Chapter 16 - Chapter 15 - Whispers in the Night

Join the Adventure on Patreon! 🚀

Haven't joined Patreon yet? You're missing out!

On the free platform, a new chapter will be added every Friday at 5 PM. Once a Week.

On Patreon, I will do my best to upload 1 chapter every two day, we're already at Chapter 25, giving supporters exclusive early access to the latest chapters before anyone else!

🔹 What you get by joining:

Read ahead and stay ahead! 📖

Exclusive early access to new chapters.

Support the growth of The Greatest City Developer.

Don't wait! Join now and be part of the journey.

➡ Go to: Patreon.com/WLTBneet (Type it in your browser!)

Your support makes all the difference—thank you! 💙

-----------------------

Satisfied with his discussion, Athan returned to the fields after placing his village plan safely in his bedding. As he arrived, his eyes narrowed at an unsettling sight—three large black birds, their feathers glossy under the sunlight, were digging aggressively into the soil, their sharp beaks tearing at the freshly planted seeds. Small clumps of dirt scattered with each movement, the disturbance leaving clear marks on the otherwise carefully maintained plots. The birds worked quickly, their talons scratching at the earth as they greedily feasted, completely unaware of Athan's presence. His jaw tightened as he watched, frustration bubbling inside him at the blatant destruction of his hard work.

Anger flared within him. These birds weren't just scavenging; they were stealing from the tribe's future. His hand instinctively reached for the slingshot tucked into his fur wrap—an item he never went anywhere without. Crouching slightly, he picked up a smooth stone from the ground, placed it into the sling, and took aim at one of the birds.

With a deep breath, he pulled back the leather strap and released. The stone whistled through the air, cutting straight toward the flock. However, instead of hitting his intended target, it struck a different bird with a loud thud. The impact sent the creature screeching, flapping its wings wildly, while the other two took off into the sky in alarm. The injured bird let out a pained cry, struggling to lift itself. Its wings flailed, but one remained oddly limp—broken from the force of the strike.

Athan clenched his jaw. In normal circumstances, he would have simply chased them off. But this wasn't just an inconvenience—this was an attack on his crops, on the tribe's survival. This was personal.

Gripping a sturdy stick, he stepped forward and swiftly put the suffering bird out of its misery. He exhaled slowly, shaking off the tension as he turned to inspect the damage. His eyes fell upon parcel number five, where the disturbed soil revealed several missing seeds.

Fury simmered in his chest. He had worked too hard for this. Clenching his fists, he grabbed the dead bird by its leg and dragged it toward the fire, his movements firm with purpose.

As he entered the camp, he caught the curious glances of the women working on making ropes, their hands skillfully twisting fibers together. Ok remained focused on crafting footwear for the tribe, meticulously shaping pieces of leather and sinew. Nearby, Lara tended to the fire, occasionally stirring the embers with a long stick to keep the flames steady.

Their gazes lingered on him, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and silent questioning. He ignored their unspoken inquiries and strode purposefully toward his bedding. Reaching down, he pulled out a rough sack made from woven plant fibers—one he had set aside specifically for collecting bird feathers. His fingers brushed over its coarse surface as he exhaled, steadying his thoughts before sitting down to begin his next task.

Sitting down near the fire, he got to work. He wouldn't let anything go to waste. As he plucked the bird, his mind already wandered to future possibilities—pillows. One day, when they built proper houses, these feathers could be used to make soft bedding. It was a distant thought, but a comforting one nonetheless.

Once he finished plucking, he examined the pile of soft black feathers he had gathered, setting them aside in the woven sack for later use. The bird, now bare, looked much smaller without its plumage. He ran his fingers over its body, ensuring that no feathers remained before standing up and carrying it over to Lara.

She glanced at him as he approached, a silent understanding passing between them. Without hesitation, she took the bird and moved toward the fire, preparing to gut and cook it. Athan lingered for a moment, watching as she deftly worked, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. The scent of burning wood and faint traces of roasted meat would soon begin filling the air, the idea making his stomach rumble slightly, but he pushed the hunger aside.

