I can do in this life. Sitting on surprisingly comfortable rock outside the cave, I watched the tribe. I just looked at the people, and wondered at my good or bad luck. I watched the tribe with my new eyes, the eyes of an adult with different prospective, the eyes of a man who knew a better life¡ªsaw the primitives around me. I know a better way of life and I want it back. As I watched I started to see a pattern, a non-complex society similar to chimpanzee basic rules of life with extra-steps. The people around me looked like normal people they just had shitty taste in clothing, It''s as if someone took the city folk to the forest undressed them, made them forget all the decorum and civilized decency learned in the city, and left them to make fur clothing from anything they can kill. There are social rules everyone is expected to follow. Yet people don''t always do so, and here the violation of group norms, or the defying of authority, is accompanied by what seem to be pain or extreme pain, it all depends on what was done, and your position in the tribe can help you do what others can''t. It was like watching animals play at being human. No decorum, no civilization. Just survival, just hunger. ¡®Shiiiit¡¯, Why wasn''t I born in better era?, and why is the ambient mana feel as if it''s low?, is it low?, or I just think it is because now I have a better aura?. If there is something wrong with the mana then I am cursed with bad luck, or not. My aura is stronger and I love it. It will take time for me to build the reflexes necessary to control my aura, After all its just another body with in my body. My mind was drowning in questions. I took a deep breath and enjoyed the moment, a new life where magic flows within me effortlessly, this joy can never get old. My new aura powers will be strong when fully ignited, Yeah my body is suffering from bad nutrition, but that can be fixed, with bit more gold. I made mental list of all the nutrition I may need for my body, and aura. If am cursed to live with primitives, then I must get some power, am in a time full of the deadliest predators in history, and primitive rules, a time when people haven''t even figured out how to form mana cores, or use mana stones, or toilet_paper. Am in time before the mana_stone_age, in my old world history the mana_stone_age era was a time when people used mana stones to advance there magic, here I haven''t seen any mana stones. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. The best they could do with mana was build a simple aura, it''s an accidental and dangerous aura manipulation, no skill or guidance, just fallowing there fear and anger to use there aura, an instinctive Self-defense. That''s like building muscle from punching people every day. Makes no sense. "Dragon-shit", I cursed under my breath. And It''s cold, very cold as if it''s the end or start of an ice age, am not sure, I just know that this area is cold, very cold at night. I have been born stuck between a rock and a hard place. With A better body then my old one but still stuck in primitive time. I looked at the cave entrance, I didn¡¯t like what I was seeing, the only thing Barricading us from death is wood and smoke. And what is outside at night?. FUCK. The good news I don¡¯t need to learn the language, it''s already in my head with this strong familiarity of my surroundings. And I know how to use this body and the magic aura it has, even if it feels wrong like having extra skin, still it feels familiar. Better than my past aura, actually it so much better, Worth dying for?, no, not yet, but it will be when I start building it up. I took a deep breath, pushing aside the frustration. My aura was stronger now, and that was all that mattered. I would learn to control it, refine it, and make it the strongest this world had ever seen. My eyes moved around looking at the people, at the night watchers. The people are bunch fucking uncivilized savages, there simplicity makes them more dangerous, because of a lack of resources there constant hunger, and ability to do anything with no limits, no mental blocks like honor, or morality. I need to get stronger and quickly, not just to keep safe from the predators but to be safe from the most dangers thing on this world,,, people. It''s a fact that ancient people were very cruel, that''s why people gather in groups, not just to fight nature but also each-other, groups like this small but powerful community. Cruelty and humanity go hand in hand, The cold and hunger didn¡¯t help. They had,,, have their own standards of behavior, I must remember that am not prince anymore there is no decorum. There was still a tremendous degree of variability but, these ancient people are quite caring toward their tribe-mates, so I need to play on there feeling of belonging, on the blood relative non-relative mindset, I must be a part of the tribe, play on there greed and emotions, be liked, loved, be a politician with big fist to handle my critics. Sitting on rock I brooded on my shitty luck, and on what I must do, until voice interrupted me. My thoughts were interrupted by one of the hunters barking at me. ¡°Hey, boy go make some rope don''t just sit there looking at us, wasting the light¡±. It was one of the hunters. ¡°Oh yes I will start just planing a better way to do it.¡± ¡°Plan with your hands, work boy, don¡¯t just sit there! Make yourself useful.¡± He had point all I can do is embrace the madness, and live on. People were moving about. The men had already taken out their stone tools for grinding so it¡¯d be more convenient the next time they went hunting with already sharpened stone knives and spears. The women too had their own work¡ªsewing hides, drying foods, etc. As for me, like I said before when in foper do as foper''s do. Time to finish an idea I had. My mother went with the women to gather plants to mix with the meat in the pots tonight. I had an idea on what to do to fix my lonely wolf problem. And I took the opportunity to execute my plan. I grabbed my heavy winter gear, winter thick fur jacket, good winter pants and full head mask, I choose a large pot, and headed toward the Pain Trees¡ªan area known for its deadly beehives. The Pain trees where in the area all the kids were told to stay away from, one of the trees had a big beehive. The tribe harvested honey from these hives only when desperate, as the bees were fast and aggressive. But I had a plan. The hunters usually knock down the hives and make a beeline out of the area, yet the bees where fast, and it was a deadly encounter, the survivors return when the bees had dispelled. The honey harvesting was only done when necessary, when the hunger was too much. Or an idiot was trying to prove his manhood was bigger than everyone else. I gathered dry grass and long wooden sticks, and made several torches, I started small fire that made so much smoke it almost killed me, and went into the area holding torches. I placed multiple torch''s around a tree, As I approached, and watched the insects abandoned their hives. It worked¡ªmostly. A few brave bees stung me, ME the smoke maker, but the thick fur protected me from the worst of it. I ignored those rebel scums, and filled my big pot full of honey and wax. I didn''t take it all the hive was big, yet I wanted it to stay alive for my next harvest. I looked at the honey, our tribe protects this place from any strangers, and we all know its location is a carefully guarded secret. Collecting it is considered an act of bravery and desperation. I made sure that no fire will spread and burn the forest. And went home to finish my work. It is a lot of work. I would need to strengthen my aura, build connections within the tribe, and gain influence. This was no place for morality or weakness. I would play on their emotions, manipulate their greed, and position myself as an essential part of the group. And I¡¯d need to work quickly. chapter 05: honey Politics The golden liquid shimmered in the dim light of the cave, thick and viscous, a treasure coaxed from the Pain Trees with a small fire, a lot of smoke. But if anyone asked, I¡¯d let them believe it was won through a dozen bee stings and a close call with death. The honey, rich and rare, was worth it. I found my mother near the back of the cave, folding leather strips in preparation for the cold months ahead. I approached quietly. She glanced up, "mom fallow me to our home" I asked, she did, and as she entered she found me holding the pot of honey with both hands. Her brow furrowing as she took in the honey, a rare sight in our meager supplies. ¡°Where did you get all that, Anir?¡± she asked, her voice hushed, though the curiosity in her eyes was unmistakable. ¡°From the Pain Trees,¡± I replied, keeping my tone light. ¡°It took some time, but I managed it.¡± I replied, keeping my tone casual, almost dismissive. She didn¡¯t need to know the details, and I didn¡¯t need her worrying about the risks. This wasn¡¯t just about the honey. This was about control, trust, and the subtle planting of seeds that would grow into something the tribe couldn¡¯t yet comprehend. Her lips tightened into a thin line. ¡°And the bees? I don¡¯t want you risking yourself for something sweet.¡± ¡°I scared them off with smoke and fire, and this honey It¡¯s more than just sweetness, Mother,¡± I said, my voice firm but gentle. I offered her the pot, watching her study the thick, golden liquid with a mixture of awe and caution. ¡°This honey could mean more for us than just food.¡± She raised an eyebrow, looking at me with a hint of amusement. ¡°And how¡¯s that?¡± I drew closer, my voice dropping. ¡°If winter¡¯s hard this year and the tribe goes hungry, they may kick us out into the snow. Fewer mouths to feed.¡± The words were brutal, but I forced himself to say them. ¡°If we want to make it through this winter, we can¡¯t just rely on their goodwill.¡± A shadow crossed her face, and she lowered her gaze, her hands idly tracing the edge of the pot. ¡°I know it¡¯s hard for us. But¡­ we¡¯re part of the tribe, Anir. They wouldn¡¯t just turn us out.¡± ¡°Would they?¡± I pressed, My tone carrying a sharper edge. ¡°Do you think they¡¯d feed us if it came down to it? You and I are the lowest in the tribe¡¯s order, and you know it. We¡¯re expendable.¡± She was silent, her expression troubled as she considered my words. I continued, a touch of urgency slipping into my voice. ¡°We need our own food reserves,¡± I said, holding her gaze. ¡°I can hunt, but I need time, and we need allies. We need people who¡¯ll look to us if it comes down to a choice between us and the Bronlos.¡± Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, wary but attentive. ¡°And you think honey will change that?¡± ¡°It could be a start,¡± my voice dropping to a low murmur. ¡°Offer it to the other women, just a taste for each of them. Share it, but be careful. Make sure most of it goes to Tahya, wife of Vorg Bronlo. When they ask why there isn¡¯t more, tell them that the Bronlo family kept most of it for themselves. If the women are slow to understand you, mention¡ªjust in passing¡ª how they like to make sure they get the best of everything.¡± I let the words sink in, watching as a flicker of understanding crossed her face. Her brow furrowed, he blinked, and glimmer of understanding beginning to replace her anxiety. She nodded, fingers curling around the pot with a newfound intensity. She didn¡¯t resist my plan, and I saw a spark in her eyes I hadn¡¯t seen in a long time. ¡°And you think that will make the others¡­ what, resent them?¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± I said, shrugging as if it were merely a passing thought. ¡°Maybe they¡¯ll start to wonder why the Bronlos need so much. Why the rest of us have to make do with less. When winter bites, envy is just another form of hunger.¡± The Bronlos had ruled the tribe for too long, using their status as the ¡°main family¡± to justify every excess, every indulgence. Now, it was time for that authority to be tested, weakened. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. She looked back down at the honey, her fingers tracing the edge of the pot thoughtfully. ¡°I see. A taste of something sweet can make people realize what they¡¯ve been missing.¡± She paused, her voice softening. ¡°But I don¡¯t know, Anir. I¡¯ve lived in this tribe for years. People have their ways¡­ they don¡¯t change easily.¡± ¡°Mom, people change when they¡¯re hungry,¡± I said, a hardness creeping into my voice. ¡°And when they have a taste of something they might never have again, they start asking questions.¡± I looked at her and I know she needed more convincing. ¡°Give them a reminder,¡± I murmured, nodding toward the pot. ¡°Something they can hold onto. A reminder that there¡¯s no reason the Bronlos should get the best of everything, especially when there¡¯s more than enough to go around.¡± My mother regarded me thoughtfully, the lines on her face softening with a newfound purpose. ¡°And you think... this will make a difference?¡± she asked, her tone more a challenge than a question. ¡°It already has,¡± I said evenly, a calm conviction in my voice. ¡°Just be careful how you say it¡ªa suggestion here, a quiet comment there. Let the idea take root on its own.¡± She hesitated, glancing outside toward the other women in the cave. ¡°And what if it doesn¡¯t work? What if this brings more trouble than help?¡± I softened, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. ¡°Then we¡¯ll still have a small reserve of our own. A chance to protect ourselves when things get harder. But if we can make people question why they have less while the Bronlos get more¡­ maybe we¡¯ll have the chance to change our place in the tribe, or just let people look at the bronlo''s instead of us.¡± She nodded slowly, her expression pensive. ¡°All right. I¡¯ll do it. Carefully.¡± I squeezed her arm gently, a rare moment of warmth between us. ¡°Thank you, Mother. This is the first step, just a seed of doubt. We¡¯ll let it grow on its own, and see where it leads.¡± She managed a small smile, her fingers tightening around the pot. ¡°And you¡¯re sure about this?¡± ¡°As sure as I can be,¡± I replied, confidence threading through my words. ¡°We can survive the winter. But we need more than just luck to do it.¡± She stood straighter, cradling the pot with a determination I hadn¡¯t seen in her before. ¡°You¡¯re smart, Anir,¡± she murmured, pride warming her words. ¡°Your father would have been proud.¡± The weight of her words hung heavy, pulling me momentarily from the strategy at hand. Father,,, the one that abandoned me or the one that died leaving the shadow of his absence to lingered over us both, but I forced the thought aside. This wasn¡¯t about sentiment, legacy or honor. This was survival. And it was time I showed the tribe what I was capable of. Later that evening, when the cave was sealed, I lingered in the shadows near the edge of the firelight, watching as my mother moved gracefully through the huddled women. She cradled the honey pot like it held the last ember of a dying fire. With careful hands, she doled out the honey sparingly, each small portion met with wide eyes and murmurs of appreciation. Some of these women hadn¡¯t tasted honey in years. As each woman received her share, I noticed the glances they exchanged, eyes lighting with quiet envy and curiosity. They were tasting more than just honey. They were tasting possibility. One woman, a tall, wiry figure, took a slow taste and looked around with suspicion. ¡°From the Bronlos¡¯ stores?¡± she asked, her voice barely above a whisper but heavy with pointed doubt. My mother smiled, dipping her finger into the honey and holding it out to the woman. ¡°No, my son Anir collected it himself. This is all I have left, after sharing most of it with the main family.¡± Her words were soft, almost absent, but I saw how they landed, how the other women exchanged glances, their eyes narrowing with just the faintest edge of envy. Not even commenting on my bravery. ¡°You¡¯d think they could spare a little more,¡± another woman murmured, her gaze drifting across the cave to where Vorg Bronlo sat with his family, oblivious to the subtle seeds of resentment taking root in the hearts of those around him. Perfect. They didn¡¯t know it yet, but the Bronlos¡¯ control was slipping. The women were easy to buy there price was low, this was just test, I wanted to see how loyal they¡¯d remain to the Bronlos when paid with something sweet, something they¡¯d been denied for too long. Now I see, A hint of sweetness could breed bitterness just as easily as envy. It wouldn¡¯t take much for that envy to turn into distrust. And from distrust? Disobedience. Just a taste, that¡¯s all it took. Now Bronlos, with just a hint of resentment, I''ll see how well their title hold up against the quiet envy of the women. Women that can share that seed of envy with their men, son''s and daughters. I leaned back into the shadows, a slow, steady satisfaction unfurling within me. The Bronlos had ruled by force for years, believing that might was the only answer. But now, I¡¯d found something far stronger: division. Brutal authority could only be perfected in the minds of those it oppressed, but perfection crumbled under the faintest whisper of discontent. I could already see it in their faces¡ªthe way the women glanced sideways, suspicion tainting their admiration. They didn¡¯t know the game I was playing, not yet. But they would. Soon enough, the tribe would see what happened when the cracks in power were exposed, one small taste at a time. And all it took was a little honey. As the murmurs spread and the pot emptied, I slipped further into the shadows, letting the satisfaction settle. There was more work to be done, of course. But for now, the seeds had been planted. This was only the beginning. chapter 06: a taste of power The tension was almost visible now, a thin line drawn through the heart of the tribe. It pulsed beneath the surface, growing sharper with every sidelong glance, every low murmur that spread through the huddled groups. Resentment simmered out of the women, directed at the Bronlo family, who kept to themselves at the far end of the cave, oblivious to the quiet revolt brewing against them. I kept my distance, observing as the subtle seeds I¡¯d planted with the honey began to take root. The Bronlos hadn¡¯t shared as much as they could have, and the tribe was beginning to wonder why. I could see the questions taking shape, doubts passing from person to person, fed by quiet whispers and lingering glances. I allowed myself a flicker of satisfaction, though I kept it hidden behind a mask of indifference. Small steps. Always small steps. Next day. As the first light of dawn began to creep across the sky, I slipped out of the cave the moment it was opened, making my way into the forest on the other side of the shallow river, where no one would disturb me. I found good spot with light and almost no shadows. The earth was damp, softened by last night¡¯s rain, and the mist hung low, giving the morning an eerie quiet. It''s time to prepare for my Aura Ignition, let''s see what I can remember about aura, and if I can use the skills I absorbed. Aura power draws from two sources: the blood and the mind. The blood¡­ the physical vessel. The body has to accept and channel mana, shaping it like a raw material to feed the aura. Aura is my only tether to magic, my only real weapon forged within the blood but governed by the mind. In its first, unawakened form, aura is a hidden, a magnetic field, invisible yet humming with potential, waiting to ignite. Magic, though¡­ magic is another game entirely. True magic relies on aura control. A steady, unbreakable link between the mind, body, and unseen force aura. Incantations, ward formations, SIGILLS¡­ none of them can hold power without aura as their foundation. Every spell, every defense, every weapon stems from this energy. Aura feels like a second skin, stretching and contracting with my will. Learning to control it is a mix of instinct and discipline, like learning to smile or keep a straight poker face, yet infinitely more delicate. When I handle mana, I am playing with fire. Losing control isn¡¯t just a setback. It¡¯s deadly. To fumble, to hesitate, is to invite disaster. This trinity, mind, body, aura. Is the foundation of power. The mind must command; it¡¯s the general that directs the body and aura alike. And aura itself commands mana, weaving it into shape, into purpose, into magic. Without aura There¡¯s no other path to strength. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the air settle around me. The forest seemed to hold its breath with me, waiting. Today, I was pushing harder, testing the limits of my control. I closed my eyes, letting my aura extend outward, feeling it brush against the trees, sinking into the soil, blending with the surrounding elements. "Aura is power, born of blood and mind." With a steady breath, I reach out, my senses expanding beyond myself as I start to harvest mana from the world around me, drinking it in as though it were life itself. The energy pulses, cool at first as it flows into me, building in strength until I can feel a faint charge run through my veins. The blood connects it to the body, and the mind commands it. I felt my heartbeat sync with the energy that pulsed beneath the earth, the threads of mana swirling around me, like an unseen river just below the surface. My aura sparks to life, flickering in readiness. The air crackled, faint arcs of electricity leaping between my fingers as I forced mana into shape. I watched the small electric arc crackles between my fingers, a test, then another, brighter and hotter. Then back to small spark, a flicker of blue light, but enough to feel the power in my veins. Enough to know that I was growing stronger. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. As the warmth enveloped my hand, I shifted my focus, calling forth a different type of energy. I started small, I focus on the chill seeping into my skin, then gathering my aura to push the cold away. Slowly, warmth spread through me, a controlled pulse that radiated from my core outward. Letting warmth flood through my body, holding the cold at bay. This is what I need. Power, control, the discipline to wield it. And this exercise, It was a simple exercise of delicate balance, but a vital one. And it''s only the beginning of what I¡¯ll become. If I learn control, Without control, magic is a beast with no leash, a fire with no limit. Control is everything. I attempted to create a glove made of pebble''s and dirt, just to test my earth manipulation skill, it started to form from the earth around my hand, then I lost the control, I only manged to do my fingers. I wasn''t disheartened by my half success, this was more than I could do in my past life. Yes. I can feel it now. The ignition of my aura is close. Soon, I¡¯ll be ready to harness its full power, today I started to walk the path toward becoming an Arch-mage. But as I channeled the energy, something strange happened. The ground trembled beneath my feet, barely noticeable at first, then stronger, more insistent. The surrounding forest seemed to respond, the trees bending slightly as if acknowledging the surge in power. I stilled, my heart hammering in my chest, a thrill mixed with unease. I had touched something deep, or something vast touched me. And for a brief moment, I felt watched. I left the area immediately, making sure to stay in the light, as i used the little mana I had to form protective spell of shielding. i wanted to take things slow but I had to use the spell. Aura Shield. A translucent, barrier of pure aura enveloped my body just slightly above my skin, my skin must have been shimmering with a vibrant light under my fur. Just as I crossed the river the watched feeling was gone, am not sure why but now I felt safer. NO, ¡°I can¡¯t let fear control me. Not now, not ever.¡± Fear is a shackle, a chain that only grows tighter the more you struggle against it. And if I¡¯ve learned anything, it¡¯s that survival depends on overcoming what others would flee from. Unlike animals, we humans don¡¯t run blindly from the unknown. We find ways to adapt, to endure. We don¡¯t just survive; we shape the world around us. If we have the right tools. It''s time for me to make some. I crouched by the river, selecting a flat stone, its surface cool and smooth beneath my fingers. Holding it in one hand, I used the edge of another stone to carve a simple spell into it¡ªa glyph designed for hypnosis. I focused, letting my aura pulse through the stone, seeding it with mana until it glowed faintly. The spell was basic, enough to hold the attention of any animal that wandered too close, trapping them in a trance for just long enough. A few seconds, maybe half a minute, would be all I needed. ¡°It¡¯s not much, but it¡¯ll do.¡± This spell would work only on animals, lulling them into a moment of stillness. Enough time for a hunter to strike before they realized the danger. One stone wasn¡¯t enough. I needed more. So, I made five more, working quietly, feeling the weight of each stone settle in my palm as I infused it with mana. With every stone placed carefully along animal paths in the forest, I prepared myself for the wait. The moment the first spell activated, I would be ready. The quiet of the forest settled around me as I crouched, listening for any sign that one of the stones had done its work. My heart beat in time with the subtle energy of my aura, which pulsed outward, tethering me to each stone like a web. Finally, I felt it¡ªthe faint vibration of magic triggered. The first stone had caught something. I crept through the trees, moving as quietly as I could, feeling the soft, damp earth underfoot. As I approached, I saw it¡ªa squirrel, transfixed by the stone, staring at it as though it were an old friend or perhaps the finest acorn it had ever seen. The spell held it in a trance, eyes glazed, completely unaware of me as I moved in close. I struck fast, swift, and silent. The squirrel¡¯s small body fell limp in my hand, and I tied it to my belt, its weight a small but essential victory. **A prince, hunting squirrels.** I let out a dry chuckle, the irony bitter on my tongue. ¡°I wonder what the royal court would think of this.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t believe it¡­ a prince, reduced to squirrel meat,¡± I muttered to myself, shaking my head. But it would feed me, even if only for a day. And with any luck, the next stone would bring something larger. And then, another vibration¡ªa second stone triggered, calling to me from deeper in the woods. I followed the pull, stepping carefully, feeling the thrill of the hunt settle deeper within me. The second stone had worked, and there, drawn to it, was a large rabbit, gazing intently at the glyph as if it were some enchanting jewel. I felt a rush of satisfaction. ¡°Yes. This will do.¡± The spell wouldn¡¯t hold long, but just long enough. The rabbit remained still, its soft body unaware of the danger, hypnotized by the lure I had crafted. Finally I can go back home without anyone saying I was wasting time out in the forest or keep saying am not good hunter. chapter 07: bitten by the snake now fears every piece of rope As I approached the cave, I felt the weight of my catches tied to my belt, the small rabbit and a few squirrels, swinging as I walked. I knew they weren¡¯t much compared to the hunters¡¯ usual deer, but the thrill of having brought home anything at all filled my chest with pride. Maybe, just maybe, I¡¯ll finally get some recognition. I entered the clearing in front of the cave, where a handful of women were gathered, weaving baskets and repairing clothes. My mother was among them, her head down, focused on her work. Her brow furrowed, her hair pulled back tightly as she worked, but there was a relaxed warmth in her face that I recognized only too well. She always looked like that when I returned from a walk into the forest even the shallow safe parts. "Anir!" one of the younger women called, spotting the small catches hanging from my belt. ¡°Is that a rabbit? And squirrels?¡± Her eyes sparkled with surprise. I could feel the eyes of others on me now, curious, appraising. My mother looked up, her expression shifting from calm to open pride as she saw the catches. Her smile was wide, her eyes shining. She rose from her work and stepped toward me, a look of admiration on her face that made me stand just a little taller. "My son is becoming quite the hunter," she said, her voice filled with a quiet joy as she turned to the other women. "Look at him¡ªhe didn¡¯t come back empty-handed, not today. Soon enough, he¡¯ll be out there with the other hunters, I can feel it." The women murmured among themselves, a few casting approving nods in my direction. I felt my chest swell with pride, but there was something else, a faint unease creeping into my mind as I noticed some of their expressions¡ªa glimmer of envy, perhaps, mingling with admiration. Ah yes some of there sons haven''t hunted anything big yet just small rabbits And if I rise as new hunter that makes me the one to take there pray. They¡¯re looking at me differently now, Am the Competition. ¡°Mother,¡± I said, unable to keep the grin from my face as I held up the rabbit. ¡°This one came straight to me¡­ couldn¡¯t resist.