The crowd pressed in tight, a wall of heavy breathing and sweating skin that blocked out the cooling night air.
From behind the shifting hips of the villagers, the four brothers looked small, pinned to the limestone grit on their knees.
The space between them and the mob had vanished, leaving only the sharp scent of salt and the terrifying heat of the torches.
Pushing past the onlookers, sliding right into the center, up close, the grit of the sand was ground into their skin, and their trembling hands were white at the knuckles.
They looked up, their faces wet with salt and fear, eyes locking onto the Chief.
Maluma stood over them like a jagged cliff side, his shadow falling over them like a heavy shroud.
The village fell into a strained, airless silence.
Kanka's chin dipped, his gaze falling to the white dust between his knees for a heartbeat. Then, with a slow, heavy movement, he raised his head back up.
He opened his mouth to speak.
"We came from the Rewa province, a village governed by The Great-Land Viti Levu."
Tako's heat vanished. He stilled. His shoulders collapsed into a hollowed silence, his gaze fixed on Kanka's mouth as if he were trying to catch the weight of the "Words" before it hit the dust.
THE REWA PROVINCE.
The air was heavy, humid, and sweet with the smell of mahogany and damp mangrove.
(Kanka voicover): Me and Tambo were hunting wild boar for the communal offering at the main village where all materials were conducted. Our Chief told us to present our due.
The forest floor was invisible, buried under a carpet of giant ferns and ancient mahogany trees. The humidity was a visible haze, a silver mist caught in the shafts of sunlight piercing through the leaves.
Dropping vertically through the canopy layers as if falling, the leaves were broad and leathery, appearing as an impenetrable emerald ocean, down in the Understory.
Suddenly,
the silence was broken by the rhythmic, calculated movement of the hunters.
From directly above, the brothers appeared not as humans, but as apex predators.
The two brothers moved through the undergrowth, separated by a wide kill zone.
The Right Wing:
Kanka's hair was a defiant spectacle—thick, red-spiked plumes that stood out like a warning flare against the emerald canopy.
His copper-bronze skin vibrated with the intensity of his pace.
The filtered light caught the jagged scar across his cheekbone and the X-shaped mark on his chest. His war paint—the reddish-brown ochre known as (KulaKulavei)—was applied in thin, precise strokes.
Sweat carved silver rivulets through the red clay, creating a marbled effect that mimicked the dappled sunlight on the forest floor.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on the target with the cold hunger of the glass-like obsidian tip at the end of his spear.
The Left Wing:
Tambo mirrored the movement on the left. Despite his massive, deep mahogany frame, he possessed a "rolling gait" that was hauntingly silent.
His feet found purchase on slick, tangled roots without a single brittle snap—shff.
His ochre was broader, more aggressive, applied in thick sweeps that emphasized the explosive power of his shoulders.
He held his three-meter spear low. The fire-hardened obsidian tip trailed behind him like a lethal stinger, ready to pivot in a heartbeat.
A single, vertical stroke of darker, mud-thickened ochre ran from their foreheads down to the bridges of their noses, a forensic marker of their intent.
Around their knees and elbows, they wore "V" shaped chevrons, blurring their limbs into the shifting branches of the forest itself.
Near the edges of the designs, the heat caused the ochre to crack into tiny, prehistoric-looking scales—crck-crck. Their skin appeared as ancient and durable as the fire-hardened obsidian they carried.
The only sound was the heavy, synchronized Hnuu-hnuu of their breathing, a low-frequency hum that signaled they were closing in.
Tambo raised a single hand raised vertically,
palm facing Kanka.
Kanka nodded in focus, gripping his spear tighter, his movement more careful against the grass.
A grayish-black creature stood infront of a brittle log with its head low, unaware of the danger near. Its head and body shifted constantly—likely eating something unseen with a wet, rhythmic nff-snort-nff as its snout shoveled through the mulch.
Followed by a series of rapid, messy slurp-smacks as it unearthed from the decayed log.
Kanka and Tambo, however their eyes were fixed at the creature's form.
Kanka signaled a clenched fist held steady as they got closer.
