It was a frenzied time. Not only the Jackrixis, but the other candidates as well, were making preparations for what was coming. Sadly, those without a religious system could only watch from the sidelines, unable to speak directly with their people. All they could do was hope their race was strong enough to endure.
The monster system users, on the other hand, had no way to truly converse with their creatures either, but they possessed far more influence over them than a powerless observer.
For the Jackrixis, preparations were in full swing. Tribes stocked up on food, crafted crude weapons, and built any kind of defense they could imagine. The quality was far from perfect limited by their current knowledge and technology but they worked tirelessly, doing well with what they had.
Some tribes dug trenches, driving sharpened wooden stakes into the earth before concealing them beneath dirt, forming simple but effective barriers. Others managed to raise walls sturdy enough to withstand a beating, with the added benefit of insulation. Such efforts would, in time, inspire proper construction methods and more permanent housing.
In the jungle, certain tribes took inspiration from the carnivorous plants of their biome, fashioning primitive traps. They couldn't fell larger prey outright, but they could slow it, hold it back and sometimes, fighting two enemies at once was better than facing three.
An agreement had been struck between tribal elders: they would share whatever knowledge they could about the threats to come. The more they knew, the better their odds of survival. With only three days to prepare, every Jackrixis even those from hidden tribes was pulled into the effort.
Religious groups seized the opportunity to spread their beliefs and win new converts. Language was still basic, but it was steadily improving. For now, gestures and paintings served as invaluable tools to aid communication.
In one corner of the forest biome, a young follower of the Apexian Order trailed behind his elder. She was a Jackrixis of twenty-nine seasons an age considered remarkable. She had once lived on the plains but had settled here many years ago, becoming a respected member of the forest tribe.
She had thought her life would end quietly, like many elders before her. But then the Awakening came, and with it, her lifespan lengthened. She took it as a sign from the gods that her work was not yet done. From that day forward, she committed herself fully to spreading the will of the gods.
Sometimes she succeeded in gaining converts; other times, she did not. But she never ceased her mission. The extra years granted to her allowed her to see more of the Jackrixis world than most. She explored the varied biomes, met many tribes, and learned their ways. Over her travels, she gathered a small band of followers who revered her not just for her founding role in the Apexian Order, but for her wisdom and age.
Now she returned to the forest tribe after another long journey, this time to seek aid from a distant settlement. Though her tribe's warriors were loyal, their focus lay more on faith than on war. The journey yielded only four warriors a modest gain, but every fighter counted with the Wave approaching.
Her return sparked excitement. Young Jackrixis swarmed around her, eager to hear tales of distant lands and the dangers she had faced. She welcomed them with calm smiles, speaking and gesturing as best she could, offering what stories she could share.
The children's attention soon shifted to the four warriors she brought with her one clad in the crimson-marked gear of the Crimson Guards, another armored in the thick hide of the Mountain Slammers, and two from lesser-known tribes. The braver children tugged at their armor or tried to climb them until they were gently shooed away.
Eventually, the elder and her group reached the tribe's central clearing, where other elders awaited. Nods were exchanged, a few brief hugs between kin, and then the business of survival resumed.
"Got… warriors?" one elder asked.
"Yes, got," the female elder replied.
"Good. We stronger," the elder said, his tone firm.
"How… many?" another asked.
She raised four fingers, their lack of a number system making the gesture necessary. The elders nodded in satisfaction.
"Make gods proud, we must," the first elder declared.
"Yes. We must," she agreed.
This was how most conversations went simple, efficient. Over time, their language would evolve into something more complex, but for now it served its purpose.
Across the Jackrixis lands, tribes worked tirelessly. Some sought to please the gods, others focused on becoming stronger hunters, and some aimed simply to survive. To Jack, it didn't matter whether they prayed to him or not, so long as they were loyal to the Jackrixis and helped the race as a whole.
"System, can I ask you a question?" Jack said.
[]Of course, host[]
"What is the survival rate for candidates during the Wave?"
[]Sixty percent, host[]
"I wish that was eighty or ninety percent… then I wouldn't feel as worried."- Jack