Without another word, he turned and made his way back toward the fields. His work was far from over, and the sight of the damaged parcel still weighed heavily on his mind. He needed to find a way to protect the crops—this could not happen again.

Using thick branches and tall wild grasses, Athan carefully constructed a scarecrow. He tied the frame together with sturdy rope, ensuring that the structure held firm despite the wind. He layered the grasses over the wooden frame, creating the rough shape of a human figure to make it more intimidating to any approaching birds. He even added extra bundles at the arms to give them a wider reach, hoping that the movement of the wind through the grasses would create enough motion to scare off unwanted pests.

Taking a step back, he examined his work. It wasn't perfect, but it stood tall, its uneven form swaying slightly in the breeze. Satisfied, he hoisted it up and secured it firmly into the ground near parcel number five, making sure it was visible from all angles of the field. Hopefully, this would be enough to keep the scavengers at bay. 

Turning back, Athan sighed as he assessed the state of parcel number five. The soil was uneven, riddled with tiny claw marks and deep pecking holes where the birds had dug in, scattering dirt and displacing the carefully planted seeds. He crouched down, running his fingers through the disturbed earth, feeling the absence of the missing seeds that were now lost. With a slow, methodical movement, he began smoothing the soil back into place, pressing it firmly as if to erase the damage left behind. But he knew the truth—there was no replacing what had been taken, at least for now.

His thoughts churned as he studied the parcel, trying to gauge if the remaining seeds would be enough. Had the birds only taken the surface ones, or had they managed to dig deeper? Would what was left be sufficient for a full harvest of that specific fruit? He exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration gnawing at him. There was no way to tell until the plants began sprouting. All he could do now was hope that the remaining seeds would take root and flourish, compensating for what had been stolen.

Reaching for his notebook, he carefully recorded the incident, noting how the birds had targeted the seeds and the specific parcel affected. He also made a mental note to monitor whether the scarecrow would be effective in the coming days or if he would need to find an additional way to protect the crops.

After ensuring the field was as stable as he could manage, he turned his focus to expanding their cultivated land. Picking up his tools, he moved to an untouched section of land, surveying the overgrown vegetation and tangled roots before him. The soil here was rough, still hardened in places from years of neglect.

He started by uprooting the largest obstacles first, gripping thick, stubborn roots and pulling with all his strength. Some came loose easily, while others fought against him, forcing him to use his crude hatchet to chop through their resistance. Sweat beaded along his brow as he worked, his muscles burning from the repetitive effort, but he welcomed the strain—it kept his mind focused, pushing aside the frustration that still lingered over the lost seeds.

As he cleared more space, he paused occasionally to gather stones from the soil, setting them aside for potential use. He made mental notes of the land's condition, noticing which sections felt too compact and which held moisture well. The more he understood the terrain, the better he could plan future planting.

Time passed unnoticed as he worked tirelessly under the sun, the rhythmic motions of digging, pulling, and cutting becoming second nature. By the time he finally straightened his back and wiped the sweat from his forehead, he had cleared two more parcels, opening more land for future crops. His arms ached, his fingers raw from gripping his tools, but as he surveyed his work, a deep sense of accomplishment settled within him.

The fields were growing, little by little. And so was their prospect future.

-----------

As night fell, Athan activated the watering system, watching as the water trickled through the channels, weaving through the pathways he had carefully constructed. The soil darkened as it absorbed the moisture, ensuring that the crops would have enough hydration to last through the night.

Satisfied with the flow, he moved toward the basin near the waterfall, kneeling down to wash away the grime of the day's labor. He cupped his hands, letting the cool water splash against his face before rubbing his fingers vigorously against his palms, scrubbing away the dirt lodged in his skin. The sensation was refreshing, the chill soothing against his tired muscles. As he ran his fingers through his damp hair, he took a moment to appreciate the quiet hum of the water around him, its constant movement a contrast to his own exhausted body.

He sat there for a few moments, his eyes trailing over the darkening fields, watching as the last traces of sunlight cast long shadows across the land. He had worked hard today—clearing two new parcels in the morning, battling the persistent birds that had threatened the crops, implementing a scarecrow to protect the fields, and tending to another section in the afternoon. To finish the day, he had carefully shaped a new water pathway to ensure the freshly tilled soil would receive the hydration it needed. The weight of the day's labor pressed against his tired muscles, but he knew that the work was far from over. There was always more to do, more to build, more to protect.