¡± I chuckled, the thrill of the hunt still fresh, and I saw my mother¡¯s smile grow even wider. I could almost feel her pride radiating toward me like warmth from the fire. ¡°That¡¯s the way it is,¡± she said, her voice a little softer, as though talking to herself. ¡°Hunting like a man¡­ learning to provide.¡± She looked at the rabbit as if it were something sacred, not just meat, but a symbol of growth. Just then, the hunters returned, carrying a heavy deer between them, and the tribe gathered around with cheers and congratulations. One of the older hunters, Torak, noticed my small catch hanging from my belt and gave me an approving nod. ¡°Well done, Anir,¡± he said, his voice gruff but kind. ¡°Soon, you¡¯ll be joining us on bigger hunts, eh?¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I replied, trying to keep the pride from overwhelming my voice. But it was hard, standing there in front of the others, feeling the weight of that simple recognition, and doing my best not to let it effect my mind. I don¡¯t need there love it isn''t the my target. Am just showing them I can be something more than just another mouth to feed. Torak patted me on the shoulder as he moved past, carrying the deer into the cave. A few of the younger boys, those closer to my age, shot envious glances in my direction. One of them, Len, eyed my rabbit with a half-hidden scowl, barely concealing his irritation. ¡°Not bad¡­ for a druid¡¯s hunt,¡± he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, his gaze lingering on the rabbit. I smirked, letting his words roll off me. ¡°It¡¯s a start,¡± I replied calmly, refusing to rise to his bait. Inside, I could feel the heat of my own pride mixing with a touch of defiance. They think they¡¯re the only ones who can provide for the tribe. But they don¡¯t know what I can do. Turning back to my mother, I saw her face flush with happiness as she chatted with the other women. There was a new light in her eyes, a hope that hadn¡¯t been there before. She reached over, her hand briefly touching my shoulder, and I could feel her joy, her relief, as though my success was hers as well, and it is. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. ¡°Today, it¡¯s a rabbit,¡± she whispered to me, her voice low so that only I could hear, ¡°but tomorrow, it will be much more. You¡¯ve shown them what you can do, Anir.¡± As she turned to join the others in preparing the evening meal. Our portion tonight will be bigger after all I had hunted a rabbit most of its meet is ours. I nodded, absorbing her words, feeling the weight of them settle on me. This was more than just a small catch. It was a beginning, a chance to prove myself to the tribe, to earn my place among the hunters. I looked around at the faces, some welcoming, others tinged with envy, but all eyes were on me. They see me now. And I¡¯ll make sure they keep seeing me, but not too much, the nail that sticks out gets hammered down. But, I could still feel that weight of their gazes, a silent acknowledgment of what I had achieved. I had to remind myself that these people are a resource for me and my mother, that''s all. the sun was beginning to sink, casting warm, golden light over the rugged stones and casting long shadows. And it was time to start sealing the cave. As the night settled over the cave, the tribe grew quiet, the fire¡¯s glow casting warm shadows across the walls. I sat beside my mother, the faint crackle of the fire between us, her face half-hidden in the flickering light. She watched me for a moment, a look of pride mixed with something else, something heavier. ¡°Anir,¡± she began, her voice low, almost a whisper meant only for me. ¡°I am no hunter, just a woman who knows these woods in her own way. But I see things, and I know this much: fierce wolves stalk you both day and night. And under every leaf, there are insects that sting, some more dangerous than others.¡± She paused, her gaze steady. ¡°But the true danger, my son, comes in the dark.¡± I listened, feeling the weight of her words, my stomach twisting with the seriousness of her tone. ¡°Then the danger is out there,¡± I replied, glancing toward the cave entrance, where only darkness stretched beyond. My mother¡¯s eyes softened, but her face grew more solemn. ¡°No,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°The danger is closer than you think. It lurks in the hearts of men. Not everyone is happy about your achievements, Anir.¡± Her words weren''t a surprise. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came, only a growing sense of unease as her gaze held mine, searching, protective yet afraid. ¡°I only want to help us survive. And that starts with showing them I can do more than sit and wait for the hunters to bring food.¡± She placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently, her eyes dark with a knowing sadness. ¡°Because, Anir, not everyone values what you offer. Some see it as a threat, a challenge to their own worth. Even among the tribe, there are those who would see your success as a stain on their pride.¡± I let out a breath, looking down, the little excitement from earlier fading as her words sank in. ¡°I know than not everyone wanted me to succeed.¡± ¡°You must be careful, my son,¡± she continued, her voice a low murmur. ¡°There are those who envy what they don¡¯t understand. And in the shadows, that envy festers.¡± She paused, her gaze sharp, almost fierce. ¡°You¡¯re not just becoming a hunter, Anir. You¡¯re becoming a man¡ªsomeone people will look up to¡­ or feel threatened by. That power, that influence¡­ it¡¯s dangerous.¡± I swallowed, feeling the heaviness in her words settle deep within me. I know what must be done but man needs to listen to advice even if he knows it by hart, ¡°Then what should I do?¡± A soft smile tugged at her lips, but her eyes remained cautious. ¡°Stay humble, keep learning. But most importantly, stay watchful. Don¡¯t let them see you falter. And don¡¯t give them reason to believe you think yourself above them.¡± I nodded, understanding the wisdom in her advice, even if it didn¡¯t entirely soothe the unease growing in my chest. The thrill of the hunt, the pride in bringing back something for the tribe¡ªthese things had felt pure, good. But I know better then the naive fool I used to be. ¡°Thank you, Mother,¡± I said, my voice quieter. ¡°I¡¯ll be careful.¡± She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead, a gentleness in her touch that softened the edge of her words. ¡°You¡¯re my son, Anir. I would have you grow strong, but I would also see you grow wise. Trust yourself, but trust your instincts, too. They¡¯ll keep you safe.¡± As she withdrew her hand, I sat back, the firelight dancing in her eyes, her face calm but serious. I knew then that her warnings weren¡¯t just about the forest or the beasts we shared it with. They were about people, the faces I saw every day, the ones I¡¯d have to watch more carefully from now on. I remembered the past. This¡ªall of it¡ªwas the fault of one man. I didn¡¯t see him for what he was, didn¡¯t realize how my misplaced kindness was a sin against myself. I let him into my home, my life, and in the end, I found myself adapting to him, learning from him, absorbing his identity, his ideology, until they became mine. There was no tipping point, no guilt, no regret. That made me powerful. Now I dream of subjugating my world, wielding pain without hesitation or remorse. He caused this. He pushed me to become the man I am now. Enemies don¡¯t always show their faces, I reminded myself, stealing a glance at the shadows flickering along the cave wall. chapter 08: storm and smoke Next day. The sky opened up that day, rain pouring down in endless sheets, drumming against the stone walls outside. The cave was dark, nearly suffocating, and though the storm was fierce, it wasn¡¯t the rain that kept us trapped inside. It was the strange, almost supernatural darkness¡ªthe heavy, oppressive weight of the storm that made every shadow feel alive. We were sealed in. The hunters stood guard, their spears within arm¡¯s reach, their eyes fixed warily on the cave entrance as if something might force its way in. Tahya, the shaman, crouched by the entrance, her smoke pot releasing tendrils of fragrant incense that wafted toward the outside world, twisting into the air like a silent ward. primitive magic is dangerous its less of man made spell and more of a natural spell magic itself whispers it to you, mana itself wants to be used, I watched tahy do here thing and I was more nervous from watching her then the darkness. if she fucks up something I don''t want to be close to her when she explodes or summons something. Then she moved to the cave center with rush-light. With nothing to do, we kids gathered close around Tahya, clinging to the faint warmth of the rush-light sticks as she leaned in, her face half-shadowed by the flickering fire. She had that look¡ªthe one that meant she was about to tell us a story. We settled in, huddling closer, but a part of me was tense, wary. There was something about this darkness outside, about the silence within, that seemed almost unnatural. Then she began. ¡°Listen, children. This is a story not of life, but of how we die,¡± she murmured, her voice low, grave, like an old chant. I felt a chill run down my spine, even as the other kids giggled nervously. Her words seemed to settle over us like a blanket of dread. ¡°Something lurks in this world with us,¡± she continued. ¡°We don¡¯t know what it is¡ªonly that it¡¯s hungry. Evil. Something ancient, primal, savage. It is as old as fire, but darker¡­ far darker. It¡¯s as big as the night itself, and always, always hungry.¡± She paused, her gaze drifting to the shadows, as if something might reach out from them. I felt my skin prickle, the weight of her words sinking in. **It¡¯s as big as the night¡­** ¡°Our people once lived freely, under the sky by day and night,¡± she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. ¡°But that changed when it came from the night-sky. Our ancestors saw it rip open the heavens, dark tendrils of shadow pushing it down, until it crashed to earth like a rock of fire.¡± I shivered, staring into the fire, watching the embers pulse with each gust of smoke. My mind raced with images of something huge and dark descending from the sky, something powerful enough to split open the heavens, opening portals between worlds. **Could something like that really exist?** If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°At first, there were only strange noises at night,¡± Tahya continued, her voice steady but distant, as if remembering something she¡¯d seen herself. ¡°And then death followed. Silent deaths. Children who went missing, never found. Warriors who left for the hunt and never returned.¡± A murmur rippled through the group. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the knot tightening in my stomach. I wanted to dismiss it as an old story, a tale to keep us scared and quiet. But Tahya¡¯s face was unreadable, her eyes shadowed and solemn. ¡°Our bravest fought it,¡± she said, her voice stronger now. ¡°They broke mountains, diverted rivers, waged war against the darkness itself. But it was too big, too powerful. The largest tribes, even cities, scattered, retreating to caves just to survive. And so, we have lived with it ever since. Hidden. Hunted.¡± ¡°Is it still alive?¡± one of the younger children asked, his voice a trembling whisper. Tahya looked at him, and for a moment her gaze softened. ¡°Yes,¡± she replied, her voice barely above a breath. ¡°Do you know that feeling you get when you turn your back to the forest? That cold shiver that crawls up your spine, like eyes are watching from the shadows? That is it. It and its children.¡± She turned her gaze back to us, her expression fierce. ¡°They¡¯re creatures of the dark, figures our ancestors saw only by moonlight. Shadows with eyes like burning amber. Its eyes. It watches us, children. It always watches, and if we ever forget, we¡¯ll disappear like all the others.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not afraid,¡± a boy beside me piped up, puffing his chest, though I saw his hands tremble. I almost envied his stupid bravery. Tahya¡¯s gaze was piercing as she looked at him. ¡°Not afraid?¡± she echoed, her voice a whisper of contempt. ¡°The darkness outside would reduce even our strongest hunters to tears. It is a darkness that drives men mad, a hunger that digs into our graves to find us again, even in death.¡± The words sank into me like a stone, the weight of them dragging down, filling my lungs with ice. I felt myself stiffen, stealing a glance at the other kids, all of us suddenly looking at the far end of the cave where the old woman lay sleeping. Everyone knew her story¡ªhow her child vanished in the woods one evening, and how her husband followed, only to disappear too, leaving nothing behind. ¡°No screams. No blood. No scent. Just gone.¡± Tahya¡¯s voice dropped to barely a murmur, but we heard every word, every beat of silence that followed. ¡°And that¡¯s why the night is absolute death,¡± she continued, her voice calm, steady, as though sharing some unshakable law. ¡°Our fire, our stones¡ªthey¡¯re feeble shields against the dark. They¡¯re all we have, and we wield them desperately, hoping to see another dawn.¡± The shaman let her words linger, heavy as the shadows pressing around us. I couldn¡¯t breathe, couldn¡¯t tear my eyes from her face, couldn¡¯t stop the primal fear curling in my gut. It felt as though something was out there now, watching, waiting for one of us to make a mistake. I wanted to shake it off, to laugh with the others, to pretend her story was just that¡ªa story. But deep down, I knew Tahya¡¯s words carried a warning, a truth we all felt but rarely spoke aloud. ¡°There¡¯s one thing we know for certain,¡± she finished, her voice like a stone dropping into dark water. ¡°There is something with us in the woods.¡± The story ended, and the silence was almost deafening. The rain outside seemed to have slowed, the patter against the stone quieted to a soft, rhythmic drumming. The hunters¡¯ eyes remained fixed on the entrance, spears poised, ready, even as the storm passed. I spent the time making a spear. And as I sat there, staring into the smoke from Tahya¡¯s incense, and studying its primitive spell form I noticed it was only keeping the smoke lingering in the air for longer time as barrier against something, a chill washed over me. I didn¡¯t need to see it to know¡ªout there, in the shadows, something was waiting. chapter 09 - the price of progress The rain finally broke, and with it, the tribe¡¯s hunger sharpened to a gleam, their movements charged with the excitement of a fresh hunt. The days spent gnawing on leathery dried fruits and fibrous root vegetables were done, at least for now, and anticipation thrummed through our cave. Men were testing the sharpness of their spears, their voices low but buzzing with energy, while women prepared baskets and ropes, faces bright with the prospect of real food. But I had a different hunger to sate. While the others busied themselves with hunting tools and hopeful conversations, I slipped away quietly, my backpack slung across my shoulder. I could feel the press of eyes, suspicious of my solitude, but I didn¡¯t break pace until I was out of sight and heading for the river. The rain had swelled the riverbanks, and the soil was soft and muddy beneath my feet. The scents of wet earth and pine filled the air, punctuated by something sour that always seemed to linger downstream. Downstream, where the tribe pisses and shits without a thought. I grimaced, keeping my strides firm in the opposite direction. It was a small effort to take, a step upstream to find purity, free from the waste that collected where no one cared to look. I already know too much, I thought with a wry grin. Why do they do that? Because it¡¯s less work. Out of sight, out of mind. When I found a secluded bend, hidden behind a cluster of thick pine trees, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure I was alone. Satisfied, I approached the edge of the shallow river and crouched, feeling the cool rush of water lapping at my fingers. I let out a long, slow breath, focusing on the pulse of mana within me. Time to put it to work. I let my aura ripple out, then etched two sigils with my intent on my aura with mana and started feeding mana into the two sigils: one to detect and the other to gather. My aura surged in response, tendrils of energy flowing outward, spreading across the rocky riverbed. I pushed myself harder than I ever had before, pouring every ounce of focus into the advanced spell. A thrill danced along my spine as flecks of gold dust and small nuggets began to pull free from the silt, and stones inching toward my open hand. Bit by bit, the flecks accumulated, tiny fragments that looked insignificant on their own, but together, they began to form a small mound in my palm. The energy pulsed around my fingers, and I felt a surge of triumph, intoxicating and fierce. Slowly, I compressed the fragments, squeezing them together with my aura, condensing them into a single big nugget of gold that gleamed with a rich, warm light. Then the pain struck¡ªsharp as a spear and twice as deep. My chest tightened, my breath catching as my heart seemed to seize, the strain of pushing my aura to its limits clamping down like a vice. I gasped, one knee buckling as I fought to stay upright as my heart burned. My body paying for the recklessness of my spell. The spell had demanded more mana than I could give, and my aura is unignited it couldn''t protect me from the spell, it was directly carving itself into my hart taking its mana and pushing out into the world to create its effect of gold collection, leaving my hart and aura strained and raw. Each beat now carrying the ache of overexertion, raw and searing. This is the price, I reminded myself, gritting my teeth through the pain, the cost of reckless magic. This is why I must ignite my aura, and soon. I can¡¯t keep chaining my power to these limits, not if I want to survive what¡¯s coming. I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to keep still, to wait until the pain began to fade. Every ounce of gold, every spark of mana had come at a price. But I would pay it. I had to. Gold, silver, iron¡ªthey weren¡¯t just metals here; they were survival. Each had a purpose, a function. Gold to stabilize my aura, its conductive properties smoothing the flow of mana, grounding my spells so they would endure. Without it, even my most powerful spell would crumble, fleeting as a spark in the dark. Silver was another necessity, a shield against hostile auras and lurking threats. A rare metal, yes, but essential if I wanted any real protection. And iron¡ªthat would be my anchor. The element that would keep my aura from scattering, binding it in place, and, with enough of it, allowing me to lay down wards strong enough to last through the night. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. But gathering them is like herding fireflies in a storm. Gold erodes with each spell, silver is scarce, and iron¡­ iron, I would need a small fortune of it to create anything lasting. But the need was there, sharp and relentless. The mana I have now can barely cover the cost of these searches. But if I¡¯m going to get stronger, to rise beyond these limits, I have to use every bit of it. Gold, silver, iron. It¡¯s a slow path forward, but I¡¯ll forge my strength out of every last drop of mana and every ounce of these metals. This is the only way. As I waited for the pain to fade, I couldn¡¯t help but remember the words on that ridiculous reincarnation scroll, something grandfather must¡¯ve thought was funny. ¡°Get Isekai¡¯d.¡± Hah. "More like get fucked". I just hope somewhere out there, my father is facing his own ¡°personal hell,¡± served with a side of Stone Age misery, same as mine. I shook my head, the bitterness leaving a faint smile on my lips. The sad reality? This tribe has no history of advanced magic. None. Nada. I¡¯ll need to re-freaking-invent everything from scratch. Every spell, every technique, every tool, every single layer of structure I took for granted is gone. At least I had the foresight to absorb those skill crystals before I was reborn. But even with that knowledge, I¡¯m without a foundation, without civilized infrastructure, no archives or crystal libraries to sift through for answers. Just me, myself, and a lot of wild mana. Still, I¡¯ll give this new world one small win: at least there are no witch-cults. The ache in my heart had finally faded to a dull throb, manageable enough to ignore. I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension drain from my body. Good. If I was going to hunt, I couldn¡¯t afford distractions. This time I am testing a different approach to my Druidic Hunt. Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out the hunting sigils I¡¯d prepared earlier. Each one was etched carefully into small, flat stones, their surfaces smooth from hours of shaping and carving. They pulsed faintly with the energy I¡¯d stored, already charged and ready. With a practiced flick of my fingers, I activated the first one¡ªa faint green glow lit up the sigil¡¯s grooves before disappearing as the energy dispersed, seeping out into the forest. The air seemed to change around me, the subtle hum of magic stretching outward like a web, attuning itself to the forest¡¯s rhythm. I stepped cautiously into the tree line, crossing into the safe parts of the forest. Safe, but only by the narrowest margin. Even the birdsong here felt muted, as if nature itself respected whatever unseen rules governed this space. Each step was measured, my senses heightened. The smell of damp earth, the soft rustling of leaves overhead, the way the light filtered through the dense canopy in shifting patches¡ªit all felt alive, responsive. And I could feel the sigils at work, subtle as they were, attuned to the presence of life around me. I crouched low, resting my hand against the mossy ground, and whispered, ¡°Reveal.¡± The word was more an intention than a command, a trigger for the sigils. They flared briefly, sending pulses through the ground, spreading like ripples in a pond. The response was immediate¡ªfaint, but there. Tiny vibrations, moving patterns, warm spots amidst the chill of early morning dew. The sigils picked up on the faintest traces of aura, directing me like a guide in the undergrowth. As I advanced, the forest seemed to close in tighter around me. Every snapped twig, every rustle of leaves put me on edge. This wasn¡¯t just a hunt¡ªit was a test, a way to push my limits, to see just how far I could go without breaking. I could feel the weight of each breath in my chest, the stillness in the air wrapping around me like a second skin. And beneath it all, a thrill¡ªa hunger that went beyond food. Suddenly, there it was: the flicker of movement ahead. I stilled, lowering myself further, keeping my breath even. A rabbit¡ªa large one, nibbling at the base of a shrub, oblivious to my presence. With a quiet focus, I activated the second sigil, one specifically crafted for hypnosis. It glowed faintly as my aura extended toward the creature, wrapping around it like invisible tendrils. The rabbit paused mid-bite, its gaze fixed on a spot just beyond where I crouched, its mind trapped in a trance. Just a little closer. I moved with deliberate care, each footfall light against the damp earth, avoiding every leaf and twig that could betray me. The rabbit remained in its trance, its eyes glassy, the sigil¡¯s influence weaving through its thoughts, holding it in place. I drew my stone knife and in a quick, fluid motion, I ended it. The forest fell back into silence, the tension snapping like a taut cord released. Blood pooled on the ground, soaking into the dirt as I quickly bound the rabbit¡¯s feet and slipped it into my pack. One down. The thrill of the hunt was settling into something deeper, more satisfying. The aura, the sigils, the spellwork¡ªit all flowed together, a seamless blend of intent and action. But I knew I couldn¡¯t push myself too far, not after the strain of earlier. Even with the sigils to ease the effort, the Druidic Hunt was a game of endurance. And I still don''t know the rules of this forest especially the deeper parts, maybe I can get the hunters to speak up about it. Time for me to go home. As I walked towards home I saw IT, yeah there is something with an evil dark aura in the distance, its slooowly scuttling like cockroach on the cave outer wall moving towards the entrance. chapter 10: The Silent Intruder I did my best to walk fast but not too fast, the sun is up, and I still have time before the night. As I approached the cave, I caught a faint shimmer at the edge of my vision¡ªa small figure creeping along the shadows by the entrance, just beyond the warm reach of the firelight. I was at the edge of the forest, It didn''t see me watch it move with unsettling silence, small and crouched low, its form no bigger than a toddler¡¯s. But as I switched to full mana-vision, a surge of unease washed over me. The aura around it was twisted, pulsing with a sickly green hue. I don¡¯t need the information From the bestiary crystal I absorbed to know that thing is A changeling. My aura quaked responding to my fear. Changelings were the tales of nightmares, beings from the old stories mothers told to keep children close at night. But this wasn¡¯t a story, and the creature was real, creeping closer to a young boy sitting alone by the entrance, playing with a bundle of dried grasses. The boy¡¯s parents were nowhere in sight, and no one else seemed to notice the creature¡¯s approach¡ªit moved in a strange camouflage, nearly invisible in the dim light to those without mana-vision. But I could see it, it couldn¡¯t hide from me. My grip tightened on my spear, every muscle tense as I felt my heart pick up pace, beating like a warning drum in my chest. Stay calm. Don¡¯t make a sound. I kept my breathing steady, watching the creature¡¯s slow, careful movements. It was inching closer to the child, its gaze locked on him with an unnerving intensity. Not today goblin fucker I adjusted my stance, lifting the spear, my left arm vibrating as I poured aura into it. A tight pain clenched in my chest, my heart protesting the strain, but I pushed it aside. Every lesson, every technique for a clean spear throw sharpened in my mind, each one vital. I channeled a bit of mana into the spear¡¯s obsidian tip, giving it a faint gleam as I hardened the stone for impact. My pulse slowed, focus narrowing until only the creature remained in my sight. I can¡¯t let this thing get any closer to the kid, Just one shot. With a smooth, controlled motion, I released the spear. It flew, slicing through the air in a dark blur, and struck the changeling square in the side of its chest, pinning it to the cave outer wall with a forceful thud. The creature¡¯s illusion shattered instantly, its form flickering as the twisted aura broke apart. What was once a small, almost childlike shape dissolved into a hideous creature¡ªskin stretched too tight over elongated limbs, eyes wide and glistening with disturbing intelligence. The boy looked up, startled, but the horror hadn¡¯t registered yet. Others, though, turned to the source of the sound, eyes widening as they took in the sight. A horrified scream broke the silence, one of the women pointing with trembling hands at the creature writhing against the wall, its form dissolving, leaving a dark, oily stain on the stone as its skin began to burn and crack, flaking away in thin, ash-like tendrils. As the spear left my hand, the pain in my chest surged, stealing my breath. I staggered, feeling the edges of my vision blur. My heart throbbed with the reckless force I¡¯d used, a heavy, punishing ache radiating through my body as I struggled to keep my balance. The world tilted, voices blending into a distant hum, and I felt myself sinking, the strain finally too much to bear. --- When I opened my eyes, Someone was carrying me towards the cave. The sound of voices surrounded me, rising in fearful whispers and urgent murmurs. The sharp scent of smoke filled the air, mingling with a faint metallic tang. My gaze drifted to the entrance, where others gathered around the faint stain left on the wall, a dark, twisted reminder of what had nearly happened. A changeling. In broad daylight. I closed my eyes. When the world slipped back into focus, slowly. The dim, flickering light from the rush-lights danced across the stone walls, casting uneasy shadows that seemed to cling to every corner of the cave. The cave entrance had been sealed for the night, and the distant murmur of voices mixed with the crackling of the fire. