The first wind of the dry season drifted across the high canopies of Ikanbi, brushing the tops of the bamboo forest with a whisper that felt more like a warning than a breeze. Within the camp, life moved with rhythm—not fast, but certain. Fires were lit with purpose. Spears sharpened with care. Paths cleared with strategy.
Ben stood near the edge of the training ring he had ordered built just two days prior. It was little more than a flattened circle outlined in stone and rope, but already, it had become something more. A symbol of discipline. A test of ego.
Sema sparred with one of the newer marked—a lanky, fast-footed man named Olem. She danced around him with the calm efficiency of someone who knew more than just how to hit. She knew how not to. Her movements controlled the fight before it began.
The other branded watched silently.
When Sema disarmed Olem with a twist of the wrist and a hook to the leg, Ben raised a hand. "Enough."
Olem stood, breathing hard, a spark of shame in his eyes.
Ben spoke firmly. "Marks mean nothing without control. You're not warriors because you're strong. You're warriors because you serve a purpose greater than yourself."
The branded nodded. No argument came. That was happening more often now.
Later that afternoon, with the tasks of the day set in motion—Kael and Jaron scouting the southern cliff paths, Druel building elevated storage racks, Boji assisting Mala in reinforcing the eastern post—Ben slipped away, drawn by a familiar, low presence humming at the back of his mind.
He followed the bamboo path toward the quiet side of the forest—toward the place where Twa Milhom lived.
He expected silence.
Instead, he found motion.
Twa Milhom was outside, alone, surrounded by the hum of unseen power. Shirtless and barefoot, he moved through a sequence of combat steps with unnatural precision. There was no hesitation in his form, no pause to consider the next motion—only execution. Strikes, steps, turns, rolls, all flowing into one another like a deadly river.
He performed the set again.
And again.
Ben didn't speak. He didn't dare.
He stood at the edge of the clearing and simply watched. The air shimmered slightly with each sweep of the god's hand, like the fabric of the world itself bowed to the motion.
Time passed. Minutes. An hour, maybe more.
Only when Ben found his body naturally mimicking the first part of the sequence—without thinking—did Twa Milhom stop.
The god turned, eyes sharp but not cruel. "Good," he said. "Now you won't forget."
Then he turned toward the house and gestured for Ben to follow.
Inside, it was not what Ben expected.
No divine relics. No glowing walls. No unnatural comfort. Just a space carved with care and strength. But at the center of the room sat a ring of black stones, arranged in a circle, charred and smooth.
They looked like they should be radiating fire. But there was no flame. No heat.
And yet Ben felt something from them—like a memory of fire that burned for lifetimes without ceasing.
"You burn nothing?" Ben asked, stepping close.
Twa Milhom stood behind him, voice like gravel and sky. "Only what deserves to burn."
Ben nodded slowly. He didn't understand. Not fully. But part of him already felt changed by the lesson.
That night, as he returned to camp, the moonlight caught on the forehead marks of the warriors—faint rings, each inscribed with a I in the center. It reminded Ben how far they had come.
And how far they still had to go.
The sun had barely begun to rise when Ben stood alone in the ring, barefoot, his shadow stretched long across the packed dirt. His body repeated the motion—not perfectly, not yet—but with a determined rhythm. Step, pivot, low sweep, twist, upward shift, open palm, retract. The sequence Twa Milhom had shown him felt like a ritual carved into the fabric of his muscles now.
By the time the sky turned gold, others had begun to gather.
They came quietly—Boji first, then Mala, then Jaron and Kael. Druel ambled over mid-stretch, yawning but present. Sema arrived last, tying her hair back with a vine strip and stepping into formation without a word. One by one, every member of the tribe joined in. Not just warriors, not just the branded. Everyone.
Ben didn't issue a command.
He demonstrated.
Again. And again.
The sequence was not easy. It bent the body in unfamiliar ways. It required breath control, balance, and presence of mind. But no one questioned it.
"This," Ben said, pausing between cycles, "is how we begin and end each day. Morning and night. It belongs to us now."
Some groaned. Most just nodded and kept moving. The forest rang with the synchronized shuffle of feet and breath. The motion had become a pulse—alive within them.
By nightfall, the last rays of sun caught the sight of nearly thirty bodies moving in slow rhythm. No one sat out. No one slacked. This was no longer just a movement—it was theirs.
Later, as the tribe settled into the evening routine, Ben sat near the racks with Druel, who chewed absently on a sliver of bark and stared into the fire.
"That movement," Druel muttered, "feels like it's doing something to my bones. Like I'm being reshaped."
Ben chuckled softly. "Then you're on the right path."
Druel leaned forward. "You've been inside the god's house, haven't you?"
Ben glanced at him. He didn't answer.
"I figure there's more to that place than anyone's seen," Druel continued. "What's it like?"
Ben paused, then said slowly, "There's a circle of black stone in the center. A pit… made for fire, but it holds no flame. And yet it feels alive—like fire once lived there, and may again."
Druel's eyes narrowed in thought. "Sounds like something worth repeating."
Ben looked at him carefully.
"I haven't shown it to anyone," Ben said. "No one else has seen it. But maybe… maybe we build small versions. Not because we understand it, but because we respect what it represents."
Druel nodded. "Then we'll place one in every home. Not as sacred. Just… part of the foundation."
Ben gave a faint smile and looked toward the edge of the bamboo grove, where the air always felt heavier, as though Twa Milhom was listening—watching silently.
"We're not just surviving anymore," Ben thought. "We're beginning something deeper."