Exhaling slowly, he let his gaze linger on the land he was shaping, feeling a deep sense of responsibility settle in his chest. The tribe depended on these efforts, and failure was not an option. With a final glance at the darkened sky, he reached over and shut off the water system, before preparing to head back to the fire for the evening meal.

Yet, even as he sat down near the fire, his mind remained restless. The earlier encounter with the birds still gnawed at him. His lack of accuracy had been a problem. Worse, the thought occurred to him that if he misfired in the wrong direction, he could accidentally hit someone in the tribe. A misplaced shot could cause serious harm, and that was a risk he couldn't afford. The realization sent a wave of unease through him. His skill with the slingshot wasn't just about defending the fields—it was about control, precision, and responsibility.

Determined to improve, he made a decision. Picking up a collection of smooth stones, he walked a short distance from the fire, selecting a sturdy tree trunk as his target. Taking a deep breath, he loaded his slingshot—crafted from a curved wooden frame and reinforced with strong tendon—pulling back the sinew strap before releasing. The stone flew, missing its mark slightly, hitting the bark but not where he had intended.

Undeterred, he reloaded and fired again. And again. He kept at it, adjusting his aim, analyzing each shot. The steady rhythm of launching stones should became second nature, his focus sharpening with each attempt. He resolved to make this a habit—a nightly routine. Every evening, before his meal, he would train his aim until the day came when hitting his target would be effortless. He could not afford mistakes when it came to protecting what he had built.

A little later, after the meal had been eaten, with the extra bird adding to the evening's feast, Ok surprised the clan by slowly rising to his feet. Murmurs rippled through the gathered members as he took a few careful steps, testing his balance. His injury, which had kept him immobile for days, had finally healed enough for him to move without visible strain.

The sight was met with quiet astonishment, a few people pausing in their tasks to observe. Ok himself seemed slightly hesitant at first, rolling his foot against the ground, but as he steadied himself, a small, satisfied grunt escaped him. The days of resting had paid off—the wound had sealed properly, and though he would still need time before returning to full strength, this was a promising sign.

Furthermore, now that he would be wearing the shoes he had crafted for all the members of the group, his injury should not worsen, as long as he avoided excessive strain. His wives, Fi and Medi, were visibly relieved by this development. The past days had been filled with worry, fearing that the wound might become infected or that complications could arise, endangering his recovery. Seeing him stand and take a few steps reassured them greatly.

With gratitude, the two women turned to Rael, offering her their sincere thanks for tending to Ok's injury. As the matriarch of the clan, it was her duty to ensure the well-being of everyone, and seeing her last patient finally on the mend filled her with quiet satisfaction. Without her care, the situation could have taken a far worse turn, and though she did not seek recognition, the relief in Fi and Medi's eyes reassured her that her efforts had not been in vain. Rael, ever composed, gave them a small nod before shifting her gaze back to the fire, mentally checking off another task completed in her never-ending duty to keep the clan healthy.

Despite this progress, they all knew Ok would still need time before resuming his full responsibilities, but for now, this small victory was worth acknowledging. Every member of the clan was essential in ensuring that their village would continue to grow and prosper.

Satisfied, Athan stepped away from the group, seeking a quiet moment for himself. He wandered a short distance until he found a comfortable patch of grass, stretching out beneath the open sky. The stars shimmered above him, scattered like glowing embers in the vast darkness. The sight was calming, a stark contrast to the relentless work of the day.

As he lay there, his thoughts drifted beyond the village, beyond the struggles of survival, back to something distant—something almost forgotten. A melody, soft and lingering, surfaced in his mind. The echoes of a song from his past life, something familiar yet foreign in this world. Without thinking, he parted his lips and began to hum, his voice barely above a whisper. Slowly, the tune took shape, his quiet singing blending with the faint rustling of the wind.

"Far beyond the hills so wide,

Where shadows creep and rivers glide,

A land untamed, both dark and vast,

Where few return, and none would last.

