In the Midst of Celebration, Trapped in Silence
As the night deepened, the Naavi village descended into chaos. The music was gone, replaced by drunken hollers. Some villagers slept on the ground, clutching empty jugs; others laughed aimlessly. The bonfire still burned fiercely, casting wild light across oblivious faces.
Rogg remained tightly bound to the ceremonial post, struggling against the rough ropes. He strained his wrist against the knot, but his strength had abandoned him.
"They're not as foolish as I thought," he hissed, gasping. "Do I look like a rock? No need to eat... no need to drink?" He shook his head, disappointed. "Or do they really think I'm a god?"
He gasped anxiously, "Help! Someone—please! I need to—" but the only responses were distant snores and drunken shouts.
"Whatever," Rogg muttered, dropping his head in defeat. "They won't understand... or they don't care."
Leaning his shoulder against the post, Rogg looked up at the starry sky. The night wind bit through the red-stained fluid still on his skin. His head throbbed, and thirst scorched his throat.
In that painful silence, memories resurfaced.
He recalled his father Brovos's lesson: life wasn't about power—it was about protecting the weak. Then Yaghal's parting words to him as they left Rhazab Kash:
"Rogg, every orphan child must learn to be strong. No one will feed you if you remain silent. You must protect yourself and your brother. Be like your father. Go south. Find your uncle in the Guava Valley—that's where your destiny shifts. And know I will always wait for your return."
"Yaghal..." Rogg whispered. "Are you still alive?"
He remembered Rhazab Kash—how that village rejected them and branded them bad omens. Rogg was only ten, but the wound had festered, never healing.
Now, for the first time in years, he was among people again—though not his own tribe. He realized that humans can be more savage than wild beasts.
"I learned to survive in the wild. I outran tigers, barely escaped giant snakes, faced crocodiles... But this… this is crueler. Here, humans laugh as they prepare to sacrifice me."
He clenched his fists. Hatred—once reserved for the Lagosh—now spread. Not toward beasts that killed his father, but toward humans who had abandoned truth.
"This isn't about surviving anymore," he whispered. "It's about choosing... am I prey, or something more."
A wave of hunger hit him as the scent of grilled meat drifted over. He watched villagers devour huge chunks as elderly women danced and sang unknown songs.
He took in a shaky breath. "This isn't what father taught me."
Then his gaze locked with the golden-red-haired girl he'd seen earlier. She stood at the edge of the crowd, silent, watching him with a piercing expression. No laughter, only depth—like she could see into his soul.
"What are you looking at?" he pondered silently. "Do you know what I don't?"
Before he could think further, a man appeared with a jug of water.
He offered it to Rogg without a word. The water was cold, pure... soothing.
"Thank you," Rogg whispered under his breath.
The man nodded and walked away.
That small act bolstered him. Though surrounded by drunken revelers, Rogg closed his eyes.
"If I make it through this night... I'll fight tomorrow."
— — —
The Next Day
Rogg remained bound. From sunrise till dusk, the entire Naavi tribe vanished—they were performing ritual purification by the river, preparing for the ritual's climax.
When night finally fell and the embers faded, Rogg lay weak, barely breathing. His hunger and thirst drained him; the ropes choked his wrists nearly into numbness.
Suddenly—a gentle touch on his shoulder.
Rogg opened his eyes. The blazing fatigue blurred his vision. Kneeling before him, lit by flickering embers, was the girl—his golden-red-haired stranger.
She was the same girl who'd drawn his attention in the crowd—and the one who'd brought him water the previous night.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. She leaned close and spoke softly in a language Rogg couldn't understand:
"Ssh... be still. I only want to help."
He managed a weak smile. His voice barely reached him when he asked:
"Who are you...?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she unwrapped a small jug from the cloth at her waist and presented it to him.
"Drink this," she said softly.
Without hesitation, he took a sip—but the liquid burned his throat. He coughed violently.
"Prhuhh! What is this?!" he croaked, turning away. His throat stung.
She laughed quietly. "You're not used to tuak, are you?" she teased with a playful smile. "It's bitter... but it warms the stomach."
Rogg squinted, still coughing. "I needed water... not poison," he grumbled.
But the girl didn't get angry.
Instead, she pulled out a piece of roasted meat from a leather pouch and brought it to Rogg's mouth.
"Eat. You need your strength."
At first, Rogg resisted. But hunger crushed any hesitation. He bit into the meat, and although the taste was strange and slightly sharp, he kept chewing, devouring it with silent gratitude.
"You sure can eat a lot," the girl teased, handing him another piece.
Rogg nodded, chewing, and tried to speak. "Who… are you?"
"Yara," she replied simply, as if she understood. "My name is Yara."
Once he was full, Rogg shifted uncomfortably, his face tense. He whispered, "I… I need to pee."
Yara's eyes flashed with understanding. She glanced around, then crouched closer beside him. Swiftly, she started fumbling with the leather belt around his waist.
"Hey—what are you doing?" Rogg whispered nervously.
Yara furrowed her brow. "You said you needed to pee, didn't you? If I don't help, you'll end up wetting yourself."
Rogg's face flushed. He didn't know whether to answer or stay silent. He glanced at Yara, calm and composed, as if this was nothing unusual. But when her face got too close and a strand of her hair brushed against his cheek, his body stiffened.
"H-hot…" he mumbled.
Yara looked at him oddly. Then, without a word, she leaned in and gently blew into his blinking eyes. Rogg flinched.
"What was that?" he muttered, confused.
"Did you get something in your eye?" she asked innocently.
Rogg couldn't think of a response. The whole situation had thrown him off balance, while Yara remained unbothered. She began loosening one of the knots around his wrists. "I can't undo all of it… but this should let you move a little."
"Thank you," Rogg said softly. It was all he could manage.
He stared at her face—steady, calm, strangely familiar. For a moment, all the pain in his body vanished. The hunger, the thirst, the torn skin at his wrists… it all paused. What remained was a strange warmth, something pressing in his chest. A feeling he had never known before.
"Why are you helping me?" Rogg finally asked.
Yara paused for a long second, then answered in a voice so soft it nearly vanished in the night, "Because you're not the enemy. And… because you're human."
They seemed to understand each other—despite the language between them.
Rogg gazed at the girl. He didn't know what to say. But he knew one thing—for the first time in his life, he didn't want to survive just out of vengeance.
He wanted to live… to understand what this warmth truly meant.