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Someone¡¯s voice rose above the others¡ªa hunter, his tone harsh and cutting. ¡°Woman, I told you to keep an eye on the kids!¡± His voice echoed through the cave. ¡°Instead you were watching the food pots you greedy woman¡± A woman¡¯s voice trembled, trying to explain, ¡°I... I was, I swear I¡ª¡± The sound of a slap cut her off, a smack that reverberated through the tense silence. My eyes struggled to adjust, and I realized I¡¯d been out for hours. My mother was the first face I saw, her gaze steady but filled with a relief that looked near to breaking. ¡°Anir,¡± she whispered, her hand reaching out to touch my shoulder. ¡°Thank the ancestors¡­ You¡¯re awake.¡± I forced a slight smile, my chest still aching from the strain of earlier. ¡°Did I miss anything?¡± She nodded, her expression darkening. ¡°They¡¯re calling you a warrior.¡± Her voice was soft, tense, as if the word itself were dangerous. ¡°You saved a child from¡­ that thing.¡± Her eyes flicked to a spot by the cave entrance, and I followed her gaze. ¡±they¡¯re saying. No one even saw it until you acted. The hunters are still talking about how deep your spear went into the wall.¡± There, a faint smear of darkness marked the wall where the changeling had been pinned. But that was supposed to be on the other side of the wall, yes am sure the creature¡¯s remnants had withered down to little more than an oily stain on the stone, but somehow that stain seeped through the stone, its presence still lingered in the heavy air, like a shadow that wouldn¡¯t fade. My chest tightened, not from pain but from a realization that sank deep. I shifted, still feeling the dull ache from pushing my aura to its limits. My mother sat beside me, relief softening her face as she held a water pouch to my lips. I took a sip, but my mind was elsewhere. ¡°What happened to its body?¡± I asked, my voice rough. ¡°I remember throwing the spear, then¡­ nothing.¡± Her face darkened slightly, and she set the pouch aside. ¡°I was inside the cave when I heard something hit the wall hard enough to shake it, people screamed, and I went out to pick up the kids, that''s when I saw it.¡± I could see the memory hunting her eyes,¡± It was pinned against the wall, right there by the entrance. No one could see it clearly at first, not until the magic faded away. It looked almost human, Anir, but twisted, wrong.¡± She shivered, glancing toward the cave entrance. ¡°They told me You dropped to the ground right after throwing the spear, Monire and the other boys picked you up,,, I saw you,,, for a moment,,, I thought you were gone too.¡± I gave a faint smile. ¡°It would take more than an ancient evil to get rid of me.¡± She managed a smile back, though it didn¡¯t reach her eyes. ¡°While you were out, the thing started to change. Its body¡­ started breaking down, melting, like dream, it wasn¡¯t even real.¡± Her voice grew quieter, as if she were afraid to speak the memory out loud. ¡°Its skin cracked and turned to ash, leaving this¡­ oily residue on the stone.¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°It just vanished?¡± She nodded slowly. ¡°I have only heard stories about the Night-Folk, I never imagined seeing one die. It left almost nothing behind, just a dark, dry stain on the wall. Bronlo and the others wouldn¡¯t go near it, and after a while, the mark began to fade on its own. Tahya used fire on the place where the stain was.¡± I frowned, leaning back against the rough wall of the cave. ¡°Changelings... they¡¯re only shadows of something real. But even shadows have their origin.¡± ¡°Changelings yes that good name for them, like shadows they shift there shape¡±. My mother¡¯s gaze was sharp. ¡°Do you think there are more? Could another come?¡± I hesitated, glancing at the cave entrance as if the answer lay somewhere beyond. ¡°It¡¯s possible. If one made it this far, there might be others waiting. We¡¯ll have to watch closely.¡± She nodded, her hand resting on his shoulder. ¡°You saved that child. Everyone knows it now¡ªthey respect you for it. Use it.¡± Rokan gave a small, wry smile, glancing at her. ¡°Respect can be useful. But we have to make sure they stay vigilant.¡± Yes I can feel it The changeling was only the beginning. And faeries don''t like it when there kind is killed even a stupid one walking in the sun. She watched me for a moment, her expression unreadable. ¡°You¡¯re strong, Anir. But strength can be a heavy burden. So don¡¯t push yourself to death. If you must choose again between your life and another,,, just come back to me.¡± I held her gaze. ¡°I won''t leave you alone.¡° No I won''t my heroic moment was reflexive. Others had gathered nearby, a mix of awe, fear, and confusion in their faces. Bronlo, the tribe¡¯s elder, stood by the entrance, his features hardened with suspicion as he looked from the dark stain back to me. I approached the group. ¡°This happened in daylight,¡± Bronlo said, his voice low and gruff, his brows furrowed in suspicion. ¡°How could something like that get so close without any of us noticing?¡± The hunters nodded in agreement, murmuring amongst themselves. They looked between the stain and me, as if both were mysteries they couldn¡¯t understand. I could see the doubt creeping into their eyes. Good. Let them wonder. Let them fear. It will make what I did look bigger. chapter 11: Shadows at the Threshold I watched the group of men, mostly I watched Bronlo. After he was done thinking stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. ¡°Anir,¡± he said, his tone measured, ¡°those that were here while we were hunting told us what happened, but how did you know? That child was almost taken, but you¡­ you acted as if you¡¯d seen it all along.¡± I met his gaze, forcing myself to hold steady. ¡°I could sense it,¡± I replied, keeping my tone calm and steady. ¡°I was standing at the edge of the forest walking home far from that things magic, and in my aura the air felt¡­ wrong. I followed my instincts.¡± I paused, letting the words sink in. ¡°Instincts. Maybe that¡¯s a skill we¡¯ll all need soon, if creatures like this are going to keep coming.¡± Bronlo¡¯s eyes flicked to the hunters, each one gripping their spears tighter as they exchanged uneasy glances. The tension was a living thing, weaving through the crowd. My mother¡¯s hand tightened on my shoulder, her fingers digging in, a silent reminder of my place, of the careful steps I¡¯d have to take now that the tribe¡¯s attention was on me. The father of the child I saved approached, his face etched with a mixture of awe and gratitude. ¡°You saved my boy¡¯s life, Anir, You risked yourself for my son.¡± he said, and extended his hand. His voice trembling slightly. ¡°For that, my family is in your debt. Whatever you need, you need only ask.¡± I shook his hand, keeping my expression calm, letting a slight smile show as I spoke. ¡°It was what had to be done.¡± allowing a slight, confident smile. ¡°There¡¯s no debt between us. Protecting the tribe is everyone¡¯s duty.¡± From behind him, others stepped forward, murmuring words of gratitude, admiration. Even the women, who¡¯d been huddled close earlier, glanced my way with a new appreciation. Then we all heard the low voice of Ilyana, shes young healer, murmuring to another tribe member. ¡°If something like that got so close,¡± she said, her voice tinged with worry, ¡°it won¡¯t be the last. Spirits don¡¯t just wander¡ªthey have purpose.¡± Her words lingered, spreading a palpable tension that rippled through the others. Bronlo¡¯s frown deepened, and he raised his voice, addressing the group. ¡°Tonight, we double the guard, and smoke.¡± he ordered, his voice steady but wary. ¡°If one creature found its way here, more may follow and as for the day maybe we should use some of the smoke. We¡¯ll be ready.¡± A murmur of assent went through the tribe, but the surrounding faces held a mixture of fear and uncertainty. They glanced from the stain on the wall to the cave entrance and children then to me, as if wondering is I could save there kids the next time those things come. Let them think it. The more they believed I needed, the stronger my position here would become. Bronlo turned back to me, his gaze sharp. ¡°Whatever sense you have for these creatures, I hope it stays with you, Anir. We may have need of it.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can to keep the tribe safe,¡± I replied, my voice even but with just enough weight to suggest that I understood more than I was saying. The aura of mystery suited me; it gave them reason to trust me, and fear the outside. As Bronlo and the hunters moved away, discussing plans for the night watch, I felt my mother¡¯s hand on my shoulder tighten once more. I turned to look at her, catching the flicker of worry in her eyes. ¡°Anir,¡± she said quietly, her voice laced with concern. ¡°Be careful. Not everyone is happy with your raise today.¡± I nodded, understanding her warning. ¡°It¡¯s the way of things, Mother. For one to rise other''s must fall. Not everyone will understand. And not everyone wants to.¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. She sighed, brushing her fingers over my forehead, her face softening. ¡°Be mindful, son. The wolves among us are just as dangerous as the ones in the forest.¡± I smirked, nodding in agreement. Let them come. Wolves know only the hunt. But I know the game. When the crowd finally dispersed, I could still feel the weight of the tribe¡¯s wary glances lingering on me. This was no ordinary hunt, no simple victory; this was something deeper, something that changed things. The stain from the changeling remained on the wall near the entrance, a dark smear that seemed to throb faintly, like a wound that wouldn¡¯t close. It was a reminder¡ªa mark that something ancient, something hostile, had dared to cross into our space. Bronlo and the hunters lingered near the fire, their voices low, faces etched with shadows as they discussed the day¡¯s events. The older men¡¯s faces were stony, with tension in the set of their jaws, while the younger hunters watched with awe and fear. They knew, as I did, that the changeling wasn¡¯t just a creature; it was a message. I kept my expression carefully neutral, listening to the fragmented pieces of conversation drifting my way. ¡°Attacking in daylight,¡± Bronlo muttered, his voice edged with anger. ¡°The boundaries mean nothing to these creatures anymore.¡± His eyes flashed in my direction, and he studied me as if seeing me for the first time. ¡°They¡¯re getting bolder.¡± One of the hunters, a broad-shouldered man named Tarek, nodded, his expression uneasy. ¡°It¡¯s almost like they¡¯re¡­ watching us. Testing us.¡± I caught Bronlo¡¯s gaze, holding it steady. ¡°If it¡¯s a test, they got their answer,¡± I said, keeping my tone calm but firm. ¡°They know we¡¯re not defenseless.¡± The faintest flicker of approval passed through Bronlo¡¯s eyes before he turned his attention back to the hunters. ¡°Tonight, we double the watch. I don¡¯t want another creature slipping past our eyes,¡± he said, his voice filled with the weight of command. My status here just changed. I could feel it, in every glance and whispered word. This wasn¡¯t just a small feat¡ªthey saw me as something more now. Strong, protective, perhaps even a bit mysterious. The kind of person who saw danger before it struck, the kind of person who acted. Behind me, I heard the hushed voices of the women, their concern rippling through the air in quiet murmurs. I caught my mother¡¯s gaze, her face unreadable but her eyes sharp as they studied me, as if trying to piece together something she couldn¡¯t quite understand. When I went to get some water in our home. She finally approached, her hand resting on my shoulder. ¡°Anir,¡± she said softly, her voice laced with a mix of pride and worry. ¡°The tribe is watching. You¡¯ve gained respect today¡ªbut you must be careful. Not everyone will understand¡­ or approve of you taking the torch from them.¡± I nodded, sensing the tension in her grip. ¡°I know, Mother.¡± I let a slight smile play on my lips. ¡°Respect is only as strong as what¡¯s behind it. If I keep showing them what I can do, they¡¯ll have little reason to fight me.¡± But as I glanced back at the hunters, their serious faces still illuminated by the firelight, I felt a subtle shift in the air¡ªa growing sense that my actions had carved a path I couldn¡¯t easily step back from. The changeling¡¯s arrival had stirred something within the tribe, a fear that lingered like a shadow, attaching itself to me. I could see it in their guarded glances, hear it in their hushed voices. As night descended, the fire cast long, flickering shadows against the cave walls. Each silhouette felt darker, more ominous, as if the forest itself had shifted, growing hungrier, closer. I knew the tribe would sleep uneasily tonight, their dreams haunted by thoughts of changelings slipping past our guard, lurking at the edges of our safety, replacing our children. With a final look at the dark stain on the wall, I let the whispers wash over me, noting each look, each word. Fear was useful. Let them be uneasy. Let them watch as I rise. Let them wonder just how much I understood, and how much more I might know. Tonight, the changeling had been driven out, but its shadow still lingered. And if the creatures of the forest were testing us, then I¡¯d be ready to answer. I allowed myself to think about what this changeling really meant. A creature like that¡ªslipping in unnoticed, blending with us until it found a chance to replace one of our own¡ªwas a new danger. And if there was one, there could be others. I focused my mana-vision, stretching it out, my aura searching for any hidden energies, I looked slowly for any sign of a faerie trying to mask itself. One by one, I checked the tribe members, carefully looking for any hidden auras that didn¡¯t belong. I see now why my grandfather killed all the fay in his genocidal wars, if I get the chance, I am going to do the same, So where are you?. Tonight, I¡¯ll be sure. I¡¯ll be thorough. Checking every face, No more surprises. No more fuck-ups. chapter 12: Edge of Exhaustion. The discovery of the changeling changed everything. As the cave fell quiet, a weight settled over the tribe. A silent understanding passed between us all One changeling means there could be more. In the low rush-lights I looked around me. I sat with my back to the cave wall, and watched the people around me, searching, scanning, and nothing, even in the privet areas. The cave was divided into sections by leather walls held by wooden polls, but that leather couldn''t block my mana sight, but just like the others I see no fea. They are all people!?. That thought lingered in my mind. As I moved quietly through the dim light of the cave, checking faces and casting my senses wide, the feeling lingered¡ªan uneasy presence, like something watching just beyond my reach. I hadn¡¯t found any hint of faerie auras among the tribe, and yet... paranoia had taken root, sharp and unyielding. After seeing that twisted changeling creeping into the tribe, the possibility of others lurking here gnawed at me. My mind churned with questions, my instincts alive with the feeling that we were all prey. Then I scanned for second time, bronlo his son, daughter, wife, brother, his brother''s family. Then the hunters, and every man woman and child.¡®Shit either I can''t find them or there are no fay here¡¯. I couldn''t believe it. As I considered the problem. Monir sidled up to me, the light from the burning rush-light in his hand showed his face a mask of eager admiration, but his eyes betrayed something sharper¡ªa glint that always showed when he was after something. He smiled, almost too wide, as he glanced at the dark stain on the cave wall where the changeling had been pinned. ¡°Anir,¡± he said, his voice low but reverent, as if he were speaking to a spirit. ¡°That was¡­ remarkable. I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s seen skill like that before. We¡¯d be lost without you.¡± I nodded, keeping my expression composed, allowing just the right hint of humility. Monir¡­ always the scavenger, feeding on anyone¡¯s success but his own. I¡¯m not his friend¡ªI¡¯m his opportunity. And yet, this eager devotion could be useful someday. ¡°Thanks, Monir,¡± I said, smiling. ¡°But anyone would have done the same, given the chance.¡± Monir chuckled, dismissing the modesty with a wave. ¡°I don¡¯t think so, Anir. Not like you did. Not many of us can do what you do, not many have¡­ well, that gift.¡± He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°And honestly, it¡¯s about time they all realized that.¡± Ah, so that¡¯s it. Here he is, hoping I¡¯ll share some glint of power or secret with him, so he can wear it like a mantle. But Monir¡¯s loyalty is as fleeting as the first snow¡ªgone with the slightest hint of sunlight. I maintained the friendly, open expression. ¡°I appreciate your confidence in me, Monir,¡± I said, adding a chuckle for good measure. ¡°But the tribe¡¯s strength doesn¡¯t come from one person. We all rely on each other.¡± ¡°True, true,¡± Monir agreed, a bit too quickly. ¡°Still, it wouldn¡¯t hurt for them to recognize your worth. They should know just who it is that¡¯s keeping them safe.¡± He smiled, flashing teeth that showed just a bit too much eagerness. I tilted my head, considering him with a warm smile. ¡°You¡¯re right, maybe a little recognition wouldn¡¯t hurt.¡± Yes, Monir, let¡¯s keep you thinking we¡¯re equals. Let¡¯s see how far you¡¯ll go trying to prove yourself worthy of a power you¡¯ll never grasp. And to be honest am curious at what is he planing. He laughed, nodding enthusiastically. ¡°Exactly! See? That¡¯s what I¡¯m talking about. The way you handled that creature¡ªsome people here¡­ they just don¡¯t understand it. But I do. I know there¡¯s more to it than instinct. This technique You could teach them. Show them.¡± My eyes softened, and I nodded thoughtfully. ¡°You think so?¡± ¡°Absolutely,¡± Monir said, his face lit up with excitement. ¡°With someone like you leading the way¡­ imagine what we could accomplish.¡± His tone was almost pleading, as if he hoped to be pulled along with the tide. I let the words hang for a moment, meeting his gaze with what I hoped looked like consideration. ¡°You know, Monir, I appreciate your faith in me. It means a lot.¡± I gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, as if to say he¡¯d earned a place of trust. His face brightened, practically glowing with satisfaction. ¡°Anything, Anir. You know I¡¯ve got your back. Always.¡± ¡°Always¡±¡ªuntil someone stronger shows up. But for now, he¡¯ll be easy enough to keep in line. A fake friend, yes, but even fakes have their uses. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Thank you, Monir,¡± I said warmly. ¡°It¡¯s good to know I can rely on you.¡± Monir left to sleep. I pushed the fool out of my mind and found my self back to the same thoughts I was in. The fae are playing some sick, dark game, I thought, feeling a chill crawl up my spine. They don¡¯t take interruptions lightly; by killing one of their own, I¡¯ve disrupted whatever game they¡¯re running. And yet, something tells me this darkness¡ªthe faint whispers I hear when all else falls silent¡ªmight not be their doing alone. Fae magic can¡¯t be warded off by something as simple as the smoke Tahya uses, nor can her primitive rituals keep these creatures at bay forever. People were tiring and falling asleep. I glanced around, careful to make sure no one else was watching. I¡¯d already noticed that sleep came uneasily tonight, everyone lying tense, backs rigid against the cave walls. But even with them asleep or resting, I couldn¡¯t shake the sense that another presence was lurking here, hidden by nothing more than shadows. My fingers clenched involuntarily around a small, rough golden nugget. This rock, one of several I¡¯d painstakingly gathered, would have to serve as my anchor. A simple stone by itself, but tonight it would be a small but potent lifeline, pushing some of the strain of spellcasting away from my heart. Strange, I thought, with a bitter smile. An empire¡¯s worth of spells in my mind¡ªan advantage any mage would kill for¡ªand still, tonight I feel like prey. My aura is still raw, immature, and I feel its limits painfully in a time of need. If the fae come again, with more strength or cunning, we won¡¯t be ready. Waiting until the last of the evening small fire had died down to embers, and after casting a quick look around to confirm everyone else was resting, I pressed my back against the cool stone wall and reached deep into my aura. Every movement, every breath, had to be quiet¡ªsilent, even. As I drew on my power, I concentrated it into my left hand, allowing the faintest traces of my mana to flow into the golden nugget, tethering the spell around it, a focused anchor against the tension swelling in my chest. I barely breathed, whispering the faint words to channel the spell, letting it settle into the gold, hoping it would stay hidden from other prying auras. When the casting was complete, I leaned my head back against the stone, taking a brief moment of rest. The spell sat quietly in my hand, pulsing like a distant heartbeat¡ªa small comfort in the suffocating dark. But the spell would keep, and as the night stretched on, I realized it wasn¡¯t only the fae I¡¯d have to worry about. No, if tonight had taught me anything, it¡¯s that the true darkness lay within us all, waiting for the moment to strike. In the shroud of night, concealed by the faint glow of embers, I let the spell slip from my control and take form. With a slow, deliberate pulse, I gathered iron from the rocks and earth surrounding me, reaching deep into the soil and the cave walls, coaxing the metal to answer my call. Every whisper of mana I used felt like drawing blood, and the strain pricked sharply at my heart, as though my body might betray me with each breath. This is a risky game, I thought, teeth clenched as I channeled power. A fine line between survival and collapse. But it has to be done. Carefully, I extended my reach, focusing my aura deeper, letting it wind through the cracks of the stone. Slowly, like a cautious predator, I drew iron from the hidden depths, feeling each grain cling to my will. Minutes crawled by, each one tightening my chest, each one making my pulse throb louder in my ears. I gathered a large, jagged chunk of iron, heavy and cold in my palm, then another, and another. By the fourth¡ªa small iron sphere the size of a pearl¡ªthe golden nugget fueling my spell was depleted, leaving me drained and hollow. I exhaled, carefully tucking the iron into my hand. If I had a wallet, it would ache seeing the gold vanish, I thought bitterly, imagining every glint of gold lost to the ether, its sad how mana erosion causes the metal to degrade each time it¡¯s used in high-power spells, requiring a steady supply to keep spells and devices functional. But the price was a small one to pay for avoiding the dangers that could shatter my heart. Bracing myself, I used another gold nugget, channeling my energy into the smallest iron sphere. As the spell took hold, the metal transformed in my grasp, shifting into a hazy, thin mist¡ªa swarm spell, bound by intent alone. With a silent push, I released the iron particles, watching as they drifted into the air and dispersed, like perfume thinning and spreading until they were invisible to the naked eye. It was like releasing smoke into the room, an invisible barrier that lingered, cloaking the entire cave. For a moment, the air felt thick, charged, as if even the shadows held their breath. Then I heard it¡ªa low, guttural hiss, coiling through the silence like venom. My spine stiffened, every instinct screaming as I sensed the presence retreat, recoiling from the spell¡¯s protective embrace. It was only a faint noise, almost a whisper, but enough to make my skin crawl. One of the night watchers guarding the cave entrance shifted, his eyes darting through the darkness. His posture tensed, and I caught him glancing into the shadows, as if he too had felt something foul retreating from our refuge. Shit, no wonder my paranoia was having an erection, the danger wasn¡¯t just outside anymore. It had found its way in. there was a fucking fea attempting to enter or did it enter just as my spell hit. I let out a slow breath, my hand pressed against my chest to steady the frantic beating of my heart. That was too close. The idea of some unseen fey slipping past me, through the smoke, and into the heart of our home¡ªit shows just how dangerous these things are. I¡¯d pushed myself to the edge tonight, and I knew the cost, both in mana and in sheer will. I forced my hands to unclench, to relax, though every fiber in me was braced for more. The silence settled back around us, deep and unnerving, with only the faint crackle of the dying fire. And as I lay there in the dark, my thoughts echoed with a grim certainty: these fey would return, and next time, they would be ready. My mind flashed back to my past life¡¯s brutal wars with the fay. Grandfather hadn¡¯t hesitated to destroy every last faerie that stood in his way. And neither will I, given the chance. I placed a gold nugget to my palm and used my aura to absorbed it this time the absorption was intentional and guided half for my hart and half for my bones. I must speed up my growth and be ready for war with the fae. This night we will sleep safe but tomorrow I am going to start my preparations. chapter 12.5; what goes bump in the night. High above, wrapped in the shadows of the sprawling branches, a creature clung to the underside of a tree limb, as still and silent as death itself. Its body blended seamlessly into the night¡ªa void of twisted limbs and shifting darkness, almost more a suggestion than a creature. Its form seemed to drink in the dim light, becoming a blot of blackness against the canopy. It watched the movements of the cave people in the day when they were outside and below it, and when they sealed there cave with an intensity that was neither idle nor curious. A ravenous need simmered within it, one that stirred halfway between hunger and something colder, sharper¡ªan eager lustful malice. The human tribe¡¯s beauty stirred it, but not with anything as familiar as lust or admiration. Beauty affected it as much as the people. But its desires were different, while lust was a driving motivation of reproduction, to the black thing under the tree branch beauty was only a beginning, a point of departure. Using the souls of others to reproduce more fae was less satisfying to it then feeding of its hunger. To the creature, beauty was a beginning, a lure to something deeper, darker¡ªa gateway to destruction. While humans saw beauty as something to cherish, to the black creature under the branch, beauty was simply an invitation, a silent plea to be unraveled. It knew that beauty could only be fully understood through ruin, through a slow unraveling that descended into suffering. Pain was not an accident but an art, a brushstroke that could be refined, perfected, until the last gasping breath was drawn. And then, in the stillness of its musings, a thought coiled and took hold¡ªa whisper of a darker truth. It had observed the boy, the one who had killed a fae. The creature¡¯s darkened mind stirred, savoring the potential agony of such a prize. That boy, with his fierce innocence, was a curious contradiction¡ªa killer yet somehow pure, like a blade tempered in fire. Strong yet still innocent, a killer yet still pure. He was a prize. And oh, the reward that would come from his ruin¡­ sadly not its prize his end belongs to another. The creature paused, indulging in its dark imaginings. To twist him, to break that purity with lingering terror, to savor the taste of his pain... It shuddered, each limb vibrating with anticipation. But then it froze, stilled by a prickling awareness. Somewhere below, in the depths of the forest¡¯s shadowed heart, something else lay in waiting¡ªdarker, ancient, a force to which even it, with all its vile cunning, was bound. *Not my prize,* it reminded itself with bitter restraint. The boy¡¯s fate belonged to another, an ancient presence that even this blackened creature dared not challenge. For a moment, it recoiled, that hidden malevolence slinking back from the edge of its dark thrill. And yet, it lingered, savoring the knowledge that terror and pain awaited him in the days to come. The creature melted back into the shadows, leaving only a ripple of chill in the night. Its purpose was held in abeyance, but not erased. Something darker stirred in the shadows beyond¡ªa master of this twisted thing¡¯s desires, who would find satisfaction not just in one soul¡¯s ruin, but in the destruction of everything the boy held dear. In the shadows, the forest waited. Inside the cave Lilona was only seven, she knows the night very will, but tonight felt different. The fur bed that usually provided comfort felt rough and smelled of old, musty earth, filling her nose with ancient scents that mingled with the cool, damp air of the cave. She tried to bury herself deeper beneath the fur blankets, hoping to escape the unsettling noises echoing through the dark space. Faint creaks and groans filled the cave, like whispering bones, and occasional chitters and murmurs made her shiver. She peeked over the blanket''s edge, her small hands gripping the fur tightly. Her mother lay beside her, breathing deeply in a deep, undisturbed sleep. ¡°Mom?