The sun had barely kissed the horizon when Mala found Ben.
Her face bore no expression, but her words struck like an axe.
"Something happened," she said. "A man under Kael forced himself on a woman from Jaron's unit."
Ben's body went still. The air changed. Around them, the hum of daily life continued—stone scraping, firewood snapping, soft conversations—but for Ben, everything dimmed.
"No one stopped it?" he asked, voice hollow.
"They didn't know to," she replied. "Where most of them come from, it's not seen as a crime. Just a wrong time, wrong place… wrong woman."
Ben clenched his jaw. "What about Jaron?"
"He's furious. But uncertain. Even he's not sure what's allowed anymore."
Ben didn't speak. Instead, he turned toward the bamboo slope and walked—fast.
He didn't call for Twa Milhoms.
But the god appeared anyway.
From between the trees, his form emerged, smoke trailing from his shoulders like he'd stepped out of another world.
Twa Milhoms studied Ben's expression, then asked with eerie calm, "You feel it now? The cost of structure without law?"
Ben didn't answer right away. His mind raced, anger burning in his gut.
Twa Milhoms continued. "What you tolerate now, your children will normalize. Decide what kind of people you're breeding."
Ben looked down. "I won't let this go."
"I know," Twa Milhoms said, turning into the shadow of the grove. "That's why I came."
That afternoon, Ben stood before his inner circle: Kael, Jaron, Mala, Sema, Boji.
Kael's jaw was tight. Jaron's fists trembled.
"She didn't scream," Boji said. "But she didn't say yes either."
"That's enough," Sema snapped. "It's always enough."
They fell into silence.
Ben paced once, then stopped. "The man confessed?"
Kael nodded. "Said it's how things were done in his tribe. That he meant no harm."
Ben exhaled slowly. "It wasn't about harm. It was about power."
He turned to them. "We make law today. Not tomorrow. Not when it's easy. Now."
As the sun dipped low, Ben summoned the militia and all the marked.
The clearing fell silent.
Ben stood before them. The accused man was brought forward—muscular, broad, unflinching. The woman he'd wronged stood behind Jaron, her face covered, her breath steady.
"I will say this once," Ben said. "This tribe is not a place where force replaces choice."
He looked at the man. "You are guilty. You said it yourself."
No argument came. The man stared at the ground.
"Today," Ben said, "we straddle the world we came from and the one we are trying to build. Today, I'll offer you a choice rooted in the old ways."
He turned to the woman.
"If you want nothing from him—he will be exiled. No food. No name. No return."
Her head didn't move.
"But," Ben said, "if you choose, he will become yours to command. His life will be bound to your survival. He will hunt for you, build for you, kneel when you say kneel. Until your last breath or his."
The woman raised her head, eyes fierce. "Let him kneel."
The man dropped to his knees without resistance.
Ben nodded. "That is the old way. But listen well. That was the last time."
His voice rose like fire through dry grass.
"From this moment forward—any man, marked or unmarked, soldier or builder, who forces himself on another will be exiled. No trial. No mercy. No return."
He walked among them as he spoke, voice echoing.
"This is not about shame. This is about choice. About what we protect. The fire does not burn for beasts."
A hush settled.
Ben lifted his hand.
"From this day, this law governs us."
Later that night, Ben found Twa Milhoms seated on a rock above the fish pools, staring into the dark water.
"You watched."
"I always do," the god said.
Ben sat beside him.
"I need help. Not for now—but for later. For what we'll become."
Twa Milhoms gave a rare nod. "Law is not for the godly. It is for those who forget."
Ben looked up. "Then help me write what won't be forgotten."
Twa Milhoms raised one finger, and a glyph appeared in the air—burning silver, spinning slowly.
"Each law must be carved not in stone—but in memory. You are their fire now."
Ben stared at the floating mark. "So how do I make it last?"
"Make it fair," Twa Milhoms said. "Make it painful when broken. And make it yours."
Then he was gone.
At the fire pit that night, Ben watched the woman who had chosen servitude over exile. She sat alone, calm.
The man she bound now slept in the dirt beside her tent—head bowed, hands bound. He would feed her, protect her, and answer to her, or face exile on the first sign of disobedience.
And every eye in Ikanbi watched.
Not with fear.
But with understanding.
A line had been drawn.
And no one dared cross it again.
That night, Ben did not sleep.
While the fires whispered and the night winds carried stories not yet told, he sat with a stone tablet Boji had once polished smooth and a sharpened stick soaked in ink made from boiled bark and ash.
The god had spoken: "Make it fair. Make it painful when broken. And make it yours."
So Ben did.
He called them The Nine Pillars of Ikanbi, and beneath each pillar, he carved living laws to shape their tribe—not just for now, but for generations yet unborn.
The Nine Pillars of Ikanbi – Foundational Tribal Laws
Pillar I: Life is Sacred
No man or woman may take the life of another without cause. Murder without reason shall be punished by death or exile.
Killing in defense of self or tribe is permitted.
Killing for sport, anger, or control is a violation of the sacred breath.
Pillar II: No One May Own Another
No man may claim ownership over another's body, soul, or will. All bonds must be chosen.
No rape. No forced labor. No forced unions.
Chosen servitude, as seen in justice or healing, must be accepted by both.
Pillar III: The Fire of the People Must Be Fed
Every member must contribute to the tribe—whether by work, wisdom, or watching.
Those who eat must also gather, build, cook, hunt, or teach.
Laziness without sickness is punished first with hunger, then with exile.
Pillar IV: Words Are Oaths
A promise made before the fire, the god, or the people is binding.
Breaking oaths brings shame and punishment.
Only Twa Milhom or the tribe leader may forgive a broken oath.
Pillar V: The Strong Guard the Weak
Warriors must never harm or exploit the unmarked. To protect is the highest duty.
Abuse of power is punished severely.
A warrior who violates this law loses their ring and place.
Pillar VI: No Theft Between Kin
Taking from another without permission is a crack in the heart of the tribe.
Thieves must repay double or serve the wronged.
Repeated theft leads to exile.
Pillar VII: The Body Must Be Honored
Cleanliness, rest, and discipline build the spirit as well as the flesh.
All must wash before meals and sleep.
All must respect the daily movements, or face loss of honor.
Pillar VIII: Gods Are Not To Be Mocked
Twa Milhom and those he walks with must be spoken of with truth and reverence.
False prophecy, false worship, or mockery shall be punished.
The marked may speak freely with the god—but must not lie about his word.
Pillar IX: The Future Must Be Tended
Children, crops, beasts, and knowledge are the breath of tomorrow.
Harming them without reason is forbidden.
Those who teach or raise others are to be honored and protected.
Ben carved all night. By dawn, the wind had quieted. His hands were cracked and stained.
When the tribe gathered to eat, he stood before them with the stone slab cradled in his arms. Twa Milhom appeared behind him, but said nothing.
Ben set the tablet down in the center of the village, atop three flat stones shaped like an altar.
"These are our lines," he said. "No gods forced them. I did. Because this is our land. And we must not break what we bleed to build."
The crowd was silent.
Then Mala stepped forward and knelt.
Followed by Jaron.
Then Boji, then Kael, then the builders, then the fishers.
They touched the stone.
Not because they were told to.
Because they chose to.