Both men finally stood at the side, crouched.
on the other end, Tambo stepped on a brown leaf that made a crunch sound. The eyes were immediately flicked wide open, almost comically.
The men looked like a tightly wound spring, their stance ready.
Tambo raised three fingers, folding them down one by one: one... two... three.
With that, Tambo threw his spear. The movement was a violent coil, his left shoulder punching forward with a sharp hu-ugh of exhaled air.
The heavy, low thwump of the launch followed the movement—the sound of wood and fiber snapping back into place—and the spear hissed through the leaves, passing the animal by a near-miss.
For a split second, the boar froze completely.
The forest fell into a dead-static silence as the creature processed the lethal event it had just avoided.
Then, the world erupted.
The boar's movement turned into a frenzied dash, the high, rattled squeal of its terror tearing through the silent woods like a serrated blade. Its hooves produced a frantic thud-thud-scrabble against the damp mulch.
Kanka didn't hesitate. He immediately propelled his spear with practiced efficiency, his arm snapping forward with a clean swish-zip.
The obsidian tip landed with a sickened thwunk—the sound of dense, sharpened stone meeting heavy muscle and bone.
The animal instantly fell to the side, its momentum cut short.
It let out a final, choked grunt—a wet, airless glug-hnn—before its legs gave a last, rhythmic thump-scrape against the earth and went still.
The moment fell silent for a exhausting minute.
Both looked at its fallen form
Tambo closed the distance with a sudden, comical burst of speed, his heavy feet hitting the mulch with a rapid —patt-patt-patt—. They slammed together in a tangle of limbs, the impact producing a meaty
—ooff-thud—
Kanka pushed Tambo back slightly, breathless, looking over his shoulder at the kill. "We did it! We did it, we did it, Tambo!"
"Yes, yes, yes. I told you we would pull it off, didn't I tell you? Look at what you did!"
Tambo pointed a calloused finger at the dead animal with a broad grin. "This is not a beginner's mark. You got what it takes." He lowered his voice, the sound a low, conspiratorial hum. "And you know what that means?"
Kanka placed his hands up fleetingly, cutting him off. "You don't need to tell me. It means i get to be part of the team now?"
"That's right. You will indeed Compete against the big papas." Tambo threw a heavy arm around Kanka's shoulders and delivered a hearty slap-thwack to his chest.
"I'm not much surprised you surpassed Konto. He was always light-footed, but you might have balls of obsidian after all, brother."
Kanka gave him a sharp side look, pulling the weight of the arm off of him with an amused, but annoyed smirk. "Shut up, Tambo. Start helping me with this piece of meat."
Kanka lowered himself beside the massive boar.
The air expelled from the puncture wound in the boar's ribcage, making a low, gasped whoosh-pttt against the wet earth.
He gripped the shaft, pulling the spear out with a wet, suctioned sclitch-pop. His hands made a tacky shff-shff sound as the blood began to dry.
Tambo immediately dropped to one knee at the boar's head with a heavy thump, the joints in his legs giving a faint crick-crack.
Kanka continued without looking up. "And by the way, since you're so generous making me join the team, I think i will beat you, undermine your status, and... Oh, I think I saw a girl earlier,"
He paused, the corner of his mouth curling into a sharp, side-glinting smirk. "Maybe I missed that. I guess I will have to test that out then, and see what happens."
Tambo's eyes narrowed, his mouth formed a faint smile. "Quite Petty. I'll commend you that, but you fool yourself thinking I would let you win over me. I hold the tiller, brother. I brought you up, I can bring you down again."
He lowered his voice, leaning in with a smirk. "Ah, is that so? It is nice to boast with your head full of wind and lies. This rivalry is too big for your ego's brain. You're going to get a status sickness, like being drunk on cheap yaqona all week after you lose."
Tambo scoffed—a dry h-ha!—pointing a mocking finger. "You're talking nonsense. I still hold the tiller."
Kanka's grin widened. "Indeed, yes. But not the cunning. I'd be careful. If you get too competitive, the resulting pressure could cause the sennit rope holding your pants up to spontaneously disintegrate. You'd be mooning the whole village by midday."