¡± Lilona whispered, but the only response was her mother¡¯s steady, oblivious breathing. The rush-light, usually soft and warm, flickered erratically tonight, its flame stuttering as shadows danced across the walls. Slivers of light slipped through the gaps in the leather wall coverings, sending flickers of eerie glow into the room. Shadows swayed and stretched, casting strange shapes against the walls¡ªclaws, eyes, strange wisps that seemed almost alive, writhing as if fueled by something sinister. She found herself holding her breath, heart hammering as the patterns played in dark, shifting strokes across the stone walls. Then something changed. In the far corner, where the shadows lay thickest, something stirred, barely perceptible against the dark stone. Lilona''s chest tightened, her breath caught in her throat as she tried to see clearly. The shape moved against the natural flow of the shadows, and for a dreadful moment, she knew it was coming closer. She felt ice-cold fear settle in her stomach, rooting her in place. ¡°Mom¡­¡± she whispered again, her voice trembling. Her mother stirred but didn¡¯t wake, leaving Lilona alone to watch as the shape inched forward. It slid along the stone floor, weaving its way across the room, its movement strange and jerky, like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. It would vanish for a few heartbeats, and lilona strained her eyes to see it, for when it was still, it would vanish. For long, agonizing moments she couldn''t see any hint of motion, and just when she dared to hope it was gone, it would stir again. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "Mom!" her voice disappeared as if killed the moment it left her mouth. The maddeningly indistinct shape approaching her slowly, a shiver in the darkness, closer each time. Slowly, purposefully, vanishing and reappearing until it was nearly at the foot of her bed. Lilona felt trapped, pressed back into the corner of her blankets, her wide eyes fixed on the place where the shadow had last been. She held her breath, afraid that even the smallest sound might draw its attention. Then, in the dim light, a hand¡ªif it could be called that¡ªemerged from the darkness. Crooked, claw-like fingers dark and terrible in their deformity curled into view, no one heard the sound of claws upon stone moving blindly across the floor, reaching toward her. Lilona pressed herself against the bed, her heart pounding, as a blackened face followed, a misshapen mask of twisted hate and eyes like polished black stones. Its gaze was empty yet filled with malice, its face twisted in a terrifying expression that made her feel small and utterly helpless as she wet her bed. She wanted to scream, to call for her mother, but her voice failed, strangled by sheer terror. She could only watch, her eyes filling with tears as the creature drew closer. The air felt cold, dense, pressing in on her chest as the clawed hands stretched out toward her. But then, something strange happened. A faint mist began to enter her home gathering around her, swirling softly, moving almost like it had a mind of its own. The mist gathered, coiling like silken tendrils, and then it wrapped around the dark creature, clinging to it, pressing in against its twisted form. The thing shrieked, a horrible, hissing scream that filled the room with a chilling echo. It recoiled, scrambling back into the shadows, vanishing as quickly as it had come. Lilona lay frozen, her wide eyes fixed on the corner where it had disappeared. The mist lingered for a moment longer, then faded into nothingness, leaving only silence and darkness behind. As the darkness settled once more, Lilona remained motionless, her heart pounding as questions swirled in her mind. What was that thing? And why had the mist come to her aid? Just as she was beginning to relax, a soft whisper echoed from the corner¡ªa low, sinister promise that this encounter was far from over. Outside the cave, something dark and twisted unfurled from the shadows. It slithered down the rocky outer wall, its claws scraping softly against the stone, its limbs stretching and retracting like the limbs of a monstrous spider, each movement a whisper of malice. Once free of the stone''s grip, it slinked low to the ground, gliding over the damp earth as it scampered toward the woods. It paused, glancing back toward the cave¡¯s entrance, eyes like polished obsidian pools glinting with a mixture of pain and something colder¡ªhatred. A hiss escaped its malformed mouth, a sound that hung in the air, mingling with the silence of the night. Despite its injury, it darted toward the treeline, sinking deeper into the cover of the forest, its movements jittery and sporadic, an unnatural blend of animal instinct and something darker. Its wounded arm burned, a fresh agony that sizzled through its veins, each pulse a brutal reminder of the iron¡¯s touch, a substance it despised but could never conquer. Its breath came in ragged, hissing gasps, punctuated by odd whispering sounds that seemed to float through the air as if carried by a hidden breeze. When it reached the nearest tree, it clung to the bark with its misshapen claws and, despite the pain, launched itself upward. Each leap was a twisted, acrobatic dance as it spun from branch to branch, climbing higher and deeper into the forest. But with every movement, its body betrayed it¡ªa searing pain radiated from the wound inflicted by iron, burning with a venomous heat that only grew more intense the farther it moved from the cave. Its hissing became sharper, laced with agony, and at last, it was forced to pause. Panting, it scrambled down the tree, its claws digging into the bark before it dropped the last ten feet to the forest floor. It moved with a grotesque, rolling gait¡ªan unnatural stoop that gave it the appearance of a twisted ape. A creature of shadows, hunched and sinewy, its eyes glinted like dark opals, an iridescent gleam in the depths of its sockets. It paused near an ancient stone gazebo, half-buried in the earth, remnants of a forgotten age now choked by vines. Its gaze flicked back toward the cave, burning with a hunger tinged with fear, as if still drawn to the one who had dared to strike it. But then¡ªanother sound. A whisper of movement in the woods. It ducked down, shrinking into itself, instinctively avoiding whatever new presence had entered the forest. Silence followed, so deep it was as if the entire forest held its breath, waiting. The creature hesitated, frozen, its ancient heart pounding. No sound, no scent, no movement. Yet the shadows felt heavier, closer, pressing in around it like a thousand watching eyes. It cradled its wounded arm against its body, its gnarled fingers clutching the burn left by the iron. It closed its eyes, willing the pain to recede, attempting to focus its dark magic to heal the wound. But as it began to pull the magic inward, it felt something¡ªa warning, a shift in the air. A realization settled like a stone in its chest: it was no longer the hunter. From the shadows, an unseen force seemed to stir, something far older and darker than itself. Its twisted face contorted in fear, and it froze, feeling a gaze upon it, a presence so overwhelming it seemed to press the very air from its lungs. In that instant, it understood its mistake¡ªa fatal misstep in a territory ruled by an ancient, merciless power. The creature tried to turn, to flee into the trees, into the stone gazebo, anywhere but here. But the shadows themselves seemed to grip it, holding it in place. A cold whisper echoed from the darkness¡ªa promise of pain, of an ancient debt long overdue. And then, as it quivered in terror, a shadow detached from the night and began its slow, deliberate approach. chapter 12 art say hello to the art for chapter 12 + 12.5 As you know This isn¡¯t your typical isekai. This is survival horror, Stone Age style. Our protagonist Reborn into a small, isolated tribe nestled in rugged mountains and dense, towering forests, he discovers a life ruled by the cave¡¯s shadows and the flickering light of survival. But this soul carries more than it should¡ªa prince¡¯s cunning, the trauma of betrayal, and an unnatural wealth of magical knowledge¡ªall bottled up inside a teenager¡¯s mind and body. This isn¡¯t about reclaiming a throne. This is about navigating a world where every force, human or otherwise, is bent on his downfall. The forest, the tribe, and the night itself all harbor deadly secrets, and he must survive them all. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. sharpened from betrayal he learned that People don''t remember what you did for them, but what you couldn''t do. You must be cruel and deal with people firmly so that you don''t take advantage There¡¯s no benevolent, self-sacrificing protagonist here. This is survival of the most ruthless, a journey where the main character¡¯s choices may leave more broken than healed. Driven by self-preservation, ambition, and the grim satisfaction of pushing forward, he is no idealistic hero; he is forged from betrayal, relentless and calculating, ready to outwit and outlast a world that would rather see him dead. Chapter 13: gold digging wizard I woke up this morning and immediately had the strangest craving. Bread. Not just any bread, but warm, soft, perfect bread. No idea why¡ªthere¡¯s no bread to be had here¡ªbut I swear, I¡¯d kill a dragon for even the smell of it. I shook the thought away and stretched, letting my joints crack before stepping out of the dim warmth of the cave. The morning air was crisp, carrying a faint breeze that rustled the treetops. Down near the communal fire, my mother was working with the other women, laughing and chatting as they pounded grains and prepared dried meats. Her place among them had shifted. Ever since she shared the honey, her status had lifted. She wasn¡¯t just another face in the tribe anymore¡ªshe was one of them, respected, even envied. ¡°Huh,¡± I muttered under my breath. ¡°If money can buy love, honey seems to have done the trick.¡± That was good news for both of us. It meant she was safer now, shielded from whispers and sideways glances. And for me? It gave me time¡ªtime to work, plan, and strengthen myself without constantly worrying about what might happen to her when my back was turned. So, what should I do today? My eyes wandered to the forest beyond the cave, the morning light dappling the ground in patches. Ah, yes. I needed more gold. Yesterday¡¯s close encounter with the Fae was still fresh in my mind. I thought back to the way my spell had burned the thing, forcing it to retreat. They weren¡¯t rationed foes¡ªthey were like psychotic wolves, circling and testing. If we didn¡¯t draw blood, they¡¯d come back stronger, bolder. But I¡¯d proven we had teeth. That had to count for something. My schedule for today? Simple: get more gold, kill something edible, and avoid becoming the latest Fae curse victim. Solid plan. As I stood there for moment thinking drinking water from water-skin and making sure I didn''t forget anything, a voice interrupted me. ¡°Good morning, Anir.¡± Oh, great. It¡¯s Monire. The guy has all the loyalty of a rat sniffing out a free meal. Still, no need to let him know I see through him. ¡°Morning, Monire,¡± I replied evenly, tightening my grip on the water-skin to keep my hands busy¡ªand away from my knife. ¡°Did you hear about Lilona? A shadow attacked her last night.¡± My stomach did a slow flip. I kept my expression calm, but my mind snapped to attention. ¡°Really? A shadow? Lilona¡¯s home is near the back of the cave. That¡¯s supposed to be one of the safest spots.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what she¡¯s saying.¡± He leaned in conspiratorially, as if sharing a great secret. ¡°But her mom spanked her for lying about it.¡± I arched a brow. ¡°Why would she lie about something like that?¡± ¡°She wet the fur in her sleep. Or¡­¡± He smirked, clearly enjoying the gossip, ¡°she was too scared to make it to the pissing holes.¡± Internally, I rolled my eyes. Too scared or too smart, Monire? The shadows aren¡¯t just bedtime stories. If Lilona felt something, even if no one else believes her, I need to pay attention. ¡°So,¡± he continued, his voice taking on a casual, almost wheedling tone, ¡°are you hunting more rabbits today? Maybe I could come with you?¡± And there it is. Always angling, always sniffing around for an advantage. ¡°Not this time,¡± I said, keeping my tone light and dismissive. ¡°I prefer going alone. Helps me practice moving quietly, avoiding making noise is an important skill I need.¡± His grin faltered for a second before bouncing back like a rubber ball. ¡°Well, don¡¯t go pushing too deep into the forest, huh? You know how dangerous it gets.¡± ¡°I know,¡± I replied with a polite nod, my voice calm. I know more than you ever will. Finally, he wandered off, probably to latch onto someone else¡¯s success like a leech. As I watched him go, I couldn¡¯t help but smirk. Good riddance, Monire. You¡¯re predictable, and predictability is useful. Maybe one day I¡¯ll find a purpose for you. Until then, enjoy being a bottom feeder. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Before starting my work, I retreated to the privacy of the cave, in my home, where no prying eyes could catch a glimpse of the spell I was about to use. Though most of my spells were silent, this one caused a brief flicker of light in my aura upon casting¡ªa momentary beacon that could draw attention. Once activated, the spell would fade, cloaking itself entirely, allowing me to move safely, undetected. I closed my eyes, focusing on the flow of mana within me, and began weaving a passive monitoring spell into my aura anchored to a small gold nugget. Threads of magic extended outward, like invisible tendrils brushing against the air, seeking the faintest ripple of danger. As the spell took hold, my senses sharpened, every sound and vibration filtering through the spell¡¯s delicate web. As I excited the cave. The world felt alive, hyper-aware. The subtle sway of leaves, the distant rustle of animals, even the faint hum of the cave walls¡ªall of it whispered to me. It wasn¡¯t sight or sound exactly, more like a pulse of awareness, a silent alarm ready to flare at the slightest threat. The spell settled over me like a second skin, faint but present, a low hum of vigilance coursing through my body. For the first time in days, I felt... prepared. Then created protective spell against the Fae anchored into one of the iron nuggets I gathered last night. I took my backpack an went on gold hunt. I shaped the protective spell carefully, weaving my aura around the iron nugget until it hummed faintly with potential energy. The sigils etched into my mind guided each thread of mana, forming layers of defensive enchantments. This wasn¡¯t just any protective spell¡ªit was tailored against the Fae¡¯s tricks, their illusions, and their invasive magic. Anchored to the iron nugget, it would create a localized barrier, disrupting their ability to influence the area around me. Once the spell was complete, I held the nugget in my hand, feeling its subtle pulse, a quiet promise of safety. Not invulnerability, of course¡ªnothing could grant that against beings as unpredictable as the Fae¡ªbut it was better than facing them unarmed. Satisfied, I tucked it into my belt pouch and grabbed my backpack. The iron would be useful, but gold was the real prize. If I wanted to cast stronger spells or stabilize more complex enchantments, I needed a stockpile. Gold¡¯s properties made it invaluable¡ªconducting mana smoothly, enhancing spell precision, and, most importantly, grounding my aura when casting larger, riskier spells. The river awaited, and I knew its bed still hid treasures I hadn¡¯t unearthed. As I stepped out of the cave, the air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine. The morning light painted the forest in muted greens and browns, but even in this calm, I couldn¡¯t shake the unease lingering from the previous night. The Fae were watching¡ªI could feel it like a shadow at the edge of my senses. Still, I pressed on. The hunt for gold wasn¡¯t just about survival¡ªit was preparation for the battles I knew were coming. And in this world, preparation was everything. The river was quieter today, the sunlight glinting off the surface like shards of glass. I made my way further upstream this time, past the spot where I¡¯d found gold before. I¡¯d learned my lesson from last time¡ªwalking this path unprepared was an invitation for my heart to betray me again. This time, I came equipped. In my hand, I held a small nugget of gold, smooth and warm from the aura I¡¯d woven around it. The nugget would serve as an anchor for my spell, stabilizing the process and making the search far less taxing. I crouched by the riverbank, feeling the earth beneath me, letting my aura ripple outward like roots seeking sustenance. My mind focused, sharpening into the spell I¡¯d crafted. With a deliberate push, I fed the spell into the nugget, letting its resonance reach out to the silt and stones of the riverbed. The response was immediate. A faint tug, a vibration through the earth, as if the very stones were whispering secrets to me. My pulse quickened as I followed the sensation, stepping carefully along the edge of the water. Then, I saw it. Buried just beneath the surface, glinting faintly in the dappled sunlight, was something massive. My breath caught as I crouched down, brushing away the wet silt with trembling hands. The nugget was huge¡ªlarger than I¡¯d ever imagined possible. It was roughly the size of my chest, a behemoth of gold that seemed almost unreal in its brilliance. ¡°The Motherlode,¡± I whispered, a grin spreading across my face. I pressed my hands against it, feeling the faint hum of mana still clinging to its surface. My aura pulsed in response, like a predator recognizing its prize. This wasn¡¯t just gold. This was power. But excitement faded quickly as caution crept in. My paranoia was having one of its unreasonable erections. This is too easy, I thought, my grip tightening on the nugget. Nothing this big, this valuable, is left untouched. Most beast''s like gold they eat it they grow stronger from it like me. So why is it untouched, no that''s not it, oh the idea that triggered my paranoia is if I found it something else could now that it has been exposed. I need to hid it. Chapter 14: hoarding issues Hiding metals¡ªsounds simple, right? Wrong. You¡¯d think after surviving betrayal, reincarnation, and Fae nightmares, I¡¯d be a master of clever solutions, but no. Here I was, standing knee-deep in river muck, trying to figure out where to stash my loot like some Stone Age dragon with hoarding issues. The cave wasn¡¯t an option. Too many eyes, too many curious fingers and questions. "Hey, Anir, where¡¯d you get all this shiny stuff?¡± Yeah, no thanks. I needed a spot that was close, discreet, and absolutely idiot-proof. I¡¯d keep just enough metal to craft tools and cast spells, but the rest¡ªthe real treasure¡ªI¡¯d hide. As I scanned the riverbank my eyes landed on the large rocks scattered along the riverbank, inspiration struck: the rocks. Big, dumb, immovable rocks. Perfect. There were plenty of them scattered around the river, and no one would think to check inside a rock. Mostly because, well, rocks are solid. But I had a solution for that little problem. I picked a hefty boulder near the water, the kind that screamed ¡°don¡¯t mess with me,¡± and pulled out a small nugget of gold. Yes, more gold. My heart winced every time I used it, but desperate times. I cast an elemental control spell, my aura humming with effort. Slowly, I coaxed the inner stone to liquefy, its softer layers flowing out like a slow-motion volcano. The molten stone poured into the river, hissing as it hit the water and sinking deep into the riverbed to solidify. When the dust¡ªor, rather, the sludge¡ªsettled, I had a hollowed-out rock, big enough to stash my metal haul. Carefully, I placed my precious Motherlode inside, keeping only two fist-sized gold nuggets for crafting and spellwork. ¡°You stay safe in there, my shiny little fortune,¡± I muttered, sealing the rock with another layer of magic. Stepping back, I admired my handiwork. A secret stash in plain sight. Now, if only I could hide my paranoia as well as I hid my gold. There was still space inside the hollowed-out rock, and the day wasn¡¯t over. What kind of hoarder would I be if I didn¡¯t fill it to the brim? Gold was handled, but iron¡ªoh, iron¡ªwas next on my list. Fae hate it, and I love anything the Fae hate. So, like before, I anchored my spell to gold to search for iron. As the spell activated, I felt a pang of loss. One eye-sized gold nugget, shining in its innocent glory, began to erode before my eyes, consumed by the spell. "Goodbye, little buddy," I muttered dramatically. "Your sacrifice won¡¯t be in vain." The spell worked like a charm¡ªwell, more like an expensive charm¡ªbut it worked. Bit by bit, the riverbed surrendered its iron. I watched as the raw material coalesced into seven iron balls, each weighing about five kilograms. My aura buzzed faintly from the strain, but there they were: orbs of Fae-repellent justice. ¡°Seven iron balls,¡± I said aloud, my voice echoing faintly. ¡°I¡¯m basically the god of bowling now.¡± To make my life easier I formed some of the iron into coins to keep and use. Back at the rock, I carefully tucked the iron balls into my stash. I might¡¯ve even hummed a lullaby while doing it. There was something oddly satisfying about hiding these dangerous, world-changing resources like they were fragile dragon eggs. With the iron nestled safely beside the gold, I sealed the rock again with a whispered spell. Stepping back, I admired my work. My hidden treasure chest was coming along nicely. ¡°Now,¡± I said to the rock, patting it lightly, ¡°you keep this stuff safe, or I¡¯m coming back with a hammer and a bad attitude.¡± The day had barely begun, but the sun dipped lower in the sky, I turned toward the forest for food, my bag is lighter but my spirit a little heavier. Gold, iron, paranoia¡ªwhat a life. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. I walked for less then five minuets then crouched in the bushes, planning my ambush on pigeons of all things. Mighty Anir, prince reincarnated, wielder of ancient magic and dreams of power¡­ reduced to hunting for flying rats. Glorious. I adjusted the sling on my wrist, its leather cool against my skin, and scanned the skies with the seriousness of a general surveying a battlefield. Pigeons. Fast, dumb, and utterly unaware of their impending doom. ¡°Alright, you feathery freeloaders,¡± I muttered under my breath, ¡°time to pay your rent.¡± I reached into my pouch, pulling out a small obsidian pellet¡ªbecause when you¡¯ve got obsidian lying around, you make weapons out of it, even for pigeons. These pellets where enchanted even if I miss the spell passing near its target will make the small-minded target lose consciousness or get confused for moment. My aura hummed faintly as I charged the pellet, just enough to give it extra speed and accuracy without making it glow like a miniature sun. No need to advertise my plans to the world. I spotted my first target perched on a low branch, pecking obliviously at something. I lined up my shot, carefully pulled back the sling, and released. The pellet zipped through the air, silent and deadly. Thunk. Feathers exploded everywhere. Success! I jogged over to collect my prize, tucking the bird into my bag. It wasn¡¯t much, but hey, pigeons tasted better than they looked. As I reset my sling, a second pigeon fluttered down nearby. ¡°Oh, look, a volunteer,¡± I said with a grin. The hunt continued. By the time I had six pigeons on my shoulder neatly tied bundle, I was feeling like the king of Stone Age pest control. ¡°Move over, legendary beasts,¡± I muttered. ¡°I¡¯m the scourge of pigeons now.¡± On my way back, I couldn¡¯t help but smirk. The others would probably scoff at my catch, but they¡¯d all be fighting for a piece when it was roasted. Let them laugh. A prince does what¡¯s necessary. Even if it means pigeon duty. And with that my day was over, I have food, my treasure was safe¡ªtucked away in a hollowed rock fortress where no one, human or otherwise, would think to look. Unless the Fae suddenly developed the ability to liquefy stone. Nah, even they don¡¯t have that kind of panache. Probably. But then again... paranoia has a way of crawling up your spine, whispering sweet nothings about doom in your ear. My paranoia wasn¡¯t whispering anymore¡ªit was wide awake, tapping me on the shoulder and screaming, ¡°They¡¯re watching you!¡± So, I did what any reasonable, magic-wielding reincarnated prince would do. I hexed the whole damn area. With a pouch of iron dust in hand, I stomped around the riverbank, sprinkling the stuff like an overenthusiastic chef seasoning a cursed soup. ¡°Get some, you creepy little bastards,¡± I muttered under my breath. Each handful of iron dust was a personal insult to the Fae. ¡°Oh, you like sneaking around in shadows? Here¡¯s a taste of what happens when you mess with me!¡± Sprinkle. ¡°You think you¡¯re all mysterious and ethereal? Boom! Iron! Deal with it!¡± Sprinkle. By the time I was done, the area was practically glowing with latent hostility. My iron hexes hummed faintly, forming an invisible barrier that I hoped would keep the Fae at bay¡ªor at least give them a nasty burn if they got too curious. ¡°Consider this my way of saying screw you to our delightful neighbors,¡± I said, brushing the last of the iron dust off my hands. ¡°Let¡¯s see you prance around this, you shadow-hopping assholes.¡± With the sun beginning to set, I felt a little better. Not safe¡ªnever safe¡ªbut better. As I turned back toward the cave, I couldn¡¯t help but grin. If nothing else, I¡¯d given the Fae something to think about tonight. On my way back to the cave, the golden and iron nuggets tucked safely in my pack, I decided to have a little fun with the local Fae. Sure, they¡¯re terrifying, cunning, soul-sucking monsters, but they¡¯ve got one big weakness¡ªiron. And I¡¯ve got a handful of iron coins that I¡¯d been itching to put to good use. As I trudged through the forest, I flicked the coins one by one into the underbrush like some demented fairy tale villain scattering breadcrumbs. Only my breadcrumbs were hexed with a nasty little spell designed to singe the Fae if they got too curious. ¡°Here, have a coin, you creepy bastards,¡± I muttered, tossing one near a tree stump. ¡°Go buy yourself a sense of decency.¡± Another went spinning into a cluster of ferns. ¡°And here¡¯s one for your therapy fund. Trust me, you need it.¡± By the time I reached the cave¡¯s edge, I¡¯d formed a rough perimeter of hexed coins around the area. It wasn¡¯t a perfect defense, but it would slow them down if they got any ideas about sneaking in tonight. Besides, the thought of a Fae stepping on one of my enchanted coins and yelping like a scalded dog was far too satisfying to pass up. As I approached the cave, I gave the last coin a little extra spin before it landed in the dirt. ¡°Let¡¯s see how you like this game, you shadow-hopping pricks.¡± The faint glow of the hexed coin pulsed once before fading, its spell dormant but ready. I grinned to myself, feeling a flicker of pride. Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the most effective. ¡°Playtime¡¯s over, folks. The cave is closed for business.¡± I muttered under my breath, stepping inside to prepare for whatever nightmare the night would bring. Chapter 14.5; surprise. The night was alive with its usual symphony of whispers, rustling leaves, and the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy. The Fae sprinted through the forest, its movements quicksilver, almost weightless. Panic clawed at its ancient mind, a primal terror it hadn¡¯t felt in centuries. Behind it, something moved¡ªsilent, relentless, and far too close. The fae didn¡¯t dare look back, its translucent aura wings shimmering faintly as they flickered, the effort of flight too risky with so many low-hanging branches. It weaved between ancient trees, its lithe body gliding with a grace only the Fae possessed. Still, it wasn¡¯t fast enough. It could feel the presence gaining. ¡°What the fuck is this?¡± the Fae hissed to itself, breathless. ¡°I¡¯m not supposed to be hunted. I¡¯m the hunter!