The Primeval Era-Chapter 48: Choices I

The familiar collection of huts and structures rose before them, smoke curling from morning cooking fires as people moved about with the routines of a new day, their movements holding the unconscious ease of those who had slept through the night without knowing how close danger had crept to their borders.

The earthworks and wooden stakes that marked the tribe’s perimeter looked exactly as they had when Damian left, undisturbed and unbreached, and the air carried no smell of blood or destruction beyond the ordinary scents of morning meals being prepared.

Nothing drastic had happened in the night, and Uncle Adam had kept them safe.

As Damian approached the entrance to the village, he found himself smiling at the sight of Uncle Adam standing there waiting, the old warrior grasping a spear in hands that no longer trembled with weakness.

His entire existence radiated an imposing demeanor that had been absent for years, the presence of a Bone Tempering Warrior who had reclaimed his power and stood ready to use it against anything that might threaten those under his protection.

He had clearly been watching for their return, his vigilance a physical weight that pressed against the morning air, and the worry etched into the lines of his weathered face spoke of a night spent staring into darkness and imagining every terrible thing that might have befallen his Young Lugal.

He only relaxed when he saw Damian again, the tension draining from his shoulders as recognition replaced vigilance, and he came toward Damian and the others with quick strides that carried him across the distance with a speed and grace that had been missing from his movements for far too long.

Seeing the injured Chieftain and the others, and noting those who were missing from the group that had set out, the experienced Uncle Adam seemed to have already figured out many things, his eyes sweeping over them all with the practiced assessment of a guard who had spent decades cataloging injuries, counting heads, and reading the signs of violence that marked survivors of encounters that others had not survived.

"It seems that trouble is coming," he said, his frown deepening as he took in the full scope of what stood before him. "Is the Young Lugal okay?"

Damian nodded lightly, and Uncle Adam stood before him looking him up and down.

Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, mostly.

"It seems like we have come across something we should not have," Damian said, meeting Uncle Adam’s gaze steadily.

"A Sworn playing the role of a Chieftain in an Unbound Tribe, a Vassal Tribe extending its reach into these territories..."

These were dangerous revelations that demanded immediate discussion, and yet right now, all of that would have to wait regardless of its urgency.

"But first things first," Damian said, and his stomach chose that exact moment to remind him of its existence with a growl that was almost embarrassingly loud in the quiet of the morning.

"I am starving."

...!

He did the best he could to put the events of the night in the back of his mind and look forward to the future, and the future right now was the undeniable reality that he had been drenching himself in Mana without eating much of anything at all.

Apart from a little bit of Auroch’s Grace that he had been given as an offering, nothing substantial had entered his stomach since before the Butcher’s attack, and in that time he had cultivated and fought and killed and wept and pushed his body through transformations that should have been impossible, all while running on empty.

It was to the extent that he had even missed his habitual morning ritual, the one that every living creature in the Lands of Stone participated in regardless of their status or power or how many enemies they had slain in the darkness.

In the Lands of Stone, there was a saying from the Unbound Tribes who sought to live fearlessly even under the Great Hierarchy of the Sworn and Anointed Ones, a crude wisdom that slaves whispered to each other when their masters were not listening and that the powerless used to remind themselves that the powerful were not so different after all.

"The Anointed sits upon a throne of stone, but squats upon the same earth as the Dross."

...!

Because if there was one thing that made the distinction between everyone equal, it was that regardless of whether they were Anointed Ones who commanded empires or Dross who scraped survival from the margins, they all performed the same basic functions that the body demanded without care for rank or bloodline.

Warriors who could shatter stone with their fists still needed to eat, and Chieftains who commanded hundreds still needed to sleep, and Anointed Ones who ruled over territories vast beyond imagining still needed to squat in the bushes and relieve themselves like every other living creature that drew breath in the Lands of Stone.

The mighty and the meek, the strong and the weak, the blessed and the cursed, all of them shit the same.

And Damian knew this very clearly, as he had been both of these roles across the span of his life, having once been a Young Lugal who used gilded chambers with servants to clean up after him and having since become a Dross farmer who dug holes behind the tribe like everyone else!

The experience was remarkably similar when you got down to it, because the body did not care about titles or bloodlines or the Great Hierarchy, and it simply demanded what it demanded with a persistence that would not be denied, woe to anyone who ignored those demands for too long.

Right now, he wanted to leave many things behind, and he wanted to replace that weight with something simpler.

He wanted to eat, and he wanted to shit. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

The profound matters of empires and armies and vengeance could wait until after his body had been given what it required.

"Uncle Adam, is there food ready?"

The old warrior blinked, then smiled.

"The morning meal was prepared an hour ago, and there should be plenty remaining."

"Good," Damian said with a firm nod, and he walked toward the village without another word, leaving the night behind him with each step he took toward the promise of a warm meal and the simple comforts that the living were still permitted to enjoy!