As the boy wakes up, blinking away sleep, he took in the movement around the camp, the early morning sun casting long shadows over the settlement.
Nearby, a group of women gathers around Nat, their hands skillfully twisting fibers into strong rope, their quiet conversation blending with the rustling of leaves. Their movements are practiced and steady, a necessary craft that ensures the clan has enough cord for tools, traps, and construction.
A few meters away, the four hunters are preparing for their departure. They carefully inspect their spears and supplies, securing their pouches before setting out for the day's hunt. They exchange brief words, their eyes scanning the surrounding forest, already focused on the task ahead.
Lara, ever diligent, tends to the fire, her hands efficiently scrubbing the large pot used for last night's meal. The scent of smoke lingers in the crisp air as she ensures that everything is ready for the next round of cooking.
Ok is seated near his work area, continuing the process of crafting shoes. Using sticks he had measured against the hunters' feet before their departure, he carefully carves and adjusts the pieces, making sure they will be properly fitted when they return. His focus is unwavering, determined to finish as soon as possible.
Further away, Wade and Yun work together, bringing down mature trees marked during the first day at camp by Athan. Each swing of their makeshift axes sends deep echoes through the air, and the heavy thuds of falling trunks signal progress as they prepare more logs for the construction of the walls.
Meanwhile, another group of women continues their slow but steady work of clearing the land and digging the trench that will serve as the foundation for the future defensive wall. Their hands are covered in dirt, but their efforts remain diligent, ensuring that every step of their settlement's growth is carefully planned and executed.
Athan watches all of this, feeling a deep sense of pride in the coordination of the clan. Everyone has a role, every movement contributing to the strengthening of their new home.
The boy got up and sat next to Ok, eager to complete his ink flask before the day's work pulled him away. He ran his fingers over the wooden block, feeling the rough edges that still needed refining. Having already hollowed out a good portion of the interior, he grabbed the bow drill and began working again, pressing down steadily as he spun the drill between his hands. The tool whined softly as it dug deeper, the friction heating the wood slightly. He carefully measured the depth with his fingertip, ensuring he didn't pierce all the way through.
Once satisfied with the hollowed chamber, Athan set aside the drill and picked up his knife. With careful, deliberate strokes, he shaved away excess wood, rounding the edges to create a smooth, cylindrical shape. Small curls of wood fell to his lap as he refined the form, making it fit comfortably in his palm. He paused occasionally, rubbing his thumb along the surface to check for uneven areas before continuing his work.
For the cap, he selected a smaller piece of wood and began carving, shaping it to fit snugly inside the flask's opening. He adjusted it little by little, testing the fit until it sealed properly. To ensure a secure closure, he scraped fine grooves around the cap's edge, allowing it to grip the inner walls more firmly when pressed into place. Satisfied, he wiped his hands on his tunic and held up the finished piece, turning it in the light. The ink flask was nearly complete—he only needed to seal it and to test its function to store ink, a task he would do after a couple more steps.
Placing the newly crafted ink flask on the ground, Athan wasted no time in beginning his next project—the creation of a wooden mortar and pestle. He selected a solid piece of wood, running his fingers over its surface to ensure it was free of cracks before setting to work.
He began by shaping the mortar, carving out a small but deep bowl with thicker walls than usual to maintain its integrity when grinding substances inside. Using his knife, he worked methodically, scoring the surface in a circular motion before carefully chipping away at the center. He alternated between deep, slow strokes and smaller precise cuts, ensuring the walls remained even as he hollowed out the interior. Each pass of his blade brought the bowl closer to its final shape, the shavings accumulating in a fine pile beside him.
Once the mortar had taken form, he shifted his focus to the pestle. Choosing a sturdy branch, he whittled it down, shaping one end into a smooth, rounded surface suitable for crushing ingredients. He took extra care to balance the weight and grip, ensuring that it would be easy to hold and maneuver. As he worked, he occasionally tested the fit, placing the pestle inside the mortar to check for smooth motion and efficiency.
After a long session of carving and refining, he ran his fingers over both pieces, feeling for any rough spots that needed further smoothing. Satisfied with his progress, he held up the finished set in the morning light, knowing that this simple tool would serve many purposes—grinding herbs, making pastes, and its first task would be to grind charcoal for his ink.
Before proceeding further, he stood up, carrying his newly crafted tools over to the fire. Selecting a burning branch, he carefully waved it in the air, ensuring the flame remained steady before pressing the glowing embers against the interior of the mortar. The heat singed the wood, darkening its surface and sealing the tiny pores to prevent moisture from seeping in.