¡± It ducked beneath a fallen log, its glowing eyes scanning frantically for a path forward. The shadows around it twisted unnaturally, as if the forest itself recoiled from whatever pursued it. Then it saw something on the ground¡ªa faint shimmer in the dirt, something metallic. Curiosity and desperation battled for dominance as it leaped over the small object. That¡¯s when it stumbled. It wasn¡¯t a proper stumble. The Fae was too graceful for that. But its foot brushed something¡ªsomething sharp and wrong. Pain exploded through its foot as it landed. A searing, unnatural agony shot up its leg, and the fae shrieked, collapsing to the ground. It clawed at its foot, finding an iron coin embedded in its flesh. The hex tendrils of mana burned with a venomous fury, as they pumped iron that was eating into its aura like acid. ¡°What kind of sick fuck does this?¡± it spat, thrashing as it tried to rip the coin free. The trap pulsed faintly, as if mocking it. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Another growl. Louder this time. Whatever was hunting it wasn¡¯t far behind, and now it smelled blood¡ªFae blood. The shadows around it deepened, and the fae froze. A shape, darker than the night itself, loomed at the edge of its vision. It moved without sound, its form indistinct but brimming with malice. The air around it grew colder, heavier. The shadows thickened unnaturally, and an overwhelming presence bore down on the Fae like a predator¡¯s gaze. The fae''s survival instincts screamed. It tore the coin from its foot with a pained howl and rolled to the side just as something slashed through the air where it had been. It didn¡¯t see what attacked¡ªonly the aftermath. A jagged gash opened on its arm, the limb severed cleanly, falling to the forest floor. The fae stumbled, black ichor spilling from its wound as it shrieked in both fury and fear. The creature lunged again, but this time the fae used its wings, propelling itself upward in a desperate burst of speed. Branches tore at its body as it ascended, its vision blurring from the pain. It didn¡¯t stop. It couldn¡¯t stop. Bleeding, one-armed, and furious, the fae soared above the treetops, the pale moonlight staining its torn form. Below, the forest remained eerily still. Whatever had pursued it didn¡¯t follow. Its once-ethereal form now disheveled and streaked with dirt. Fear, a feeling the creature rarely entertained, gnawed at its core. It wasn¡¯t just fear of death¡ªit was fear of the unknown. Whatever was following it wasn¡¯t part of the natural order, not even of the Fae¡¯s twisted one. The fae landed shakily on a high cliff, collapsing against the cool stone. It gasped for air, its remaining hand clutching its wounded shoulder. The iron burn still lingered, and it snarled, more in frustration than pain. It winced as it tried to patch the wound with weak healing magic. The edges of the stump burned where the hexed trap had seared the flesh. And let¡¯s not forget the genius with the iron trap. Oh, they¡¯re on my list now. Right up there with the bloody shadow beast that took my arm. Honestly, what¡¯s this forest coming to? First mortals with iron hexes, now¡­ whatever that was. What in the name of all unholy mischief is that thing? and how did it escape the perimeter with the deep lands? he wondered. ¡°Fucking witches,¡± it muttered, its voice trembling. ¡°When did they start hexing coins? Who does that?¡± It peered back toward the forest, its glowing eyes narrowed. Whatever that thing was, it didn¡¯t belong here. And neither did those cursed coins. It would heal. It would recover. But tonight, it would simply survive, battered, humiliated, and seething with rage. The fae¡¯s lips curled into a grim smile despite itself. ¡°Next time,¡± it hissed into the night. ¡°Next time, we¡¯ll see who¡¯s running.¡± But deep within, the fae felt an unease it couldn¡¯t shake. Whatever had hunted it was new to the forest. And whatever it was, it was still out there, waiting. Chapter 15: Nosey people The cave buzzed with activity, a mix of triumph and hunger after the hunters returned with two deer¡ªone large, one small. The smell of roasted meat filled the air, thick and smoky, mingling with the chatter of the tribe. I sat near the edge of the gathering, chewing methodically on a piece of venison, my ears pricked to the conversation nearby. A group of young men gathered around the half of the smaller deer, savagely tearing into it like wild dogs. The enthusiasm in their eating bordered on comical. One of them, mouth half-full, decided to contribute to the conversation. ¡°Slow down, you¡¯re hurting the meat,¡± he said with mock concern, glaring at the nearest offender. ¡°What, did its mother kick you or something?¡± The others laughed, spitting out half-chewed bites in their amusement. Another chimed in, voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Why pity the thing? Did its mother nurse you?¡± The group erupted into raucous laughter, a chaotic symphony of half-wit jokes and over-the-top reactions. I bit down harder on my meat, willing myself not to roll my eyes. It didn¡¯t take long for one of them to notice me sitting nearby. ¡°Hey, when do you think Anir will join us on a real hunt?¡± one asked, loud enough for the entire cave to hear. ¡°I mean, he did kill that dark thing, didn¡¯t he?¡± The others murmured agreement, and for a fleeting moment, I thought they might show an ounce of respect. Then reality set in. ¡°Not now,¡± another scoffed, shaking his head like some kind of sage. ¡°Not until he¡¯s fully mature with a strong aura. Rabbit-chasing doesn¡¯t count.¡± A smaller voice piped up, braver now that the group dynamic encouraged nonsense. ¡°Why do you think he¡¯s always so absent anyway? Hunting a few rabbits and pigeons shouldn¡¯t take all day.¡± I didn¡¯t turn to look, but my fingers tightened on the venison. Keep it together, Anir. Let the fools talk. That¡¯s when Tuzen, Bronlo¡¯s son¡ªthe ringleader of dimwits¡ªdecided to grace the conversation with his profound wisdom. He leaned forward, his voice dripping with fake casualness. ¡°Maybe he just likes taking long shits. Huh? You know, ¡®cause he¡¯s full of shit.¡± The laughter that followed was forced, hollow, and tinged with desperation. Oh, how they wanted Tuzen to believe he was funny. The way they laughed louder than they needed to, slapping each other on the back, was like watching a pack of wolves fawning over a mangy alpha. I kept my head down, pretending not to notice, but inside, I was grinning. Long shits? That¡¯s the best you¡¯ve got, Tuzen? No wonder Bronlo¡¯s disappointed in you. As they cackled over their half-dead humor, I allowed myself a moment of indulgence. These idiots think I¡¯m out hunting rabbits for fun. If only they knew the truth¡ªthat I¡¯m not just feeding the tribe but stockpiling resources for spells and survival against the horrors lurking out there. But no, let them think I¡¯m out here perfecting my bowel movements. It¡¯s safer this way. Tuzen, emboldened by the fake laughs, continued, ¡°You know, if Anir wasn¡¯t so quiet, maybe we¡¯d hear about all his grand rabbit-hunting adventures. Maybe he¡¯s even got a pet pigeon by now.¡± I took another slow bite of venison, savoring the taste as if it were the most important task in the world. In my mind, though, I imagined dropping a hexed iron coin near their sleeping mats later. Nothing harmful, just enough to give them nightmares. Let¡¯s see how funny you are after a restless night, Tuzen. As their laughter started to die down, I finally glanced in their direction, giving a calm, almost friendly nod. ¡°Enjoying the hunt, gentlemen?¡± I asked, my tone smooth and disarming. Tuzen froze, his grin faltering. ¡°Uh¡­ yeah, yeah, of course. Great hunt.¡± The others mumbled in agreement, suddenly finding their meat far more interesting than continuing their conversation. Yeah they remember me and how savagely I can fight, I can see the childhood memory¡¯s flash in there eyes. And what I did to that Fae proves that even with there older more mature auras am still capable of braking bones even if I die doing it. bones that if healed wrong could end your hunting ability. and soon my aura will blossom, and they don''t know if am going to be a threat to them or just low aura, so they play carefully around me until they are sure am good victim. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. I turned back to my meal, hiding my smirk. Keep talking, Tuzen. You¡¯ll slip eventually. And when you do, I¡¯ll be there to push you down to hell. few years from now and this tribe will be mine. I finished my food and scanning people with mana sight and found no Fae, i scanned Tuzen twice, But Tuzen wasn''t the problem now. People were starting to ask questions. Why does Anir disappear for so long into the forest? What could he be doing out there? The murmurs had grown louder over the past few days, and I could feel their suspicious eyes boring into me every time I stepped out of the cave. This had Monire¡¯s grubby little hands all over it, I can smell it. The smug bastard probably spread the rumors after I told him to fuck off. I could just see his slimy grin as he gossiped with anyone who would listen, spinning tales about my ¡°mysterious absences.¡± The thought made me groan internally. Great. Just what I need¡ªparanoid cavemen tracking me like I¡¯m some kind of elusive pigeon. I sat at the edge of my home, poking at the dirt cave floor with a stick, my mind racing for solutions. What do I do? How do I make these people lose interest in my business? Do I stage a dramatic faint and blame it on a stomach bug? No, too much effort. Claim I¡¯ve been communing with spirits? Nah, that¡¯s asking for trouble¡ªTahya might drag me into her creepy rituals. I threw the stick aside, annoyed. The truth was, I couldn¡¯t afford for them to start following me. My excursions weren¡¯t exactly¡­ innocent. Stockpiling gold, iron, silver, and hexing the shit out of everything wasn¡¯t something I wanted to explain. ¡°Oh, this giant pile of hexed iron? Yeah, it¡¯s for a DIY anti-Fae death trap. Totally normal.¡± No. I need a plan. A distraction. Something to keep their curious little minds occupied so they don¡¯t stick their noses where they don¡¯t belong. Then it hit me. What if I made them think I was doing something for them? A little self-sacrifice sprinkled with bullshit always worked wonders. If I framed my forest jaunts as some noble effort to help the tribe, they¡¯d eat it up. The idea started to take shape, and the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. A hero¡¯s journey, but in the Stone Age. Anir, the humble forager, risking life and limb to bring back food and resources for his people. I smirked to myself. Not only would it give me the perfect cover, but it might even boost my standing in the tribe. Who would question a man who spends his days tirelessly working for the good of his people? The best part? I wouldn¡¯t even have to lie entirely. I was collecting resources¡ªjust not for them. ¡°Perfect,¡± I muttered under my breath. Now, for the details. If anyone asked, I¡¯d tell them I was foraging for rare plants and herbs, things the tribe could use for medicine or trade. That would explain my long absences and give me the excuse to carry a heavy bag back to the cave without suspicion. I¡¯d even make a show of it. Bring back some random leaves, maybe a handful of berries, and dramatically present them to Tahya. She¡¯d probably love the attention and back up my story without realizing it. nah that bitch best not be involved, she may see me as competition or something stupid like that. I recalculated that part. As for the nosy ones like Monire? I¡¯d let them tag along once on a carefully planned ¡°foraging trip.¡± Take them to the least interesting part of the forest, make them carry the supplies, and exhaust them to the point where they¡¯d never want to join me again. Problem solved. I stood up, dusting off my hands, feeling a sense of satisfaction at my brilliance. The plan was foolproof. Not only would it keep the tribe off my back, but it would also give me a bit of breathing room to continue my work in peace. As I turned to head back into my bed, I couldn¡¯t help but grin. ¡°Let¡¯s see you spin that into a rumor, Monire.¡± As the cave was sealed I kept thinking refining the plan until it benefited me more, I planed until sleep took me. The morning sun broke over the rugged hills, casting a soft glow over the land and warming the cool earth beneath my feet. I took a deep breath, the morning air filling me with energy and a sense of purpose. Today felt different. Perhaps it was the mild scent of wildflowers, or maybe it was the quiet excitement of a new idea forming in his mind. I approached my mother with a bright smile, my eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. ¡°Mother, I¡¯ve been thinking¡­ What if we made a different kind of food for the tribe? Something a bit special.¡± She looked at me with interest, her brow raised. ¡°Oh? And what do you have in mind?¡± ¡°That was supposed to be a surprise even for you, but people are asking questions.¡± I replied, choosing my words carefully. ¡°I have been testing the recipe for few days now, am calling it Msemmen. It¡¯s a flat, layered bread that we can make with simple ingredients. If we use honey with it, I think everyone would love it.¡± my mother¡¯s face softened, and she chuckled softly, a warm sound that matched the morning¡¯s brightness. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a lovely idea, Anir. But such a big task to feed everyone it isn¡¯t easy. We¡¯ll need help, and the other women are already so busy¡­¡± ¡°I thought about that,¡± he replied quickly. ¡°I will hunt few more pigeons and pay them with the meat for there work, If they help, I¡¯ll make sure we gather more honey. We can share another harvest with the whole tribe, just like last time.¡± She considered this for a moment, her eyes reflecting both pride and a glimmer of excitement. ¡°I¡¯ll speak to the other women. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be willing, especially with the promise of more honey.¡± My face lit up as she nodded in agreement. And so, the plan started. Now I just need a grinding stone. Chapter 16: tribe of two The first step to making my grinding stone was ensuring I wasn¡¯t followed. I took a long, winding route to the river, stopping occasionally to "check for Fae traps"¡ªa dramatic gesture that involved looking behind bushes and peering into the forest like a paranoid lunatic. Paranoia is just survival instinct with flair, I told myself, ignoring how ridiculous I probably looked. Once I was sure no one was tailing me, I knelt by the riverbank, pulling out an iron coin from my pouch. This wasn¡¯t just any iron coin¡ªit was spelled, charged with just enough mana to make this tedious process bearable. I placed my hands on a smooth stone near the river and focused my aura, feeding mana into the coin to shape the stone into a grinding surface. The process wasn¡¯t elegant. The stone groaned and cracked under the pressure of the spell, flecks of rock flying off like tiny insults to my craftsmanship. I cute some wood for the handle. When it was done, I stepped back to admire my work. It wasn¡¯t the most beautiful hand-powered grinding stone, but hey, beauty isn¡¯t everything. Functionality trumps aesthetics¡ªat least in the Stone Age. ¡°Good enough,¡± I muttered, brushing off the dust and wiping sweat from my brow. The stone was functional, sturdy, and ugly as sin¡ªjust how I liked it. ---- Back at the cave, I spotted my mother in the middle of a lively chat with a group of women. Perfect. With a confident stride, I approached, plastering on my most winning smile. ¡°Mother,¡± I began, my tone deliberately casual, ¡°I¡¯ve done my part. The grinding stone is ready. Now, we just need someone to hand-power it and make flour. Can you find someone for the job?¡± Her eyebrow shot up, and the chatter around her quieted. ¡°Someone to grind, you say? And what exactly are you planning to pay them with, my son? Good intentions?¡± The women snickered, their eyes darting between us like they were at the tribe¡¯s newest entertainment. Stone age culture has low standards for comedy. I grinned back at her, unshaken. ¡°Pigeons. Everyone loves pigeons.¡± My mother didn¡¯t even blink. ¡°Yes, I know. But where are these pigeons, Anir? Payment first, or do you expect these women to work on promises?¡± Shit. Payment upfront, huh? My grin faltered, but I recovered quickly, straightening up like the resourceful son I was. ¡°Right. Of course. I''ll be back in no time.¡± Her gaze followed me as I set the grinding stone down near her with a bit more flourish than necessary. ¡°Don¡¯t take too long, or someone else might decide to claim your little invention for themselves.¡± The subtle jab wasn¡¯t lost on me, but I didn¡¯t let it show. I gave her a quick nod and turned, heading back toward the forest. As I walked away, I could hear the faint murmurs of the women behind me. One of them said, ¡°At least he¡¯s trying to be useful.¡± Another replied, ¡°Or trying to get out of trouble, more like.¡± I smirked to myself. They weren¡¯t wrong. But hey, if I came back with enough pigeons to pay someone to grind flour, no one would care why I was doing it. They¡¯d just see results. And if there was one thing I knew how to deliver, it was results, And explosives. ---- By the end of my hunt, my mother had found two women willing to work in exchange for pigeons. They were stout, practical, and wore the kind of wary expressions that spoke of years spent navigating barters and backhanded deals. I led them to the grinding stone and gestured proudly. ¡°Look, it¡¯s simple. You put the grains here, turn this handle, and voila¡ªflour.¡± ¡°Voila?¡± the younger one echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. I sighed. ¡°It means ¡®it¡¯s done.¡¯¡± I waved dismissively, hoping she¡¯d drop it. She didn¡¯t. ¡°Why not just say ¡®it¡¯s done¡¯ then?¡± ¡°Because I didn¡¯t,¡± I snapped, then immediately forced a polite smile. ¡°Shall we move on?¡± The older woman ignored us both and examined the grinding stone with a skeptical eye. ¡°Is it cursed?¡± WTF? I blinked at her. ¡°No. Why would it be cursed?¡± She crossed her arms, her stare unwavering. ¡°You¡¯re always sneaking off into that cursed forest, Anir. Don¡¯t think we don¡¯t notice. You dragged this thing back from there, didn¡¯t you?¡± Okay, fair point. ¡°It¡¯s not cursed,¡± I said, my tone carefully measured. ¡°Just a grinding stone. I spent all those days hunting and working on this to make it for my mother.¡± She didn¡¯t look entirely convinced, but her curiosity was sated enough for her to get to work. With a shrug, she positioned herself at the handle, and her companion joined her. Their hands moved steadily, turning the stone with practiced ease. It wasn¡¯t long before the younger woman piped up again. ¡°Can we keep this when we¡¯re done?¡± I leaned forward, my voice firm but deliberately friendly. ¡°Absolutely not. The grinding stone is family property. You¡¯re being paid to use it, not to take it.¡± The older woman snorted. ¡°We¡¯re not stupid, you know.¡± Say that again when you stop shitting in the river you drink from. I forced a grin. ¡°Good. Then we¡¯re on the same pa-rock same rock.¡± With the property dispute resolved, I turned and walked away, leaving them to their work. As I stepped into the fresh air outside the cave, I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle to myself. Those two would no doubt spread the story of the grinding stone far and wide. And my bullshit excuse about spending days crafting it for my mother? That would probably make it into the retelling too. Perfect. It wasn¡¯t just about flour or pigeons¡ªit was about planting seeds, building a story. And stories? Stories were reputation and power. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. --- Later in the day, I prepared myself for the task of gathering more honey. I remembered his past experience well, and I knew how to handle the bees without bringing harm to himself or disturbing the hive too much. Using the tools I fashioned¡ªa bundle of smoldering sticks wrapped with thick leaves to create gentle smoke¡ªhe set out to find a few different hives nestled in the trees on the edge of the forest. I approached the first hive with calm, controlled movements, coaxing the bees with the smoke as they buzzed around me. The bees grew drowsy, their defensive hum softening to a gentle buzz as I collected the rich, golden honeycomb. As I moved from hive to hive, gathering as much honey as I could without over-harvesting, I felt the satisfaction of a job well done. The afternoon sun warmed my skin as I made my way back to the cave, the sweet, earthy scent of honey filling the air around me. Now I have on last thing to test and see if my plan can work perfectly or sub-optimally. --- I crouched near the riverbank, the wooden bowl resting on the ground before me. Around me, plants swayed gently in the breeze, their silent green faces none the wiser to the robbery about to occur. With a flick of my wrist, I began weaving an alchemy spell, my aura buzzing faintly in the still air. The plants trembled as my spell took hold, their very essence bending to my will. From one, a sticky residue seeped forth¡ªoil. From another, tiny crystals formed on its leaves¡ªsalt. And from the third, the sweetest prize of all, sugar dripped like golden nectar. The spell wasn¡¯t easy; it never was. Alchemy was a demanding art, requiring precision and focus. But the satisfaction of the results made it worth the strain. I gathered the extracted ingredients into a small leather pouch and released the plants from my spell. They seemed relieved, if plants could feel anything. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll grow back,¡± I muttered. ¡°Probably.¡± Back at my workstation¡ªjust a flat rock by the river¡ªI poured the contents of the pouch into a large wooden bowl. A pinch of salt, a dollop of oil, and a sprinkle of sugar joined the heap of flour I¡¯d prepared earlier. Now, for the final touch. Using a small clay pot, I scooped steaming water from the fire I¡¯d kept burning nearby and poured it into the mixture. Steam rose as the water hit the flour, carrying the faint scent of sweetness and warmth. Grabbing a sturdy wooden spoon, I began to stir, the ingredients combining into a sticky, unrefined dough. It was rough work, my hands straining against the thickening mass. ¡°Alchemy and cooking,¡± I said aloud, smirking to myself, ¡°basically the same thing, except one of them doesn¡¯t explode. Usually.¡± The dough began to take shape, soft and pliable under my hands. As I kneaded it, I allowed myself a small moment of pride. I¡¯d created something from nearly nothing¡ªanother step toward self-reliance in this Stone Age nightmare. If this worked out, bread might actually become a thing again. And who knew? Maybe I¡¯d even start charging the tribe for a taste. After all, nothing says ¡°power¡± like controlling the food supply. I know I should be storing my mana for few days and prepare to use the iron and gold I collected, but this task needed to be done, I distracted the nosey people and get to eat the breed I keep craving. Actually, now that I thought about it, this wasn¡¯t just about bread. I could coat fish or meat with flour before frying it¡ªsomething I¡¯d only dreamed of since being stuck in this prehistoric culinary wasteland. The thought of crispy, golden-brown meat made my stomach growl. I made a mental note to test it soon, preferably before anyone in the tribe caught wind of my genius and tried to take credit for it. But for now, I had to focus. I wiped the flour dust off my hands and set the wooden bowl aside. There was still daylight, and I wasn¡¯t about to waste it. My alchemy spell was taxing, but it worked wonders. I couldn¡¯t risk coming back here every time I needed supplies, so I decided to gather as much oil, salt, and sugar as I could and take it back to the cave. I set to work, repeating the spell with the remaining plants in the area. My aura hummed as I drew out more oil, watching it pool like liquid gold in a small clay jar. The salt crystals sparkled as they formed, and the sugar dripped like honey, thick and glistening. The spell was efficient but exhausting. With each cast, I felt the drain on my mana, a dull ache spreading from my core to the tips of my fingers. Still, I pushed through, determined to make this haul worth the effort. Once I had enough, I carefully packed everything into a leather satchel I¡¯d brought with me. The jars clinked softly as I tucked them in, the weight reassuring. With this much oil, salt, and sugar, I could experiment with more than just bread. Maybe sauces? Marinades? The possibilities were endless. I glanced back at the river, the plants swaying peacefully again, as if forgiving me for stripping them of their essence. ¡°Thanks for the contributions,¡± I said, tipping an imaginary hat. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll make it worth it.¡± With my satchel full and my mind buzzing with ideas, I headed back to the cave. My feet crunched on the rocky ground as I climbed the familiar path. Thoughts of crispy, fried meals danced in my head, keeping me distracted from the growing ache in my legs. When I finally reached the cave, the air was thick with the smell of smoked meat and the distant chatter of the tribe. I ducked inside, greeted by the familiar warmth and flickering firelight. As I set my satchel down and began unpacking my spoils, I couldn¡¯t help but grin as my mother took the ingredients to the women helping her. As for the others. Let the others wonder what I¡¯d been doing out there. Let them whisper their rumors and spread their wild theories. Because while they gossiped, I was building something¡ªstep by step, spell by spell. And tonight? Tonight, maybe I¡¯d fry some meat. --- As night fell, the tribe gathered inside the cave, the familiar warmth of the evening small fire casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. People chatted and laughed as they prepared for their meal, the hum of their voices a comforting melody in my ears. Tonight was special, though. Tonight, I would share something new. With the help of my mother and the other women, I had prepared the Msemmen¡ªsoft, layered bread, folded and cooked over the fire until it turned golden and crisp. The smell was intoxicating, a rich, buttery scent that filled the cave and made everyone¡¯s mouths water in anticipation. And beside me lay the jars of fresh honey I had collected today, glistening in the firelight like liquid gold. The The smell attracted attention the moment the first layered bread touched the oiled hot stone. Everyone knew there is something new on the way, in this small tribe there are no secrets that last long. When everything was ready, I stood up, drawing the tribe¡¯s attention with a smile. I held up a piece of Msemmen, drizzled with honey, the sticky sweetness glistening as it stretched between my fingers. ¡°From now on this is called Msemmen, its our tribe new joy in this hard life¡± I announced, my voice carrying over the curious murmurings. ¡°It¡¯s a special bread, and tonight, I want to show everyone how to enjoy it together¡ªwith honey.¡± With that, I took a bite, my face lighting up as I tasted the sweet, rich flavor. The others watched him, their curiosity quickly turning to enthusiasm as they each took a piece of the Msemmen, dipping it in the honey, and tasting the soft, sweet bread for the first time. Gasps of surprise and murmurs of approval filled the air as they savored each bite, laughing and nodding to one another, sharing in the delight of something new. Around the fire, faces lit up with joy, smiles spreading from one person to another. The children laughed as they licked honey from their fingers, the adults exchanged appreciative glances, and a sense of warmth and community filled the space. I looked around, feeling a deep sense of fulfillment at my well planed distraction. This wasn¡¯t just a meal¡ªit was a moment of false unity, a bond strengthened by the sharing of food and tradition. I had given them a taste of something that was mine, something that had come from my memories of another life, and they had embraced it with open stomach''s. As the night wore on, I didn¡¯t allow my heart to swell with gratitude. Here, surrounded by this tribe, I cultivated in them a sense of my belonging and purpose, the warmth of the fire and the sweetness of the honey reinforcing my trap. Am not naive in this world I am tribe of two me and my mother everyone else was just resource. It was a simple meal, but in its simplicity lay a powerful connection¡ªa memory that would linger long after the last bite of Msemmen was gone. I learned that I don''t need silver fork to enjoy good food. But see the funny thing about people is that if you feed them honey with your hand they think that your flesh must be sweet. That is something I will re-learn. World Lore: The Spell of "Get Isekaid"

