The fire crackled in silence.

The young one watched the flames. His eyes were dark, but calm.

I observed him. Not the way one looks at a child… but as one looks at an equal.

“When I did the ritual…” I said at last, “I didn’t know what was coming.”

My voice was low. It didn’t tremble.

“I thought it would be like in the stories. I felt love. I felt peace.

And then… I felt nothing else.”

The young one didn’t speak. He just listened.

“I thought that’s how it was supposed to be. But over time… with the slime… with what came after… I began to feel other things. And I didn’t know if it was a mistake… or a gift.”

There was a long silence. The fire popped softly.

“I don’t know what happens to those who don’t do the ritual,” I said. “I never met one. Maybe they die. Maybe they get lost. Maybe they change in another way.”

The young one looked up. “I want to do it, Goom.”

I looked at him, unsurprised.

“Not out of fear. Not out of tradition.”

He leaned slightly toward the flames.

“I want to do it… because I want to be one with the earth. Like those who came before. Like you. And because I know… you’ll protect me.”

Those words hit my chest like a warm stone.

I didn’t answer. I just nodded. And looked at the fire, eyes now wet.

While we chose the moon for the ritual, I continued with the trades.

But something inside me had changed.

I no longer brought only food. Or roots. Or tools.

Now I also brought weapons. The ones I couldn’t use. The ones too heavy for me. The ones that didn’t fit my hands… but might fit others.

I offered them. And with each one, I explained how I had seen it in the hands of the Okais. How they held it. How they attacked. How they blocked.

I showed with sticks, with movements, with drawings in the dirt.

Some looked at me strangely. Others listened in silence. A few… began to mimic.

“I can’t do much,” I thought, “But if they also learn… if each tribe knows how to protect itself…

Maybe the world won’t be lost. Maybe… the cave will survive. Maybe the little ones will have more future than past.”

The young one chose the clearest dawn. A moon before, he had already decided.

And when the flowers bloomed at the edge of the stream… we knew it was the day.

I got up before the light. Watched him from the shadow of the trees, just as the elders had done with me.

I didn’t guide him. Didn’t push him. Just let him walk.

When the sky turned pale blue, and the sun touched the waters… the young one stepped in.

The river was still. The slimes waited, invisible.

One of them… would choose him.

I closed my eyes. Felt the wind—it was cold. And I waited.