He repeated the process, moving the ember in slow, circular motions across the surface, the faint scent of scorched wood rising around him. After a moment, he pulled the branch away, examined his work, and then returned the branch to the fire to reignite it. Once it was glowing again, he repeated the process, ensuring the inside of the mortar, pestle, and ink flask were all properly sealed.
Each time the fire dimmed, he returned the branch to the flames, allowing it to regain its heat before continuing. His hands worked patiently, carefully rotating each piece so that no section remained untreated. By the time he finished, the inner surfaces of the tools had developed a smooth, dark sheen, a protective barrier that would prevent them from absorbing liquid or staining too easily.
Satisfied with his work, Athan set the tools aside to cool. In the meantime, he made his way to the river to collect water, then gathered a few pieces of charcoal he had set aside the day before. Returning to his work area, he placed a piece of charcoal inside the mortar, gripping the pestle firmly before beginning to grind it down.
He applied steady pressure, rolling and pressing the pestle in circular motions, ensuring the charcoal broke down into fine particles. His hands worked methodically, crushing the larger chunks until the powder was smooth and uniform, without any oversized fragments that could affect the consistency of the ink. Once he was satisfied with the texture, he carefully added a small amount of water, watching as the liquid darkened upon contact with the charcoal dust.
Slowly, he mixed the two substances, using the pestle to blend them into a rich, black liquid. He took his time, stirring carefully to avoid over-diluting the mixture. The ink had to be thick enough to coat a surface but fluid enough to be applied smoothly. Athan adjusted the ratio of water and charcoal, continuing to grind and stir until the mixture reached a deep, almost glossy black with the perfect consistency.
Once he was satisfied with the result, he picked up the ink flask and carefully poured the liquid inside, ensuring that not a single drop was wasted. The thick black substance coated the inner walls as it settled at the bottom. He then took the wooden stopper he had crafted earlier and sealed the flask tightly, rolling it gently in his hands to test its airtightness. Turning it in different directions, he checked for leaks, watching for any sign of seepage.
When none appeared, a small smile of satisfaction crossed his face. The ink was complete, sealed, and ready for use.
Setting those aside, he returned to Ok's side, ready to begin another quick project—a pen. Selecting a branch of the right thickness from a pile nearby. He stripped the bark away, revealing the pale wood underneath, he ran his fingers along its length, feeling for imperfections. Once satisfied, using his knife, he carefully split one end of the branch slightly, just enough to create a small groove which would close by pressure if he got his knife out.
Reaching into his pouch, he retrieved a thin fishbone he had collected earlier, sliding it into the groove he had created before taking his knife out. The natural flexibility of the wood allowed it to close slightly around the bone, holding it in place. He pressed the tip gently against his palm, ensuring it was firm but not too stiff. The fishbone's shape would allow it to hold a small amount of ink, just enough to write or draw with precision.
With his pen now complete, Athan moved on to his next step. He walked to one of the fallen trees that had been cut down earlier and carefully sliced off a long, thin section of bark. He flipped it over, inspecting the inner layer. The rough, rigid bark on the surface needed to be scraped away, leaving behind the fibrous, but he wanted the tender inner layer, which would serve as a more flexible and suitable writing surface.
He worked methodically, using his knife to clean the rigid surface off the bark, ensuring it was as flat as possible. Once done, he was left with a large piece of inner bark that, while not perfect, would serve as a makeshift canvas for his plans.
Grabbing his ink flask too, he found a smooth, flat rock a little away from the main work area. Sitting down, he placed the bark before him, opened the flask, and dipped the tip of his newly crafted pen into the dark liquid. He then began redrawing the layout of their settlement.
First, he marked the waterfall, its position fixed against the mountain wall that sealed off the northern part of their camp. He then carefully traced the winding path of the river as it flowed alongside their settlement, recalling the bends and turns it took before disappearing from sight.
Next, he focused on their camp itself—the fire pit at its center, the ring of future shelters, and finally, the defensive wall they had started constructing. His strokes were slow and precise, making sure to place every important detail exactly where it should be. He also marked the areas where the walls would extend in the future, mapping out how they would reinforce their settlement's defenses.
As he worked, Athan found himself lost in concentration, his hands steady, his mind focused on every detail he could remember. This was more than just a drawing—it was a vision of what their home would become.
Observing his drawing and the empty spaces that remained, Athan stood up and leaving the map behind, walked toward a section of the camp that would soon be incorporated into the outer wall. Here, he planned to construct a designated area for the latrines. His idea was to divert a small section of the river's flow to wash away waste, ensuring that it would be carried far down the jungle, away from the settlement.