The Spell of "Get Isekai''d"

In the vast expanse of the multiverse, where realms twist and intertwine like threads of an endless tapestry, there exists a singular abomination feared by all: the spell known as Get Isekai¡¯d. This spell is not merely a tool or a curiosity¡ªit is an existential threat. From false gods who sit on their brittle thrones, to demons who revel in chaos, eldritch horrors older than time, and even the Fae who whisper through shadowed forests¡ªthere is one shared decree: wherever this spell surfaces, it must be obliterated, its knowledge erased, and its users condemned.

The Consequences of Its Use There are countless records, whispered through dimensions and scrawled in forbidden texts, of supreme beings toppled, entire realms unraveled, and cosmic hierarchies shattered¡ªall traced back to Get Isekai¡¯d. Its power doesn¡¯t merely alter; it subverts, injecting chaos into the ordered domination of the multiverse¡¯s most powerful. What makes the spell truly terrifying is its unpredictability.No wielder of Get Isekai¡¯d remains an ordinary being. They are thrust into new worlds, their souls altered, their purpose unclear. Some rise as saviors, others as conquerors, but most become the inevitable ruin of anything that tries to cage them. The multiverse regards them with equal parts hatred and dread, for their very existence tilts the scales.

A Curse or a Blessing? To its enemies, Get Isekai¡¯d is a blight, a sickness that infects the balance of power. Its victims¡ªbe they fallen gods, vanquished demons, or shattered eldritch monstrosities¡ªcall it a curse that topples civilizations and turns once-great powers to dust. Yet there are those who view the spell differently. In the dying whispers of destroyed worlds, oppressed peoples sometimes carve its sigils into their prayers. To them, the spell is not destruction but hope¡ªthe ultimate balancing force. It summons an outsider, one untethered by the rules of the realm, capable of upsetting the entrenched powers that oppress and dominate. To those in despair, the user of Get Isekai¡¯d is not a threat but a reckoning¡ªa countermeasure against tyranny. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The Will of the One True God Legends suggest that the spell is not some rogue anomaly, but the deliberate design of the One True God, the entity above all. It is said that when the multiverse begins to rot under the weight of unchecked power, the One True God does not send plagues or floods¡ªHe sends people. Mortals, imperfect and chaotic, who enter these worlds not as heroes but as wild cards. This divine intervention ensures no single force can ever claim true hegemony. Kingdoms crumble, false gods fall, and reality is reforged under the influence of those called by the spell.