Tambo stared, the absurdity of the vision briefly silencing his retort. He finally let out a loud, genuine laugh—a deep haw-haw-haw that shook his massive frame.
"You caught me offguard there with the Kele-Mutu humor, but I don't agree with the smarts. you look promising for a worthy challenge, Kanka. Deal."
Their hands met over the dead boar with a solid, gripping smack, sealing the new rivalry.
They returned their attention to the animal, the sennit rope making a dry, abrasive skritch-skritch as they bound its legs.
A voice, sharp and frantic, tore through the cool morning air. "Kanka! Tambo!"
The two men snapped their heads up, their necks popping in synchronous-clicks. A figure pounded through the distant forest line, the sound of breaking twigs—crack-snap-crunch—signaling his desperate speed.
Kanka immediately dropped the rope with a soft flop. He took several quick strides to meet the runner halfway. "What? What is it?"
The man staggered, pitching forward, his breathing a ragged, whistling wheeze-huff. His voice was a ragged burst of sound. "Y... your sister! She's at the East coast, by the docks. The Bati are confronting her. Come quickly!"
Tambo shot to his feet. A guttural sound of horror and shock escaped his throat—a sharp, metallic GACK that carried the jagged edge of obsidian.
The celebration was instantly extinguished. The rivalry, the bloodied handshake, the trophy boar, all of it vanished from their minds.
All three men wheeled around and bolted into the woods with frantic speed, leaving the huge, heavy carcass of the wild creature lying abandoned in the trampled earth, like it was nothing but a useless pile of mud.
As they got there, the air instantly thickened with a cloying mix of salt spray, and chalybeate, tasting of the same cold Material as the Bati's clubs.
A harsh, relentless wind, straight off the open ocean, slapped their faces, whipping Kanka's hair and pulling at Tambo's loincloth.
Tantei and Konto also stood amongst the crowd, exchanging looks.
A tight, silent cluster of village onlookers stood at a respectful, terrified distance. They were a muted, somber tableau against the vast, empty sky, their faces were drawn, eyes wide, and fixed on the center of the shore.
No one spoke.
No one dared to.
The only sound was the faint, choked sob from a woman quickly stifled. The air crackled with a suffocated, almost physical tension, thick enough to taste, a shared, silent grief.
And in the middle of this desolate stage was the chilling sight of Kanka's sister on her knees on the bare sand, her head bowed.
The vibrant green of her leaf-woven bodice was now dulled by the spray of the sea, and the geometric carvings on her skirt were caked with the white dust. The jade crescent at her throat caught the dying light, gleaming with a cold, verdant defiance.
Her hair was a magnificent, dark halo of tight curls, pulled back to reveal a face of striking symmetry and warmth. Her eyes were a deep, warm amber-brown.
Standing over her, unmoved as stone, were Four Bati, their oiled skin gleaming dully, their dark sulus whipping gently in the gale.
Their heavy war Totokia (pineaple Club), pointed toward the turbulent sky. It featured a heavy, rounded head with a distinct, sharp spike protruding from the center. The shaft were bound with sennit rope.
It didn't look like it had grown from a tree, it looked as if it had been forged in a volcanic hearth. The oil gave the ironwood a lethal, obsidian-like sheen, making the singular beak look like a spike of cold metal ready to 'peck' the life from the air.
The sight knocked the air from the brothers' lungs. Around them the crowd held its breath, only the wind and the ocean moved.
In their ears, though, a roar rose—tight, animal, and all their own.
The sun beat down on the shoreline, turning the Chief into a carved idol of stone. His head, a smooth mahogany dome, gleaming with a waxy sheen that made the sharp, prominent ridge of his brow cast his eyes into hollow pits of shadow.
Within that darkness, his eyes burned a striking, predatory red, a cold, internal fire that seemed to pierce through the skin of every villager present.
He stood wrapped in cream-colored masi, the dark geometric patterns of the cloth sharp against his skin, while a thick sennit rope anchored a skirt of dried pandanus fibers that hissed—kr-krkt—with every slight shift of his weight.