For now, the clan relieved themselves wherever they chose, which Athan found inefficient and unsanitary. He had already insisted that everyone at least dig a hole and cover it after use, but with the clan's long-term future in mind and the likelihood of their population growing, a proper solution was necessary. Leaving waste unchecked would not only be unpleasant but also increase the risk of disease.
Next, Athan moved to the part of the camp where they would soon construct huts. These would start as simple, quickly built shelters, given their need for speed, but over time, they would become sturdier and more comfortable. He envisioned a time when the clan would have proper homes, structures that would provide better protection from the elements, for now they would need 8 nuts, one for every familly.
By the waterfall, Athan imagined something else—a public bath. The natural basin at the base of the falls could serve as a place where the clan could wash away the dirt and sweat of the day. This would not only improve hygiene but also provide a communal space where they could relax after their daily labor.
Finally, he made his way to where the men were cutting down trees. Looking at a piece of earth he had taking from the ground, which look promising for culture, moving his head up calculating the angle of the sun and the proximity to the river, he identified the perfect spot for their first field. This was where agriculture would begin for the clan. He didn't know if any other groups elsewhere on the planet had already started farming, but perhaps they would be among the first to develop this skill. If they succeeded, it would change everything, securing their food supply and reducing the need for constant hunting and foraging.
With these plans in mind, Athan felt a growing sense of purpose. The future of their settlement was taking shape, and he was determined to see it through. With those thoughts in mind, he returned to the large rock where he had left his belongings and continued working on the maps, carefully adding every detail he had just envisioned. He traced the new developments with slow, deliberate strokes, ensuring that nothing was forgotten, from the placement of the latrines to the future creation of their fields. Every line he drew was a step toward turning his vision into reality.
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As Wade worked, his muscles flexing with each controlled swing of his axe, he kept a watchful eye on his son. He didn't fully understand what Athan was doing—only that the boy was always working on something, always shaping wood with careful intent. Wade had long since accepted that Athan was different from the others. He didn't just follow orders or complete tasks for the sake of survival; he had his own plans, his own way of thinking.
From the corner of his eye, Wade saw Athan crouched beside Ok, carving with deliberate precision. He couldn't tell what the boy was making, but he knew Athan must have a reason. Wade watched as his son moved on to the fire, holding up a small wooden object before carefully exposing it to the heat. Was he hardening it like the spear? Testing something or just playing around for once? The boy worked in silence, methodically tending to his task before setting it aside and starting another.
He continued chopping wood, the weight of his axe heavy in his grip, but his attention kept flickering back to Athan. Now the boy was grinding something—charcoal, from the look of it. Wade frowned slightly, puzzled but trusting. Whatever Athan was doing, he wasn't wasting time, not like a normal child. Wade knew his son too well to think otherwise. Still, he remained alert, ensuring the boy wasn't in any danger, ready to step in if needed.
As Athan moved to the fallen trees, collecting bark with the same focused determination, Wade sighed quietly. He didn't know what his son was building, but he didn't need to. He only needed to make sure the boy was safe while he did it. With a grunt, Wade shifted his grip and brought his axe down once more, falling another tree with ease. Whatever Athan was crafting, Wade would give him the space to do it—while he provided the strength to keep their home standing.
The day before, he and his woman, Raey, had spoken about their child. Both were worried that Athan was not enjoying his childhood the way other children should. He always seemed anxious—concerned about food shortages, injuries, the lack of resources, and every other problem that might arise. It was as if he could sense trouble before it even happened, always coming up with solutions, always thinking ahead.
But Wade had never seen him play like a normal child. He was always busy, always working, never indulging in simple, carefree moments. Yet now, watching Athan carve small wooden figures, Wade felt relief wash over him. Finally, his son was taking a moment to enjoy himself, to create something for pleasure rather than survival.
Athan, having finished collecting bark, spread it over a large flat stone. His expression was one of deep concentration as he began working on something new. Wade watched for a moment longer, but seeing no reason for concern, he turned back to his own work, continuing to fell the trees that were marked some day before.
Suddenly, Wade saw the boy stand up and quickly walk toward a secluded part of the camp, his expression lost in thought. The boy seemed to move with purpose, but Wade had no idea what was on his mind. A few minutes later, Athan left that spot and headed toward the waterfall. He stood there for a moment, observing the cascading water, before making his way toward the area where Wade and the others were cutting trees or digging the earth.
As the boy approached, he knelt down, scooping up a handful of soil, his lips moving in a low murmur as he looked up at the sky. Wade, confused by the strange behavior, stopped swinging his axe, his attention now fully on his son. Athan didn't seem to notice, completely absorbed in whatever thought occupied him.