Beneath the stars, our fires burn,

Through silent vale, we march and yearn,

To carve a home, to claim the stone,

To make this wild land our own.

The winds may howl, the storms may break,

Yet steel and will shall never shake,

For hearts are strong, our steps are bold,

Through fire and frost, through dust and gold.

So heed the call, ye wandering souls,

Through forest deep and mountain knolls,

The path is long, yet onward roam,

For through the vale, we'll find our home."

For a brief moment, the weight of responsibility faded, and he allowed himself to be lost in the simple comfort of music, a connection to a world that no longer existed, yet still lived within him. The melody drifted softly through the air, blending with the night breeze, carrying an unfamiliar yet soothing rhythm across the quiet camp.

Then, a sudden realization struck him—he could no longer hear the usual background noises of the camp. No quiet murmurs, no rustling of movement. The absence of sound made his skin prickle with unease. Slowly, he turned his head, and his breath caught in his throat.

They were all there. Every single member of the clan had gathered behind him, standing in silence, their eyes fixed on him. Some bore expressions of curiosity, others seemed mesmerized, as if entranced by the melody. The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on their faces, giving the moment an almost surreal feel.

Heat rushed to Athan's face as embarrassment struck him like a wave. He hadn't even realized they had been listening. He immediately averted his gaze, his fingers curling into the grass beneath him. He wished he could disappear, to sink into the earth itself.

Lara stepped forward slightly, her expression unreadable at first. Then, with a quiet, almost hesitant voice, she said, "You talk... beautiful. Can again?" Her eyes held a mix of wonder and curiosity, as if she was experiencing something entirely new. The way the melody had woven through the night air, filling the silence with something both foreign and mesmerizing, had clearly touched her in a way she couldn't quite explain. She wasn't the only one—others in the group nodded slightly, their gazes expectant, waiting to hear more. 

Still embarrassed, the boy hesitated for a moment before giving in to their silent request. At first, he whistled the melody softly, using the familiar tune to steady his nerves and ease the discomfort bubbling inside him. The gentle notes carried through the night air, blending with the crackling of the fire and the whisper of the wind.

As he gained confidence, the tension in his shoulders slowly faded. Taking a deep breath, he let his voice rise, this time singing the words louder and with more certainty than before. The unfamiliar lyrics, crafted from memory and instinct, filled the quiet space, weaving through the darkness like a distant echo of a forgotten time. 

---------- 

The clan sat around the fire, talking and laughing as they ate their fill—a stark contrast to the days when they spent hours in the forest, desperately searching for their next meal. The warmth of the fire flickered against their faces, and for the first time in a long while, there was a sense of ease, of comfort, in the air.

Then, Wade's ears perked up. A sound. Something unfamiliar. He immediately lifted his hand, motioning for silence. "Quiet," he said in their simple language, his voice firm but low. The chatter around the fire ceased instantly, replaced by a tense stillness as the clan instinctively listened, their senses sharp, wary of any lurking danger.

What they heard was not the rustling of an approaching predator, nor the breaking of twigs under an intruder's foot. Instead, a strange, rising and falling tone filled the air—soft yet deliberate, unlike anything they had heard before. Their curiosity outweighed their fear as they carefully moved toward the source of the sound, their steps hushed, their eyes scanning the darkness ahead.

What they found was not a threat, but Athan.

The boy was seated in the grass, his lips moving, his voice weaving through the cool night air. The melody he created with his mouth rose and fell, carrying an unfamiliar rhythm. Then, he began to form words, letting his voice dance with the tune. The clan stood in silent awe, their breath caught in their throats. Never before had they heard such a thing. They did not understand every word he sang, but the sounds fit together, flowing naturally, as if the language of the song carried its own meaning beyond what their minds could grasp.

Something stirred within them—a feeling foreign yet deeply moving. Their hearts pounded, their chests tightening as emotions they had never known took root. It was as if the song carried a weight, a power beyond simple speech. It made them feel.

As the final note faded, the clearing fell silent once more. The fire crackled, the wind whispered through the trees, but no one spoke. Then, Athan turned and saw them. His eyes widened in shock, his face flushing red as realization dawned upon him. He had not been alone. They had heard everything. 