Below him, Tolu knelt on the cold sand, her frame trembling as tears carved clean, wet streaks through the salt-dust on her polished Mahogany cheeks. Her hand shot up in a desperate, pleading gesture.
"Pl—please don't kill me. I'm sorry. I'm deeply sorry. Lock me up instead, but don't take my life. Please!" she cried. She bowed low, her forehead nearly touching the grit, as she reached for the Chief's bare foot. He drew it back with a sharp, dismissive swish of sand.
The Chief did not look down. He gestured to the silent crowd, his voice deep and resonant, effortlessly slicing through the heavy boom-hiss of the ocean.
"See, people!" the Chief boomed. "Look at this worm begging for mercy. The very one who would end us all in a heartbeat if she obtained the power of the spirits—a rule strictly forbidden by the Le Vaifana."
"Power?" Tambo muttered, the word barely a breath over the rhythmic rush of the tide.
The Chief let the question hang, his dark, burning gaze sweeping over the masses until he looked less like a man and more like a monument of ancient law.
"I want to make something clear: we are civilized people," he lectured, his voice regaining a chilling, formal authority. "We always have been. We forgive, BUT... we do NOT tolerate evil."
His gaze hardened, pinning the crowd.
"For many years we've been exiled from island to island because of people that tried to open a threshold between the physical and spiritual world that got them corrupted, hunting down our homes and killing our kind, And because of this reason, we have to execute her, not out of cold blood, but for our safety."
With a single, sharp nod, he held the brutal ironwood Totokia high. The sunlight caught the singular, hooked beak—glint—letting the entire silent coast bear witness.
Then, he slammed the weapon back into the hands of the nearest Bati—thud-slap—his voice snapping with a brutal finality:
"Buli koya!"
The Bati snatched the weapon and stepped forward, casting a massive, looming shadow over Tolu.
"No, no! Don't. Please!" Tolu's voice was a high, bird-like sound, wet with tears and raspy from the salt.
Suddenly, Tantei broke from the onlookers. He sprinted, his feet thumping—thud-thud-thud, until he threw himself in front of the Bati.
"Stop!!"
The Chief raised one eyebrow, a small movement that felt like a thunderclap. His voice was dangerously soft. "What is the meaning of this, boy? Get back in line."
Tantei's heart hammered against his ribs like a Lali drum. He risked a glance at Tambo and the rest who stood frozen, their face a mask of frantic horror.
—What was my idiot brain thinking?—
"Tantei." The Chief's voice was almost a ragged shout of warning.
Tantei jolted, facing the Chief again. "Yes, Chief."
The Chief did not move his feet. He simply stretched out one hand, a gesture that wasn't reaching, but commanding. His gaze bored into him. "What are you doing?"
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but there must be a slight misunderstanding. You aren't actually serious of Killing her, are you?"
"I can't simply let her go, Tantei." the Chief countered, his tone regaining its lecture-hall authority. "The sailors Tolu took off with to Naisariti, spotted her intercepting the merchants' boats,.."
Tolu was a broken thing pinned to the earth. Her knees were buried deep in the limestone grit, the sharp, crushed shells biting into her skin, her head shaking into a constant 'no, no'.
The Chief continued. "Stealing these following items that are considered spiritual Theft: A Whale tooth, an I-bo, a Yaqona, and a Tanoa, like she wanted to start her own rival ritual." He looked at her sniffling form.
Tolu reached out, her palms were coated in a filth of wet sand and salt-crust, trembling violently.
"No, no. That wasn't true. It was a huge lie! Someone tried to—"
"SHUT UP!!" The Chief's roar wasn't just a sound; it was a physical weight. It hit the air like the crack of a heavy Vesi log splitting in two.
Tolu recoiled as if she had been struck by a club. She collapsed inward. The sound that followed was a hollow, wet sobbing, muffled by her fingers.
Tantei's arms were locked tight across his chest, the muscles in his forearms bulging against his own ribs. His eyes never flickered from Tolu's shaking form, pupils dilating with a silent, helpless empathy that screamed louder than any protest he dared to make.