Then, just as suddenly as he had come, the boy sprinted toward the large rock where he had been working earlier and resumed his task without hesitation. Wade stood motionless for a few seconds, trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed. He had no idea what had just happened or what his son was thinking, but he kept watching him, studying his movements. A few moments later, with no apparent answers, Wade simply shook his head and returned to his work, gripping his axe once more and continuing to cut the logs.
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Sometime later, Athan sealed his ink flask and set down his makeshift pen. The plan for the future village was finally complete. He carefully placed stones at each of the four corners of the bark sheet, securing it so it could dry under the sun without being disturbed. A sense of accomplishment filled him—his vision was now mapped out. But his work was far from over.
As the adults continued chopping trees and digging the trench for the wall, Athan turned his focus to another crucial task—the field. Returning to the area he had inspected earlier, he took in the progress that had been made. In just three days, his father, Ok, and Yun had cleared 60% of the trees they had marked for removal. The largest logs had been set aside for drying, as they would later be used to build huts. Medium-sized trunks had already been repurposed for the construction of the defensive wall. The smallest ones had been chopped into firewood or carved into useful objects. The dead dry one were for the fire, while wet one were set up to dry before being burned.
However, the clearing process had left behind a landscape littered with partially uprooted trunks, tangled roots, and scattered debris. If this land was to become their first field, it needed to be properly prepared—every stump removed, every obstacle cleared, and the soil made ready for planting.
With determination, Athan took his stone knife and began working on the tree trunks, cleaning them one by one. He started by removing embedded stones, tossing them into a pile that could later be used for construction or other tasks. Next, he brushed away the layers of dirt clinging to the exposed roots and buried bases of the fallen trees, making them easier to process. His hands worked methodically, his grip steady as he pried loose stubborn pieces of soil, revealing the smooth wood beneath.
Once a trunk was fully cleared but still couldn't be uprooted, he gathered small twigs, dry wood chips, and handfuls of dried grass, placing them beneath and around the exposed roots. With careful precision, he took an ember from the fire pit to ignite the prepared area, watching as controlled flames licked at the base of the trunk. The dry materials caught fire quickly, and he stepped back, ensuring the flames consumed only what was necessary.
With the fire smoldering steadily, he moved on to the next trunk, repeating the process. There wasn't much around that could burn on its own, so this was the most efficient way to clear the stumps and prepare the land. One by one, he worked through the area, systematically removing obstacles to transform this section of the settlement into their first cultivated field.
His muscles ached, his fingers grew sore from gripping the knife and handling the rough wood, but he pressed on. The land needed to be ready—this was the foundation of something bigger. A future where the clan wouldn't have to rely entirely on hunting and gathering, a future where they could grow their own food.
As he continued working, Athan reflected on the challenges ahead. During their wandering, they had collected a vast assortment of seeds—diverse and varied. The biggest problem now was that he no longer remembered which seed came from which fruit, meaning he would have to test them all.
Moreover, the fruits the clan consumed were unlike those he had known in his past life. Most of them had almost no flesh, their interiors dominated almost entirely by seeds. He recalled something from his previous life—how the earliest varieties of fruits and vegetables looked nothing like their modern counterparts. Over millennia, humans had selectively planted and cultivated those that provided the most nutrients, naturally shaping the evolution of crops.
Athan understood that he would have to start from scratch, developing agriculture from its very infancy. There would be no guidance, no records to follow—only trial, observation, and patience. The thought was both daunting and exciting. This was more than just planting seeds; it was the foundation of something that could change the path of humanity forever.
Retrieving his pouch of seeds, he studied the ones he had gathered, running his fingers through the mix of shapes, sizes, and textures. Some were smooth and round, others rough and jagged. He knew he would have to plant them separately, carefully observe which ones sprouted, and learn through trial and error. The process would be slow and painstaking, but he had no other choice if he wanted to ensure their survival. With renewed determination, Athan picked up a wooden stick and began digging small holes in a cleared patch of soil, carefully dropping a few seeds into each one, all of them from the same variety. He covered them with a lot of dirt making a little mound, pressing lightly to ensure they were secure. Then, standing up, he wiped his hands on his leather garment and took a deep breath before carefully pouring water from his waterskin over the freshly planted seeds.
Next, he would carve a wooden marker, carefully etching the shape of the seeds onto its surface. Since he didn't know the names of the fruits they came from, this would help him keep track of their growth and eventual identification. He knew this was only the beginning of a long and uncertain journey toward cultivating food for the clan, one that would require patience, observation, and adaptation.