As Ki-woo drifted closer to the earth, the chaotic scene below snapped into focus. Through his goggles, he watched the hunting party freeze. One of the men—evidently possessing exceptionally sharp eyesight—was pointing wildly at the sky, his gestures frantic as he argued with a broader, more skeptical companion.
Even without hearing their words over the rushing wind, Ki-woo could read their body language. The argument died the moment his silhouette grew undeniable. A being falling from the sky, borne by massive, artificial wings. To a people whose worldview was deeply rooted in animism and spirits, there was only one logical conclusion.
He adjusted his trajectory, steering the parachute to land directly in front of them. It was a calculated risk, but a necessary one to establish dominance.
Thump. His boots hit the dirt. Ki-woo bent his knees, absorbing the shock, and smoothly unclipped the heavy harness. He stood tall, the massive canopy collapsing behind him like a dying beast.
"Wakan Tanka! Wakan Tanka!"
The men dropped their weapons. Awestruck and trembling, they fell to their knees.
A fierce, uncontainable wave of relief washed over Ki-woo. He threw his arms wide. "I survived!" he roared in Korean, his voice echoing across the open plains. "I'm alive!"
They couldn't understand a single syllable, but the booming resonance of his voice only deepened their reverence. Their chants grew louder.
Looking down at the prostrate hunters, Ki-woo felt a momentary twinge of guilt. He was setting himself up as a false god. But the hesitation vanished as quickly as it came. If playing a deity was the price of steering humanity away from extinction, he would wear the mask willingly. He needed absolute authority, and they had just handed it to him.
***
A young warrior cautiously raised his head. He spoke in rapid, hushed tones, gesturing with profound respect toward a distant plume of smoke.
Ki-woo nodded, maintaining an aura of calm certainty. 'Body language is universal,' he thought. 'But I need to learn their tongue immediately. Everything depends on it.' The young man, alongside two others, nervously took the lead, guiding their "Sacred Spirit" toward the settlement while the rest of the hunting party sprinted ahead to spread the news.
As the village came into view, Ki-woo's analytical mind went to work. It was larger than he had anticipated—a sprawling cluster of dwellings constructed from packed mud, stone, and woven branches. This wasn't a temporary nomadic camp; it was a settled community.
Dozens of people emerged from the dwellings, their eyes wide with shock. At a barked command from his guides, the villagers immediately dropped to the dirt, pressing their foreheads to the ground.
Ki-woo ignored the display, his eyes cataloging the technological baseline of his new world.
Obsidian spearheads. Bone tools. Coarse leather clothing mixed with rudely woven cotton. The women tended to small, primitive farming plots near the river, while the men carried hunting gear. He spotted a few glints of copper and silver adornments, but a quick scan of the village revealed no forges or kilns. The metals were likely acquired through trade, not local metallurgy. Their only written language appeared to be simple pictograms painted on stretched hides.
His conclusion was stark: He had stepped into a late Neolithic society.
'I have a monumental task ahead of me,' Ki-woo thought, suppressing a sigh. Guiding a Stone Age civilization to the Industrial Revolution without external infrastructure was theoretically impossible for a single human lifetime.
But Ki-woo wasn't bound by a normal lifetime. The cutting-edge anti-aging treatments coursing through his veins gave him an estimated four to five centuries before his biology failed. It was just enough time.
***
Night fell, painting the sky with a brilliant, unpolluted expanse of stars.
Sitting by a fire assigned to him, Ki-woo mapped the constellations. The arrangement confirmed his geographical coordinates: North America.
He weighed the variables. Central America boasted massive population centers, which would have provided a larger workforce. However, North America offered vast, untapped natural resources and lacked the entrenched, rigid class systems of the southern empires. It was a blank canvas.
More importantly, there was no sign of European disease. If Columbus had already landed, smallpox and influenza would be tearing through these populations. The robust health of the villagers meant he had warped somewhere prior to the sixteenth century. He had at least a hundred years before the colonizers arrived to shatter this world.
A century to prepare.
Ki-woo rested his hand on the heavy survival pack beside him. The weight of it was suddenly incredibly comforting. 'They had to rely on human muscle because they lacked beasts of burden,' he mused, 'and their crop variety was abysmal. But that's about to change.' Inside his bag lay the seeds and foundational tools of a new era.
***
Not far from Ki-woo's designated quarters, the tribe's leadership gathered around the central fire.
"We all saw it with our own eyes," the young warrior insisted, his voice trembling with lingering awe. "The great wings! The descent from the sky! He is the Sacred Spirit."
The War Chief scowled, his pride warring with the impossible reports of his best hunters. Yet, it was hard to dismiss the earnest conviction of so many brave men.
All eyes turned to the Tribal Chief. The elder sat silently, tracing a fresh, jagged wound on his arm—a sacred scar from the recent sun dance, where he had offered his own blood to the earth in exchange for guidance.
"The spirits have answered our suffering," the Tribal Chief finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of absolute belief. "He saw our sacrifice and descended to take pity on us."
The council murmured in agreement. Their society functioned as a direct democracy; every elder and seasoned warrior had a voice. Tonight, however, there was no debate. The vote was unanimous.
They would not treat the stranger as a mere guest or a conqueror. They would integrate him into the very fabric of their society. They would name him the Chief Spirit.
In their culture, a chief was not a tyrant or a king, but a servant of the people, bound by duty and the consensus of the council. They fully intended to hold their new god to the exact same standard.