The Ember Tongue Sect did not return, but their smoke did.
The black column of resin-thick warning drifted across the southern ridges for two more days before fading into the sky. It left behind tension that did not fade with it.
No hunters went south.
No elders gathered roots from those slopes.
Children didn't play near the southern river stones.
Fear was the simplest border.
But borders were not enough. Borders only told you where not to step. They did not tell you who you shared the world with.
The council knew that too.
So they summoned a private meeting.
Council of Seven
They sat in a ring inside the large hide tent.
The air was thick with dried herbs and burning fat.
Hunters guarded the flaps outside.
Children were not allowed.
But I had Baba.
And Baba brought me.
He carried me in without asking permission — not as a child, but as evidence.
The council did not stop him.
The white-haired elder tilted her head toward my breathing and said, "If scouts saw it, scouts should speak."
So I spoke.
Not long speeches. Not adult explanations. Just facts.
"Fifteen," I said. "Ash faces. Wool. Staffs. No iron. No sighted. No horses. No chains."
"And fire?" the eldest asked.
"Green wood burned. Sap smoke. Black. They do it on purpose."
The council murmured, clicking tongues, tapping staffs.
That meant priest logic — piecing ritual into meaning.
"They spoke of Payan," I added.
The room went still.
"What words?" asked an elder.
"They said Payan bring iron, horses, law, and chains."
Haniwa added, "And they said they would burn them before they bow."
The white-haired elder muttered, "So they are not traders. They are not buyers. They are not slavers."
"Then what are they?" a hunter asked.
Baba answered for the council.
"They are enemies of those who would rule."
The council fell quiet again.
Rule was a large word for a small tribe.
Three Choices
The eldest finally tapped her staff and said:
"We have three paths."
She raised a finger.
"One: avoid them. Let Payan and the fire-tongues kill each other."
She raised another.
"Two: ally with them. Their enemies are our enemies."
She raised the third.
"Three: stop them. Payan's wrath would not spare the valley."
The third option was the most dangerous.
Stopping zealots rarely worked without drowning them in bodies.
We had no bodies to spare.
Baba asked, "What do they want?"
The council had no answer.
The white-haired elder finally said, "They want fire to speak for them."
That was a religious answer.
I gave a political one.
"They want Payan to fear the valley."
Heads turned.
Fear was a currency too.
The Question of Kings
Then came the line that mattered.
The eldest elder asked:
"If these fire-tongues oppose Payan, then who leads them?"
Silence.
Hunters did not like questions without tracks.
Priests liked questions with too many answers.
The white-haired elder finally whispered:
"A king."
The hunters in the room stiffened.
The council did not use the word king lightly. Kings were not tribal titles. Kings were civilization titles.
To speak of kings meant speaking of Payan.
To say there were kings meant admitting the world was larger than Alkenny.
And then she added:
"Or someone who wishes to become one."
That line felt aimed in more than one direction.
Baba did not react, but he did not deny it.
The System chimed for my eyes only:
Conceptual Unlock: Kingship (External)
Sovereign Note: Kings arise when tribes organize beyond kinship and fear.
Tribes bound by blood.
Kingdoms bound by purpose.
No Decision is a Decision
After much tapping and murmuring, the council reached consensus without stating it aloud.
The white-haired elder said:
"Until Payan move again, we do nothing."
That was the most dangerous of the three choices.
Doing nothing changed nothing.
Doing nothing let others decide the future.
Doing nothing conceded initiative.
But it was the safest in the short term.
The System logged it brutally:
Council Strategy: Passive Observation (Short-term Survival)
Sovereign Strategy: TBD (Long-term Development)
I was three, but not stupid.
Survival tribes chose survival choices.
Kingdoms did not.
Baba's Counter-Plan
That night, Baba sat with me by the central fire. Haniwa slept nearby. Tullen carved wood with a bone knife. The others listened in silence.
Baba turned the clay tablet in his hands — the one with the border marks and the enemy symbol.
He looked at me — not at my eyes, but at my face.
"The council waits," he said.
I nodded.
"We do not wait."
I nodded again.
He looked into the fire.
"Waiting is good for hunters. Waiting is death for those who build."
That sentence could have been carved into stone.
Because it was true.
Because it was civilizational.
The System chimed:
Sovereign Attribute Unlocked: Initiative (Seed)
Effect: Enables proactive strategy despite cultural inertia.
Then Baba asked me a question no hunter had ever asked a child in this tribe:
"What do you want?"
Not:
"What did you see?"
Not: "What did you hear?"
Not: "What did you learn?"
But:
"What do you want?"
That question separated animals from planners.
It separated tribes from nations.
I thought for a moment, then said:
"I want to meet Payan."
The fire popped, sending sparks into night.
Haniwa blinked. "Why?"
"Because Payan build," I said. "They make iron, horses, law, roads, and writing. Fire-tongues burn. Slavers take. Payan build."
Tullen looked confused. "But if they build, then they are strong."
"Yes," I said. "Strong makes roads. Roads bring trade. Trade brings people. People bring cities."
The children didn't know the word city, but the tone carried enough weight.
Talli frowned. "But we are small."
"Yes," I said. "So first we learn how big Payan is."
Baba stared at me for a long breath.
Children did not speak of size.
Children did not speak of roads.
Children did not speak of nations.
He finally nodded.
"Then scouts will scout."
Plan of Contact
The first step was simple:
Not alliance.
Not diplomacy.
Not trade.
Information.
Before you speak to a king, you must know which king you are speaking to.
Before you meet an empire, you must know whether it is an empire.