Lara, visibly moved by emotions she couldn't quite name, stepped forward hesitantly. Her gaze lingered on Athan, her eyes reflecting a mixture of wonder and longing. Then, in a quiet, almost hesitant voice, she said, "You talk... beautiful. Can again?" Her words were slow, deliberate, as if she feared breaking the fragile magic of the moment.

She wasn't alone in her sentiment. The rest of the group, still captivated by the strange and stirring experience of song, nodded in agreement. Some murmured softly among themselves, exchanging glances of curiosity and awe. This was something new, something unknown, and yet it resonated with them in a way they didn't understand. They wanted to hear it again, to hold onto the feeling it had awakened within them. 

The boy, visibly nervous, hesitated for a moment before parting his lips, allowing the same haunting melody that had first captured their attention to emerge once more. The sound wove through the night, forming its own rhythm, delicate yet deliberate. Slowly, Athan began to sing again, his voice steady, each word rising and falling in a cadence that felt both natural and foreign to the listeners.

The song carried a strange power—one that seemed to reach beyond mere sound and into something deeper. The gathered clan members felt it vibrate through their chests, stirring something primal within them. Their stomachs tensed, their skin prickled with an unfamiliar sensation, as if the very resonance of Athan's voice was embedding itself into their very being.

Though they did not understand all the words, the feeling behind them was undeniable. It was as though the song itself spoke a language beyond speech, one that resonated with something buried deep inside them, something they had never known but could suddenly feel. 

As the final note of the song faded into the night, Athan exhaled softly, lowering his gaze. Without a word, he stepped past the gathered clan members and returned to the fire, his mind still lingering on the strange mix of emotions stirred by the moment.

Sitting down, he reached for his knife and picked up a large, smooth piece of wood. With careful precision, he began scraping away the rough outer bark, ensuring the surface beneath was clean. Once satisfied, he dipped the tip of his on of his tool into a small container of black water—a mixture he had made for marking—and began to etch symbols into the wood, his fingers moving with purpose.

The group watched in silent curiosity as he worked, the firelight casting long shadows across his focused expression. He carved each mark carefully, his strokes deliberate. By the time he finished, he sat back and examined his work before standing up and holding the wooden piece before him.

"Here," he said, his voice steady but quiet. "I have put this song on this wood. Now I can sing it again."

Lara, intrigued, stepped closer, her head tilting slightly. "What... song?" she asked, her brows furrowed as she tried to grasp what he meant. Her eyes searched his, seeking understanding.

Athan hesitated before explaining. "What I did... is called singing. The sounds I made with my mouth, that is a song. And what I did here—" he gestured toward the carved wood "—is called writing. It lets me remember things from the past... so I won't forget in the future."

A few murmurs rippled through the group as they exchanged glances, struggling to comprehend the concept. Singing was new, but the idea of preserving words in marks was even more foreign. Lara reached out tentatively, her fingers hovering over the wooden piece as she studied the strange markings, her curiosity deepening.

Noticing Lara's curiosity, Athan smiled at her and said, "If you want to learn, I can show you. Same as when you made fire." His voice was calm, encouraging, offering the same patient guidance he had given before.

Lara's eyes brightened with excitement. She eagerly nodded, stepping closer, her hands hovering near the carved wood as if eager to understand how the strange markings worked. Learning fire had changed the way the clan lived—perhaps this would be the same.

Before she could speak, Rael approached as well. The matriarch, who had been observing the exchange with silent intrigue, placed a hand on her hip and said, "Me too, son." Her voice was firm yet filled with warmth. As the one responsible for preserving the health and knowledge of the tribe, she saw value in this new skill. If writing could hold knowledge, then it could be an essential tool for their survival. 

Athan nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Alright, we start tomorrow after the meal then." His voice carried a quiet excitement, aware that this could be a turning point for the tribe. Teaching them fire had changed their way of living—perhaps writing and song could do the same. He glanced at Lara and Rael, noting the anticipation in their eyes, and felt a renewed sense of purpose settle in his chest.