Outside the cave, under the cover of night
Amy coughed harshly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she looked up at Enzo. Her voice trembled, but her words were clear. "The power of a priest is tied directly to the tribal fire. If the fire dies… so does the power. Unless—" her eyes locked with his, "you're willing to make me part of the Crimson Star Tribe."
Enzo gave a short, humorless laugh. "Is that so?"
He stepped closer, lifting her chin with two fingers. The glow of his own tribal mark shimmered faintly at his fingertips—shaped like a leaf, pulsing with vitality.
"What about now?" he asked, letting the totem float between them.
Amy's breath caught.
It wasn't possible.
Such a vivid, living totem mark—only the greatest tribes could forge such power. A tribe with hundreds, with generations of history and overwhelming tribal fire. The Crimson Star Tribe didn't match that… and yet, here it was, undeniable and real.
Amy's instincts—long dulled by loss—flared awake. She could feel the strength behind that mark. She could feel the life in it.
And so, with no pride left to stand on, she lowered her gaze and whispered, "Master."
There was no shame in submission to a true priest. In their world, such an act was not disgrace—it was survival… and maybe something more.
She knelt, head bowed.
Enzo nodded in silent acknowledgment. A thread of green light from his totem swirled down and touched her skin. Amy closed her eyes, feeling warmth rush into her chest, her body gradually easing as her bruises faded and her strength returned.
A faint mark bloomed at her collarbone: a smaller version of the leaf totem—her own new connection to the tribe.
Though different from a warrior's imprint like Tia's, Amy's mark recognized her as something else. She wasn't just a follower. Like Sovita, she now held a former priest's potential, rekindled.
Enzo, satisfied, helped her stand.
"From now on," he said quietly, "you're one of us. But earn your place."
Amy nodded firmly. "Yes, Lord Enzo."
The Next Morning
Sunlight filtered into the cave. By the time Enzo stirred from sleep, Amy and Tia were already awake, sitting nearby, quietly arguing—both with roasted potatoes in hand.
"No way—I lasted longer," Tia whispered, puffing out her cheeks.
"You were already exhausted by then," Amy shot back, but her voice carried a teasing lilt.
When they noticed Enzo waking, both girls immediately stood and moved to help him sit up.
Outside, Sovita's excited voice called out, "Lord Priest! We've burned through the full pile of charcoal. We're ready to begin firing the pottery!"
Enzo stretched, rising slowly. "Let's go," he said, motioning to the others as he stepped out into the light.
At the blast furnace
A crowd of tribespeople had already gathered, buzzing with anticipation. With the tales Sovita and Ward had shared about the power and prestige of pottery, curiosity and awe were thick in the air.
Enzo approached calmly and turned to Sovita. "Do we have the clay ready?"
"Yes," Sovita replied with pride. "We followed your instructions exactly. We filtered it using the shed skin of a Three-Eyed Frog. The result is fine and clean, wrapped in hide to keep it pure."
Enzo nodded, pleased.
The Three-Eyed Frog, native to southern marshes, shed a skin with such fine pores that it worked perfectly as a natural sieve. In many tribes, it was used for filtration or storage—if you were lucky enough to catch one.
"Good," Enzo said. "Then we begin."
The tribe had already been trained on the basic shaping methods. Under Enzo's guidance, they began forming simple bowls and jars. Even Tia and Amy joined in, each molding their own pieces with great focus and enthusiasm.
As the excitement swelled, Enzo turned to the crowd.
"I have an announcement," he said, his voice carrying over the group. "From this day forward, Amy is a full member of the Crimson Star Tribe."
The response was instant: cheers and applause erupted around the clearing.
No one objected. Over the past days, Enzo's leadership and divine power had cemented his authority. If he declared someone a tribe member, that was law.
Amy stood stunned for a moment—then smiled, deeply and truly. She had expected to remain a servant or a tool. She had not expected belonging.
At that moment, Enzo felt something shift deep within.
The tribal fire… it grew stronger.
He could sense it—his own totem's energy surged slightly, enough that he instinctively knew he could ripen another plant without strain.
So the theory held true: the stronger the tribe, the stronger the fire. And the fire fed the priest.
What if he could strengthen everyone? The divine art—Stimulate All Things—was not just for healing or crops. There was more to discover.
But first: crops.
The cultivated fields
Enzo visited the newly cleared farmland near the camp's edge. There, he once again used his divine art—ripening both a potato and a sweet potato.
One was cut into seed tubers, the other into vine segments for planting.
He called Ward over. "This field is priority. I want nothing to happen to it."
Ward stood tall. "I will watch it myself, Lord Priest. No harm will come to it."
Satisfied, Enzo returned to the furnace.
The pottery molds were ready.
He ordered them to be placed into the charcoal furnace, sealed it with clay, and gave instructions to maintain heat for a full day. The first trial of ceramic firing had officially begun.
Moments later
Sovita approached Enzo quietly.
"Lord Priest," he whispered, "I believe… someone is watching us."
His ability, though weaker than before, still provided occasional glimpses of danger. Enzo narrowed his eyes.
"Tia," he said under his breath, "check the surroundings. Look for any signs of spies."
Tia nodded and vanished into the forest.
On a nearby hill
Two strangers crouched in the underbrush, eyes locked on the camp.
One was a tall, fiery-haired woman with a spear in hand—her revealing animal-hide clothing barely containing her ample figure. She grinned with excitement. "Pottery. They've figured out how to make pottery. We need to capture one of them. Bring him to the Chagga Tribe."
Her companion, a weathered older man, hesitated. "Captain Clara… there are too many of them now."
Clara snorted. "Idiot. Who said anything about now? We wait until night."
Before she could continue, both froze.
A strange sensation crept over them—like they were being hunted.
They turned—and found a young woman standing silently in the trees, golden eyes gleaming in the shadows.
It was Tia.
Unarmed. Calm.
Clara scoffed. "Well, look who wandered right to us."
But Tia's face was stone. She had heard everything.
Spying. Intent to abduct. An act of war.
Without a word, she moved.
The older man stepped forward to block—only to have his arm shattered with a single strike. He dropped to the ground, screaming.
Clara's grin vanished. Her expression darkened.
Now, she took her opponent seriously.