The Unstoppable Nature of the Spell Despite the efforts of every powerful being, every council of gods, every coalition of eldritch horrors, Get Isekai¡¯d endures. It is said that the spell cannot be destroyed, for it is woven into the very fabric of the multiverse itself. Attempts to suppress it have only led to its resurgence elsewhere. Even its use cannot be stopped. Once the spell is cast, its effects ripple through dimensions, ignoring barriers, bending time, and reshaping reality. The individual chosen becomes the center of a storm, a force that neither heaven nor hell can contain.

A World in Fear and Awe Those who understand the spell speak of it in hushed tones, their words laced with both dread and wonder. It is not just a spell but a force of nature¡ªone that cannot be reasoned with or controlled. To some, it is a tragedy. To others, a miracle. But to all, it is inevitable. In the end, the multiverse itself whispers a singular truth: Get Isekai¡¯d will find you, and when it does, nothing will ever be the same.
chapter 17: Shell-shocked but fine.

Time: 14 Years Ago ¨C The Night of Anir¡¯s Birth

Location: The Prison of Lanzule

Deep within the Blood Trees Forest, a place where the trees bleed crimson sap and the air is thick with the scent of iron, lies Lanzule, the Fae¡¯s most heavily guarded stronghold. This prison is not just a place of confinement but a living entity, its walls imbued with ancient magic that feeds on despair. Here, the Fae imprison those who defy their rule, breaking them body and soul until nothing remains but hollow shells. In the deepest, darkest cell of Lanzule, an old woman stirs. She is neither fully human nor entirely Fae, but a hybrid¡ªa relic of a forbidden union between the two races. Her name is Maelis, and she is the last of her kind, a living testament to a time when humans and Fae walked the same paths. Her one good eye, milky and blind, flickers open, and though she cannot see the physical world, her vision pierces the veil of fate itself. Maelis is no Oracle in the traditional sense. She does not commune with False-gods or spirits. Instead, her power comes from her bloodline, a lineage steeped in Faith-mana, a rare and volatile form of magic that binds her to the threads of destiny. Tonight, that volatile essence of power surges within her, violent and uncontrollable it pulsed in her veins, The tendrils of fate vibrated so fiercely the very air screamed with urgency, as if the universe itself is screaming for her attention.

The Prophecy Maelis¡¯s back arches as the weight of ancestral memories crashes into her mind. The ancient instinct of her lineage, a spell carved into her very blood, took hold. Her lips, dry and cracked, move against her will, and her voice¡ªrasping and filled with otherworldly power¡ªechoes through the prison, carrying words that have been silenced for centuries:
¡°When the skies fall silent and the stars grow dim, When the forests whisper of dread within, He shall rise from shadow, fire in his stride, A savior born where the hunted hide. With steps that quake the earth and sky, He will tear the veil where the Fae lie. Chains shall shatter, and bonds be torn, By his will, the dawn is reborn. Woe to the darkness that thought him prey, For the Treader of Dawn will not obey. With blood, with flame, with earth and air, From slavery He shall carve a path none will dare. The Pact will break, the masters will fall, And humanity will rise, the rulers of all. The false-god will fall, for The Treader of Dawn has come.¡±
As the final words leave her lips, Maelis collapses, her frail body trembling violently. Her one good eye clears, now gleaming with a sharpness that defies her age. She whispers hoarsely to the shadows that cling to the prison walls: "The Age of Chaos is upon us," she says, her voice low and filled with grim certainty. "And with chaos comes opportunity." The prison itself seems to shudder, its ancient magic reacting to the weight of fate in her words. What had been suppressed for ages¡ªforgotten prophecies, buried truths, hidden fears¡ªspreads like wildfire through the invisible tendrils of fate.

The Deep-Lands Stir Far beyond the prison, in the cursed expanse of the Deep-Lands, the restless darkness trembles. This is a place where light dares not tread, a realm of eternal night ruled by ancient, unspeakable predators. These creatures, born of primordial chaos, are drawn to the tremor in the world¡¯s fabric. Somewhere, far from their reach but close enough to provoke hunger. A soul has been born¡ªa soul strong, luminous, and ripe with potential. The creatures of the Deep-Lands do not understand prophecy or fate. They do not need to. All they know is the tantalizing scent of power, a feast unlike any other. An immense, shadowy mass stirs, its formless body shifting as countless eyes blink open within its depths. A low, guttural growl reverberates across the land, a sound that sends weaker entities scurrying to the safety of darkness. The birth of a soul like this is a rare occurrence. To the entities of the Deep-Lands, it is an opportunity¡ªa chance to gorge on power and despair.

Maelis¡¯s Wrath Back in Lanzule¡¯s prison, Maelis slowly pulls herself upright, her body racked with exhaustion from the strain of channeling the prophecy. But she is smiling now¡ªa cruel, knowing smile. She reaches for a rusted chain embedded in the prison floor and yanks it free. The sound of metal grinding against stone echoes through the chamber, a harsh reminder of her captivity. Yet, even in chains, she has influence. Her whisper spreads like a serpent through the currents of magic, seeping into the ears of her kin: ¡°The Treader of Dawn has come. Let the false masters beware. Their rule will burn before it crumbles.¡± Her laugh is soft but filled with malice. "And as for the Deep-Lands... let them chase their feast. Let them gorge on their own despair when they fail." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. The Blood Trees Forest rustles ominously, as if in agreement. Somewhere far from this cursed place, a newborn child cries, oblivious to the storm his very existence has unleashed. And the world begins to shift.

Time: 14 years later, after the bread and honey feast.

For the first time, the tribe slept with something close to joy in the air. It wasn¡¯t the unrestrained happiness of a feast or celebration¡ªno, it was careful, hesitant, like stepping over a frozen stream and hoping it wouldn¡¯t crack beneath you. But it was joy nonetheless. The smell of honey and bread lingered in the cave, mixing with the warmth of shared bodies and muted conversations. For one night, we almost forgot the horrors that prowled outside in the darkness. Almost. When morning came, I woke up feeling¡­ different. Less like a walking ball of paranoia fueled by past-life trauma and existential dread. Less like a cornered animal ready to lash out at every shadow. It was progress, however small. I stretched, staring at the cave ceiling as the faint sounds of the tribe stirring reached my ears. For the first time since I woke up in this world, I didn¡¯t feel like I was about to jump out of my skin. Maybe it was the bread. Maybe it was the honey. Or maybe my brain had finally decided to stop replaying my death and betrayal on an endless loop. That last moment of my past life¡­ It wasn¡¯t just unhappy; it was a gaping wound. Fresh, raw, unhealed. When I woke up here, the betrayal felt like it had happened yesterday, not in another lifetime. My mind hadn¡¯t caught up to the fact that I was here now, in a different body, a different place. Looking back, I can admit it¡ªI was a little unhinged. Seeing betrayal in every shadow, imagining enemies where there weren¡¯t any, making pointless decisions like some cornered animal lashing out at everything. That was me. For a while, at least. But now? Now I had time. Time to cool off, to stabilize, to think. And what I realized was¡­ this is another life. A new opportunity. Or, if you listen to my paranoia, a brand-new chance for life to screw me over in spectacular fashion. Don¡¯t get me wrong¡ªmy paranoia isn¡¯t exactly wrong. The Fae exist. The forest is full of things that want to eat me. And people? People are always the biggest danger of all. But still, I can see it now. My knee-jerk reaction to seize control of the tribe, to make them mine, was just some primal, idiotic reflex. Sure, it made sense at the time. Control means safety, right? If I control the tribe, I control the narrative. I control who lives and who dies. But that¡¯s not living. That¡¯s surviving. And if I¡¯m going to make it in this world, I need to do more than just survive. its time for short morning vacation.

Shell-shocked

I stood and grabbed the iron sword I just crafted the moment before, its weight familiar in my hands. The tribe was waking up, their voices blending with the crackle of the morning fire. I slipped out of the cave, the cool air hitting my face as I made my way into the forest. The forest was quiet, save for the rhythmic swish of my blade cutting through the air. I wasn¡¯t training for anyone¡¯s eyes but my own, hidden from the curious stares of the tribe. Each swing was precise, deliberate, and brutal¡ªan extension of my thoughts made physical. I adjusted my grip, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension there. My body moved, following a sequence etched deep into my muscle memory. A step forward, a low sweep, a twist of my wrist into a sharp upward slash. I let the motions flow, letting them pull me into a meditative rhythm. But my mind was anything but calm. The trauma of betrayal is no easy wound to heal from. The thought lingered, heavier than the sword in my hand. The memory of my old life, of my death, played on repeat in the back of my mind like a haunting melody I couldn¡¯t escape. The blade whistled through the air, slicing an invisible foe. My jaw tightened as the motions became sharper, more violent. Even in this new world, this different life, I can still feel it¡ªthat pain. It¡¯s not just a memory. It¡¯s a splinter, buried deep, festering in places I can¡¯t reach. I stepped back, feinting an imaginary counterattack, my movements sharp but controlled. Yet, inside, there was chaos. I¡¯m not delusional. I know I¡¯m behaving like a lunatic. Obsessing. Plotting. Preparing for wars that haven¡¯t even started. My grip on the hilt tightened, my knuckles white as I brought the blade down in a heavy strike. The vibration traveled up my arm, grounding me for a moment. I exhaled slowly, lowering the sword. My chest heaved with exertion. My aura, faint and still immature, pulsed faintly around me like an uneasy shadow. I shifted my stance and began again, this time slower, more deliberate. My movements weren¡¯t just a training exercise¡ªthey were a dialogue with myself. The violence of my death was fresh when I woke up here. My body may have changed, but my mind hasn¡¯t forgotten. And what did I decide? More violence. Violence in order. Violence as the solution. I let the blade hover in the air for a moment before sweeping it forward, cutting through a low-hanging branch. The branch fell, and I caught it mid-air, examining its texture as if it held answers. It didn¡¯t. I tossed it aside and resumed my drills. My feet moved through the leaf-strewn forest floor with practiced precision, crunching softly against the undergrowth. The sword became an extension of me¡ªof my thoughts, my emotions, my rage. It¡¯s not just the betrayal that haunts me. It¡¯s the way it rewired me. Every interaction is suspect. Every smile hides a blade. And yet, I can¡¯t stop. I don¡¯t know how to stop. Trust is a luxury I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever afford again. I paused, the tip of the blade resting against the ground. My shoulders slumped for a moment, but only a moment. Then I straightened, rolling my neck to shake off the tension. But that¡¯s the irony, isn¡¯t it? Trust may be gone, but this paranoia? This vigilance? It¡¯s kept me alive. I¡¯ve traded my humanity for survival. I stepped forward again, my blade rising in an arc before twisting into a reverse slash. The movements became smoother, the rhythm almost hypnotic. My breathing steadied, and I found myself sinking deeper into the practice, my thoughts sharpening with each strike. This¡­ this is my meditation. My rebellion against the chaos in my head. The blade moves, and I find a sliver of peace in its simplicity. It¡¯s not about the violence¡ªit¡¯s about control. Control over my body, my mind, my choices. A way to ground myself in this cursed world. The sword cut through the air one last time, and I stopped, planting the blade into the dirt. My chest rose and fell with measured breaths. I stared at the trees around me, their towering forms a silent witness to my struggle. My hands relaxed on the hilt, and for the first time in what felt like hours, I allowed myself to just be. I may never heal from what was done to me, but I can adapt. I can build something new from the ashes of the old. With that thought, I wiped the blade clean against my tunic and sheathed it. The forest still felt hostile, the shadows too deep and too quiet. But for now, I had claimed a moment of clarity. And in this world, clarity was as precious as gold. Chapter 18: Because I鈥檓 not a dog.
Part one

Kael¡¯s Memory: The Taming
Kael crouched behind a jagged boulder, his breath shallow. His fingers dug into the damp earth as he watched Anir slip into the treeline, moving like a shadow among the leaves. The boy should have hesitated. Should have looked back. But he didn¡¯t.
The boy moved with a quiet confidence, his leather pack slung over one shoulder and a crude spear in hand. There was something about the way he carried himself¡ªcalm, deliberate, as if he knew something the rest of them didn¡¯t. Kael couldn¡¯t help but admire him, even as a pang of guilt twisted in his chest.
Anir didn¡¯t need watching. He was sharp, relentless¡ªsomething the others hadn¡¯t yet realized. But still¡­ Kael remained. Not out of duty. Not out of kindness. But because part of him needed to understand why the boy refused to break.
The forest was no place for hesitation. It swallowed the careless, broke the reckless, and erased the unworthy. Predators lurked in the shadows, and the Fae¡¯s influence seeped into every branch and leaf. Yet Anir walked as if he owned the land, his aura faint but steady, a flicker of defiance in the gloom.
Kael exhaled, pressing his clubfoot against the cool stone. His mind drifted back to the day he first truly noticed Anir¡ªnot as the quiet, strange boy who collected odd rocks and muttered to himself, but as someone who refused to be broken.
And it all started with the taming.