The Chief's head pivoted back toward Tantei. The transition was terrifyingly smooth, his voice returned to that chilling, lecture-hall calm, as if the roar had been nothing more than a stray gust of wind.
"As I was saying," the Chief continued,
"She knew exactly what she was doing. She tried to reach the spiritual world without permission, and we all know nothing good would've come out of her mouth, but only sin. Now why would she do something so contrary all of a sudden? Whatever her reasons might have been, it still remains unknown, but certaintly not a good one."
He looked Tantei in the eyes, softly. "Do you
understand what I'm saying?"
Tantei nodded. "Yes, Chief."
"The consequences are simply too great if we sweep her sin under our eyes. I know she is your sibling, and your brothers', but she definitely wasn't your family in spirit."
Tantei's voice hinted at fear, but desperation for mercy fueled him. "I know, I know that, but please. There has to be a way to settle this punishment, at least. I know her deeply. We've all known her since birth. She wouldn't just... do something so reckless."
The Chief countered with a lecture-hall coldness. "Are you suggesting we would eventually let her go and risk destroying everything? Are you that selfish to save your own and let the rest of us perish?"
Tantei pulled back, his voice carrying a defensive, fearful edge. "That's... that's not what I said. What I meant was, we could make her think about what she has done without killing her. I mean,"
He gestured to the masses. "If we kill her, then we wouldn't be much different from her comitting a crime, am i right?
The Chief did not blink. He began a slow, forensic scan of Tantei. The only sound was the stiff skritch-crackle of his masi.
"Then she should've thought about her choices before doing something so foolish," the Chief said with absolute finality. "But, if you say so: We could spare her for today. You and your brothers may say your goodbyes. See that as a final mercy. She will be executed first thing in the morning."
He didn't look at the Bati, Then, with a sudden, sharp flick-snap of his wrist…
"Bring her to the Vale Ni Loka."
The name of the cell hit Tolu like a physical blow. As she clawed at the sand—skritch, skritch—the four Bati descended. Their skin, slick with the acrid, bitter scent of charred candlenut ritual oil, pressing against her as they clamped down—wet-slap.
The air was punched out of Tolu's lungs—huff-ghasp. She arched her back, her heels kicking uselessly—thud, thud.
Tantei lunged forward, grabbing the Chief's arm with a dull, meaty thwack against the oily skin. "Chief, please!"
The turned, the sound was a dangerous vocal "click" of the tongue—tk—
His face didn't move. The sharp, permanent clench of his jaw tightened until the masseter muscles bulge like knots in ironwood. His red eyes were fixated. He looked at the hand on his arm, the skin around his eyes crinkled—not with age, but with a calculating coldness.
Tantei released his grip instantly with a wet, sticky peel, with the white pressure marks of his fingers slowly fading back into mahogany.
"I'm sorry. Sorry. Proceed with what you did."
With a final, heavy, synchronized grunt—Hnuu-hnuu—the Bati hoisted the girl.
The Chief turned and walked away, his skirt brushing his shins with the sound of dry grass in a storm.
"Vakacava, me vosoti mada ga vakadua, na Turaga?"
(Can't you spare her just once, Chief?)
The Chief didn't answer. He led the way as the villagers followed, the sound a landslide of bone and shell—shff-shff-shff.
"Na gauna cava era na qai vuli kina, sa sivia na nodra viavialevu," a worker hissed as he passed.
(When will they learn to behave? They are so power-hungry.)
"Sa rerevaki dina oqo. I lomalagi e!" a woman whimpered, clutching her child.
(This is terrible. Oh god!)
Tolu's raw screams were already being swallowed by the indifferent canopy of the Rewa.
Tantei stood alone, his saturated amber eyes fixed on the empty air. Behind him, the ocean merely pulled at the shore with a long, mocking —Shhhhss—
Then, it came.
From deep within the Rewa Shadows, a final, jagged sound tore through the humid gale. It was a raw, bird-like splintering of the air.
"Noooo!!"
The scream hit the shore like a physical shock, until it reached Tantei's' ears as a fading, ghostly vibration. Then, as suddenly as it had erupted, it was severed. Silence rushed back in, heavier than before.