The sun rose golden over the stone courtyards of Cain, casting long, regal shadows across the gathered tribes. Flags from every corner of Eden waved in the warm wind—Salem's crimson flame, Nimrod's emerald wolf, Cush's obsidian crescent, Shem's ivory oak, Noah's twin moons, Seba's silver lion, and Cain's own—two black spears crossed beneath a golden crown.
A horn sounded.
The Lord of Cain, tall and broad-shouldered, stepped forward in ceremonial robes of deep black and gold. He raised his hands as silence fell like mist over the crowds. His voice rang out, powerful and proud.
"Brothers. Sisters. Tribes of Eden. Today, the old ways awaken once more. The Games of the Founders begin—not for war, but for honor. For unity. And for the chance to dine beside Mother Mariah herself."
A murmur ran through the crowd at her name.
"Each clan shall send forth a champion. Six days. Six trials. The victor shall earn gold, glory… and the Queen-Mother's favor."
Drums thundered. The crowd erupted in cheers.
The Lord of Cain stepped back as the marble colosseum opened its gates, and the first contenders entered the arena. Among them, small and cocky in oversized sandals, was David.
---
Day One – The Game of Ur
Stone boards were placed on ornate tables lined across the arena floor. Each square was carved, smoothed, and polished, dotted with inlays of bone and ivory. The ancient game was one of strategy, luck, and willpower—requiring a mind as swift as a blade.
David hopped into his seat and cracked his fingers dramatically. Across from him sat a towering woman from the tribe of Noah—her hair braided in coils, her eyes cold and calculating.
Mark, seated in the audience, leaned forward. "Is this really a game for a child?"
Beside him, the Huntress didn't answer. She just watched. Silent. Sharp-eyed.
David's hands moved with lightning grace, dropping tokens and rolling carved dice with grins and hums. But his opponent was relentless, calculating every angle.
Then—on the final roll—David paused.
He looked up at her, winked, and rolled.
A perfect number.
The arena roared. David stood on the bench and bowed mockingly.
"That's how it's done."
He jumped off the table and walked past the stunned champion of Noah.
"Maybe next time," he whispered with a grin.
---
Elsewhere, Above the Arena
Hidden behind a high-laced veil and a golden mask shaped like a falcon, Amariah stood in a private balcony.
She said nothing.
Beneath her, the tribes cheered. Laughter, music, dancing—all distractions.
Behind her stood Abinadab, arms crossed.
"You should not be here," he said quietly.
She didn't look at him.
"This is the best place to watch the games... and watch them forget what they've lost."
Her eyes traced over the lords gathered below—the Guardian King, the Council Chiefs, even Mariah's glowing presence among the nobles.
"So much comfort," Amariah murmured. "So little memory of Babel. Of Joab. Of our father."
Abinadab's voice was low. "Not all have forgotten."
Amariah stepped back from the edge. "Then they will remember. When fire falls again."
---
Day Two – The Arrow Trial
The second day brought new energy. The archery grounds were lined with targets made of hay and steel. Each contestant was given a single bow—crafted by their clan's own hand—and three arrows.
The crowd whispered, the sun rising high above as the announcer called out the names.
David stepped up, holding a tiny bow that looked more like a toy.
"He's joking," muttered someone in the crowd.
David drew, calm and confident. His first arrow soared.
Ping!
Dead center.
Second arrow. A flip before the release.
Ping!
Dead center.
Final arrow. He turned around, firing over his shoulder blindly.
PING!
The crowd gasped.
Dead center.
David turned and waved both hands.
"Three for three. I'll be here all week."
Mark watched from the sidelines, amazed. "How is he this good?"
The Huntress, standing nearby, allowed herself the faintest smile.
"It's not about the bow. It's about the heart."
---
Above, in the Shadowed Balcony
Amariah narrowed her eyes.
"This one… the child. He knows too much. Moves too well."
Abinadab looked at her. "He's Mariah's."
"No," she said. "He's someone else's. Something older moves through him. I'll find out what."
She turned, her golden mask glinting in the sun.
"Let the fools play their games. We have work to do."
Below, laughter filled the arena. But a storm brewed quietly in the hearts of those watching.