The Taming: A Few Years Ago
The sun hung low, casting fractured shadows over the clearing. The tribe¡¯s children had gathered near the cave entrance forming rough circle, anticipation thick in the air. Their laughter sharp and mocking. At the center of the circle stood Anir, his small frame dwarfed by the older boys. Yet a defiant figure among wolves.
Kael lingered at the edge, his clubfoot aching as he shifted his weight. He knew what was coming. He¡¯d been through it himself.
Jarek, the eldest of the group, stepped forward. His grin was a hunter¡¯s grin, all teeth and cruelty. ¡°Lower your arms, runt,¡± he sneered. His voice was a whip, cracking through the air. ¡°Don¡¯t hit back.¡±
The others jeered, their excitement rising.
Anir¡¯s fists stayed clenched, his knuckles turning white, his eyes blazing, never wavered. A younger boy, barely older than Anir, darted forward and struck him across the shoulder¡ªa testing blow, a taunt. Anir swung back, his punch landing squarely on the boy¡¯s cheek.
The punch landed with a crack. The younger boy stumbled, eyes wide with shock. The jeering cut off, replaced by a hush of disbelief.
The circle erupted in jeers.
Jarek¡¯s face darkened. ¡°You don¡¯t hit back,¡± he growled. "I just did." A fist slammed into Anir¡¯s ribs. Then another. He staggered but didn¡¯t fall.
¡°You don¡¯t hit back!¡± Jarek barked, stepping forward. Jarek struck out with the lazy cruelty of someone who had done this many times before. Anir barely had time to brace before he hit the ground, dust rising in a small cloud around him. The laughter of the other children was sharp, like flint scraping against bone.
Kael winced. He remembered the sting of Jarek¡¯s hands, the humiliation of being forced to submit. This is how they break you. The tribe called it taming¡ªa ritual to weed out the weak, a lesson to teach the young their place and their parents place in the tribe food chain.
But Anir wasn¡¯t like the others. He didn¡¯t cry. He didn¡¯t beg.
He just stood, and hit back his jaw set, his eyes burning with something Kael couldn¡¯t name.
The next blow came from behind, knocking Anir to his knees. Another followed, then another, until Anir lay curled in the dirt, his breath ragged, his body trembling but his silence unbroken.
Kael looked away.

The Next Day: Anir¡¯s Rebellion
Morning came, dragging the echoes of yesterday¡¯s cruelty with it.
The children gathered again, forming their ring of power and submission. Kael stayed back, arms crossed over his chest, his stomach churning. He didn¡¯t want to watch, but he couldn¡¯t look away.
He told himself he didn¡¯t care. It¡¯s just the way things are.
Anir stood in the center once more. His lip was split, bruises blooming across his skin, but his posture remained unyielding.
In his hands, he held something new¡ªa rope, crudely braided from leather, a jagged stone tied to one end.
¡°What¡¯s that, runt?¡± Jarek sneered, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.
Anir didn¡¯t answer. His eyes were wild holding a promise of violence, his unignited aura flickering like a dying flame. His silence was sharper than any insult. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
The younger boy lunged again, but this time, Anir was ready.
The rope swung in a deadly arc, the stone smashing into the boy¡¯s temple with a sickening crack.
Anir¡¯s arm tensed¡ª He swung the rope in a deadly arc, with a whistling crack the stone met flesh cracking against the boy¡¯s temple.
A sharp cry followed. The child stumbled back, and crumpled. Blood welled where the impact had split skin, trickling down his face like war paint.
The circle erupted in chaos.
Jarek rushed forward, fury twisting his face. Anir didn¡¯t hesitate. The rope lashed out again, striking Jarek¡¯s arm with enough force to stagger him. Another boy tried to grab Anir from behind¡ªan instant mistake. Anir twisted, elbow smashing into ribs.
The fight devolved into chaos. Young unignited auras clashing like magnetic fields. Blood, dirt, and dust filled the air. By the time it ended, everyone was bruised, battered, and bleeding.
Kael¡¯s breath caught in his throat. Anir moved with a ferocity he¡¯d never seen before¡ªa feral, desperate energy that made the older boys hesitate.
Anir stood last. His breath heaved, the rope dangling from his raw-knuckled grip.
The clearing reeked of sweat, copper, and the quiet disbelief of those who had never seen a beaten dog bare its teeth.
Anir¡¯s face was a mask of bruises, his lip split, his knuckles raw. But he stood tall, his chest heaving, and that rope dangling from his hand, a weapon.
The others backed away. Jarek glared, hatred seething behind his eyes, but he didn¡¯t move. The unspoken rule of the tribe had been shattered¡ªAnir was no one¡¯s victim
Kael watched, felt a strange mix of awe and fear, awe creeping into his bones. He fought back, and he¡¯d made them bleed. No submission. No fear. Just raw, undeniable defiance.
The children whispered. The adults took notice.
And Kael, for the first time, saw something dangerous in Anir¡¯s eyes.
Something that would never, ever be tamed.

The Aftermath: Respect and Isolation
The bruises lasted for days. The whispers would last far longer.
Anir¡¯s defiance had left a mark, not just on the boys who had bled under his strikes but on the entire tribe. The children who had once laughed at his silence now watched him from a cautious distance like a wounded predator. They whispered about him in hushed tones, their voices tinged with fear and grudging respect.
The ones who had kicked him now avoided his gaze. Even the ringleader Jarek, once untouchable, carried the weight of his loss in the stiff way he walked past Anir, his jaw clenched but his fists never rising. Though his eyes burned with resentment whenever they crossed paths.
Yet respect did not come without cost.
Anir moved through the camp like a phantom, alone even among his own people. No one challenged him again, but neither did they welcome him. He had shattered their rules, proven that the unspoken laws of submission did not apply to him. And for that, they did not know what to do with him. After all he did win.
Kael saw it happen. The way Anir ate alone, worked alone, disappeared into the forest without a word. He acted as if he didn¡¯t care, but Kael knew better. No one could be truly alone without feeling it.
The rope, now frayed and stained, still hung from Anir¡¯s belt¡ªa reminder of the fight that had changed everything. A trophy.

The Whispers of the Tribe
Whispers slithered through the cave like restless spirits.
The adults saw it too¡ªthe way Jarek refused to meet Anir¡¯s gaze, the way the other children moved around him like he was a sleeping predator. Fear curdled beneath the surface, unspoken but thick in the air. At first, they dismissed it as childish squabbling, but the sight of Anir¡¯s battered face and the bloodied rope sparked uneasy murmurs spoken by parents with injured pride, and fear that there kids position in the tribe might be taken by this new rival.
¡°That boy is dangerous,¡± a hunter muttered near the fire, his voice low, his gaze flicking toward where Anir sat alone. ¡°Too wild. He doesn¡¯t respect order.¡±
¡°He¡¯s strong,¡± another countered. ¡°We need strength, especially now.¡±
Strength, they could respect. But something about Anir¡¯s strength unsettled them.
Kael overheard the conversations, his stomach twisting with unease. He knew what it meant to be marked as different. He¡¯d spent his life navigating the tribe¡¯s judgment, learning to make himself small and useful. But Anir¡­ Anir didn¡¯t seem to care about fitting in.
The Shaman, Tahya, watched in silence, her sharp eyes following Anir¡¯s every move. She had seen it before, the quiet ones who grew into something beyond control. She traced patterns in the ash on the cave wall, the same patterns she had seen in the embers of the fire the night before.
The embers where saying something, Not chaos. Not peace. Something else.
Change.

Kael¡¯s Curiosity
One evening, as the fire crackled and the night air carried the scent of roasting meat, the tribe settled in for the night, Kael found himself sitting near Anir. The boy was sharpening a flint knife, his hands steady, his eyes locked onto the blade as if it held all the answers he needed.
Kael found himself sitting near Anir. Not too close. Not too far.
Kael hesitated, then spoke. ¡°Why did you fight back?¡±
Anir didn¡¯t look up. He continued running the flint against stone, the rhythm slow, deliberate. ¡°Because I¡¯m not a dog,¡± he said quietly. ¡°I won¡¯t be tamed.¡± He stopped sharpening flint, his fingers traced the edge of the rope, now worn and frayed.
Kael frowned, his mind racing as the words sank into his mind like stones into deep water. He¡¯d always thought of the taming as inevitable¡ªa harsh but necessary lesson. He¡¯d learned to submit, to survive. But Anir¡­ Anir was different. "¡®You could¡¯ve ended it,¡¯ Kael murmured. ¡®If you¡¯d just¡­ let them win.¡¯" He hesitated. ¡°You know. Given in.¡±
Anir¡¯s eyes flicked up, sharp and piercing. "¡®Given in. And how long before they took everything?¡¯ Anir¡¯s fingers tightened on the rope. ¡®My pride? My name? My will? I¡¯d rather bleed for something than kneel for nothing.¡¯"
Kael flinched, the words hitting too close to home. He thought of the times he¡¯d curled into a ball, his arms wrapped around his head, waiting for the blows to stop.
Kael¡¯s throat tightened. He knew that feeling. The nights curled into himself, waiting for the blows to stop. The acceptance that this was just the way things were.
The thought kept coming, memory''s of the times he¡¯d curled into a ball, his arms wrapped around his head, waiting for the blows to stop.
He¡¯d told himself it was survival. But now, sitting next to Anir, he wondered if he¡¯d just been lying to himself.
He had survived by surrendering.
Anir had survived by refusing.
¡°You¡¯re different,¡± Kael murmured, his voice soft.
Anir¡¯s lips curled into something that was not quite a smile. ¡°Maybe.¡± He looked down at his knife. ¡°Or maybe everyone else is just too scared to be different. To dream big.¡±
Kael had no response to that. Chapter 19: Because I鈥檓 not a dog part 2
"Oh, how I long to witness the first bewildered steps of an isekai''d soul¡ªbefore they became a calamity, before the world learned to fear their name." ¡ª Lysander the Chronicler
The Isolation
Kael watched Anir as the days passed, and noticed how Respect and fear were two sides of the same blade. And Anir had earned both. Though no one dared to challenge him, no one reached out either. The children spoke of him in hushed tones, the adults watched with guarded eyes, and the campfire never quite felt like home anymore.
But Anir didn¡¯t seem to mind¡ªor at least, he pretended not to. He spent his days working alone, crafting tools, vanishing into the woods for hours at a time. Kael noticed, though. The tension in his shoulders when he walked past a group of whispering hunters. The way his hand always hovered near his knife when Jarek was around. The tired look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching, the way his jaw tightened when the others turned away.
One night, as the tribe gathered around the fire, Kael saw Anir sitting apart from the others, his back against the cave wall. The firelight cast long shadows across his face, making him look older than his years.
Kael hesitated, then grabbed a piece of roasted meat and walked over. He sat down beside Anir, holding out the food.
Anir glanced at him, his expression unreadable. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do that.¡±
¡°I know,¡± Kael said, shrugging. ¡°But you looked hungry.¡±
Anir stared at the offering for a long second before taking it, his fingers brushing against Kael¡¯s for the briefest moment. His grip was firm¡ªcalloused, solid. Not a child¡¯s hand. Not anymore.
Kael said nothing. But as they ate in silence, he knew, somehow, that this was the first and last time Anir would ever accept help.
They ate in silence, the crackle of the fire filling the space between them.
Ranla¡¯s Watchful Eyes
From across the fire, Ranla watched her son. Her hands were busy braiding sinew into cord, but her eyes never left Anir. She had seen the bruises on his face, the bloodied rope hanging from his belt. She had heard the whispers, the murmurs of fear and respect.
She wanted to go to him to hold him, but that would make him look weak. So she waited.
He¡¯s too much like his father, she thought, her chest tightening. Harlo had been a hunter, strong and defiant, but his pride had cost him his life. Ranla had warned Anir, over and over, to be careful. To blend in. To survive.
But Anir wasn¡¯t like the others. He never had been.
Ranla¡¯s fingers trembled as she worked, the sinew slipping from her grasp. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. She couldn¡¯t afford to show weakness¡ªnot now, not ever.
A Mother¡¯s Fear
Later that night, after the fire had burned low and the tribe had settled in for sleep, Ranla found Anir in their corner of the cave. He was sharpening a new flint knife, his movements precise and deliberate.
¡°Anir,¡± she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He looked up, his eyes sharp in the dim light. ¡°Mother.¡±
Ranla knelt beside him, her hands resting on her knees. She wanted to reach out, to touch his face, to smooth away the bruises and the shadows. But she didn¡¯t. She couldn¡¯t.
¡°You need to be careful,¡± she said finally, her voice tight. ¡°The others¡­ they¡¯re afraid of you.¡±
Anir¡¯s jaw tightened, but he didn¡¯t look away. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of them.¡±
¡°That¡¯s not the point,¡± Ranla snapped, her frustration bubbling over. ¡°You think you¡¯re strong because you fight back, but strength isn¡¯t just about defiance. It¡¯s about knowing when to hold your ground and when to step back.¡±
Anir¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°And what would you have me do? Bow to them? Let them break me?"
"so this is an eye for an eye?, you popped many eyes for yours."
"no this isn''t an eye for an eye, but if it is not all eyes are equal.¡±
Ranla flinched, the words hitting too close to home. She thought of the times she¡¯d bowed her head, swallowed her pride, and endured the tribe¡¯s judgment. She¡¯d done it to survive, to protect Anir. But now, looking at her son, she wondered if she¡¯d only made things worse.
¡°I just don¡¯t want to lose you,¡± she said finally, her voice breaking.
Anir¡¯s expression softened, but only for a moment. ¡°You won¡¯t,¡± he said quietly. ¡°But I won¡¯t live like a dog, either.¡±
Ranla sighed, her shoulders slumping. She wanted to argue, to make him understand how to play the social game, but she knew it was pointless. Anir was too much like his father¡ªstubborn, proud, unyielding. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Kael¡¯s Reflection
From his spot near the cave entrance, Kael watched the exchange between Anir and Ranla. He couldn¡¯t hear their words, but he could see the tension in their bodies, the way Ranla¡¯s hands clenched and unclenched at her sides.
He felt a pang of sympathy for Anir. Kael¡¯s own mother had died when he was young, leaving him to navigate the tribe¡¯s harsh world alone. He¡¯d always envied Anir for having a parent who cared, but now he wondered if that care came with its own kind of burden.
Kael glanced at the fire, now reduced to glowing embers. The tribe was asleep, their breathing slow and even. But Kael couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was shifting, something dangerous and inevitable.
The Bond of Outsiders
The next morning, Kael found Anir by the river, his hands busy with a piece of leather and a bone needle. Kael hesitated, then sat down beside him.
¡°Your mother¡¯s worried about you,¡± he said, his voice tentative.
Anir didn¡¯t look up. ¡°I know.¡±
¡°She just wants you to be safe.¡±
Anir¡¯s hands stilled, his gaze fixed on the leather. ¡°Safe,¡± he repeated, his voice bitter. ¡°What does that even mean? Hiding in the shadows, pretending to be something I¡¯m not?¡±
Kael didn¡¯t have an answer. but he worked up the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at him.
¡°Do you ever regret it?¡± he asked, his voice tentative. ¡°Fighting back, I mean.¡±
Anir paused, his hands stilling among the leaves. ¡°No,¡± he said after a moment. ¡°I¡¯d rather bleed than bow.¡±
Kael nodded, though he wasn¡¯t sure he agreed. He¡¯d spent his life hiding, surviving. But sitting there, with the sun warm on his face and the river murmuring nearby, he wondered if there was another way.
¡°Maybe¡­¡± Kael began, then hesitated. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right. Maybe we don¡¯t have to live like this.¡±
Anir glanced at him, his expression unreadable. ¡°And what would you do differently?¡±
Kael thought for a moment, then shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But I¡¯m tired of being afraid.¡±
Anir studied him for a moment, then nodded. ¡°So am I.¡±
The Seeds of Change
As the days turned into weeks, Kael began to see the tribe through Anir¡¯s eyes. He noticed the way the hunters hoarded the best cuts of meat, the way the elders dismissed the younger members¡¯ ideas. He saw the cracks in the tribe¡¯s unity, the fragile threads that held them together.
And he began to wonder if Anir¡¯s defiance wasn¡¯t just about survival¡ªit was about something more. Something bigger.
But change was dangerous. The tribe needed order, not rebellion. And yet¡­
Kael glanced at Anir, who was sharpening a spear with quiet focus. The boy¡¯s hands were steady, his expression calm.
Maybe, Kael thought, we need someone who won¡¯t bow.
Kael sat by the fire, his clubfoot stretched awkwardly to the side as he sharpened a flint knife. The rhythmic scrape of stone against stone was soothing, a distraction from the memories that haunted him.
He glanced at Anir, who was crouched near the cave entrance, his hands busy with a piece of leather and a bone needle. Anir¡¯s movements were precise, his focus absolute. He didn¡¯t seem to notice the wary glances the other children cast his way.
Kael envied that¡ªAnir¡¯s ability to shut out the world, to exist in his own space. He wished he could do the same.
But the memories of his Taming always found him.
The Kael Taming
Kael had been seven winters old when it happened. The tribe had just settled in a new cave, its walls still damp with the chill of the underground spring. The children had gathered outside, their laughter echoing off the stone as they played a game of chase.
Kael had been slow, as always. His clubfoot dragged behind him, a constant reminder of his weakness. The others didn¡¯t mean to exclude him¡ªnot at first. But as the game grew more intense, they stopped waiting for him to catch up.
¡°Hurry up, Kael!¡± one of the boys had called, his voice tinged with impatience.
Kael had tried. He¡¯d pushed himself, ignoring the ache in his leg, the sting of tears in his eyes. But he¡¯d stumbled, his foot catching on a root, and fallen face-first into the dirt.
The laughter had stopped.
¡°Look at him,¡± Jarek had sneered, his voice cutting through the silence. ¡°He can¡¯t even run. What good is he?¡±
The others had murmured in agreement, their eyes narrowing as they circled him. Kael had scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding.
¡°I¡ªI can help,¡± he¡¯d stammered. ¡°I can gather herbs, or¡ª¡±
¡°Gather herbs?¡± Jarek had laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. ¡°We don¡¯t need a cripple slowing us down.¡±
The first blow had come from behind, knocking Kael to his knees. The others had joined in, their fists and feet landing with brutal precision.
¡°Lower your arms,¡± Jarek had commanded, his voice cold. ¡°Don¡¯t hit back.¡±
Kael had obeyed. He¡¯d curled into a ball, his arms wrapped around his head, his body trembling as the blows rained down.
This is the way, he¡¯d told himself. This is how you survive.
The Aftermath
When it was over, Kael had lain in the dirt, his body aching, his spirit broken. The others had walked away, their laughter ringing in his ears.
He¡¯d crawled to the edge of the clearing, where the forest loomed dark and silent. For a moment, he¡¯d considered walking into it¡ªletting the shadows swallow him whole.
But he hadn¡¯t. He¡¯d dragged himself back to the cave, his clubfoot scraping against the ground, and pretended nothing had happened.
Anir¡¯s Rebellion
Years later, Kael had watched as Anir faced the same ritual. He¡¯d expected the same outcome¡ªsubmission, brokenness.
But Anir had fought back.
Kael still remembered the look in Anir¡¯s eyes¡ªwild, defiant, unyielding. He¡¯d swung that strange rope with a ferocity that had stunned everyone, including Jarek.
By the end of the fight, Anir had been bloodied and bruised, but he¡¯d stood tall, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing.
The others had backed away, their bravado shattered.
Kael had felt a strange mix of awe and fear. Anir had done what no one else had dared¡ªhe¡¯d fought back, and he¡¯d made them bleed.
The Weight of Survival
Now, as Kael sat by the fire, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder if he¡¯d made the wrong choice. He¡¯d submitted, he¡¯d survived, but at what cost?. His Cowardice and fear of being an outcast pushed him away from Anir, they where friends then he gave it up, but for what?.
Anir had scars, but they were marks of defiance, of strength. Kael¡¯s scars were invisible, buried deep beneath layers of shame and regret.
He glanced at Anir again, his fingers tightening around the flint knife.
Maybe I should have fought back, he thought. Maybe I still can.
But the thought was fleeting, drowned out by the weight of years of submission.
Kael sighed and returned to his work, the rhythmic scrape of stone against stone filling the silence. Then before he could change his mind he stood and moved to site besides Anir and Monire.