The forest was thick and unyielding as each warrior set off alone, the weight of their trial pressing heavily on their shoulders. The air hung dense with anticipation and whispered fears. For four days, one by one, they hunted. Not just beasts of claw and tooth, but shadows of doubt and temptation that prowled inside their minds.
Ben's led the way, his every step steady yet cautious. The salt satchel still strapped to his back was a reminder of his duty—not just to himself, but to the entire tribe. He was no longer simply a survivor; he was a leader. His prey was a massive jungle cat, fierce and elusive. Hours of tracking tested his patience, his resolve. When finally the beast emerged, snarling and majestic, the battle was brutal. Every strike, every dodge, every breath counted. When the cat finally lay still, Ben's felt a surge of triumph tempered by respect.
Others faced their own trials. Kael stalked a giant boar through thick brush, muscles straining with every leap and bound. Jaron faced a pack of wild dogs, quick and cunning. Mala hunted a towering serpent whose scales shimmered like wet stone. Each warrior fought not just for survival but for the right to lead, to protect, to belong.
Yet the hunt was only the beginning.
At the trial chamber, a massive stone edifice standing silent between Ben's home and Twa Milhoms', each warrior approached with their offering. The huge doors loomed, the weight of unknown challenges beyond them felt like a tangible wall. One by one, the doors slammed shut behind them with a resounding finality that echoed through the compound.
Inside, the chamber was not just a place of combat but of reckoning. Shadows shifted and morphed, weaving visions that forced the warriors to confront themselves. In one corner, a vision of the tribe in flames tempted with selfish power; in another, the ghost of a lost friend whispered for revenge. The trials tested more than muscle—they tested hearts.
Ben's faced a vision that showed his tribe torn apart by greed and division, his own hands stained by betrayal. He was forced to choose: claim power for himself or sacrifice for the good of all. He chose the tribe.
Kael, Jaron, and Mala faced their own crossroads, each wrestling with doubts and fears but ultimately stepping into the role of protector over that of self-interest.
The man who had crossed the tribe's sacred line—the soldier from Jaron's militia who had broken the unspoken law—entered last. His trial was harsher, designed to pry open the defenses of a man who had chosen selfishness over community. Inside, he confronted visions of the victim's pain and the tribe's potential fracture. He faltered, nearly lost to bitterness and denial, but in the final moments, something shifted. A flash of remorse and understanding. Whether true or forced, it was enough to grant him passage, though with heavy eyes and a heavier future.
When the doors finally opened, the warriors emerged changed. Ben's stood taller, marked now as a 3 ring warrior—a leader among leaders. Kael, Jaron, and Mala bore the marks of 2 ring warriors, stepping into greater responsibility with newfound respect. Others carried the marks of 1 ring warriors, the first step toward full standing.
Yet not all had succeeded wholly. Some faces held shadows of selfishness that would take time—and vigilance—to overcome.
Ben's gathered the tribe in the clearing, the heavy silence broken only by the crackle of a small fire. He spoke of trials faced not only with spear and blade but with heart and soul.
"This tribe is more than its walls and fires," he said, voice steady. "It is our bond. Our promise to each other. The strongest warrior is nothing without the tribe behind him. And selfishness will tear us apart."
Eyes flicked to the man from Jaron's militia, who stood apart, marked but weighed with shame.
Twa Milhoms watched from the shadows, silent and inscrutable.
The trials had ended, but the true journey—the building of trust, of unity, of strength—had only just begun.
Command, Duty, and the Path Forward
The firelight flickered gently across Ben's face as he stood before the gathered warriors. The air was still thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and the aftermath of trial. They were home again, but something had changed. Each man and woman marked and ranked now bore more than just symbols on skin—they carried weight, and with it, responsibility.
Ben's eyes swept across the faces—some proud, some uncertain, some still haunted by what they had seen within the chamber.
"I want to make something clear," he began, his voice low but firm, carrying to every ear in the clearing. "The trial is not the end. It is only the beginning."
He paused, letting the silence stretch before continuing.
"Those of you who bear a single ring," he said, gesturing toward the warriors whose marks now glowed faintly with the Roman numeral I, "you now hold authority over those who are marked but unranked. This authority does not give you the right to dominate—but to guide. To protect. To lead."
Heads nodded slowly, some with acceptance, others with the slow dawning of what this new structure meant.
He turned to Kael, Jaron, and Mala, who stood quietly behind him, their presence steady as stone. "And the ones chosen to lead—those with two rings—Kael, Jaron, Mala—they have earned the right to command. Their orders are to be followed. Their authority is the law."
Ben took a breath. This next part mattered most.
"But strength is not chained to rank. Any of you—any marked warrior—can choose to hunt again. Alone. On your own time. If you return with a worthy beast and you are ready for what lies behind the chamber doors… then you may walk that path once more."
Murmurs rose. Some looked inspired. Others unsure. But the fire of ambition, of progress, was lit.
"However," Ben added sharply, "this does not mean you abandon your duties. The tribe must still be protected. Fed. Tended. You are warriors, yes—but you are not above the people. Your strength exists to serve, not to rise above."
He stepped forward, standing at the heart of the circle.
"If I find anyone neglecting their duty in pursuit of more rings, they will not enter the trial chamber. No mark will shield them from my judgment."
He looked toward Twa Milhoms' bamboo-shrouded domain for a brief moment, then returned his gaze to his people.
"You earned your rank. You earn your place every day after. That is what will keep this tribe strong. That is what will protect what we've built."
Silence held for a beat longer—then the warriors straightened, squared shoulders, and nodded. Some clenched fists. Others gripped weapons. A few looked toward the jungle with a glint of determination already returning to their eyes.
The path forward was clear.
The tribe had its warriors.
Now it would see what they did with the power they had claimed.