The door had just shut behind Kael and Mala.
Silence returned to the house, but Mia's thoughts buzzed like trapped insects.
Ben sat on a low stone bench across from her, slicing strips of dried meat with deliberate calm. The fireless hearth glowed with ambient warmth, fed by the strange pit that radiated heat without flame.
Mia's hands fidgeted with the half-finished cord in her lap.
She had to ask.
"Ben," she said, quietly at first. "What ring… are you?"
He paused.
Then looked at her—really looked. There was no menace in his gaze. But something vast stirred behind his eyes.
"You can't tell?" he asked, with a trace of amusement.
"I couldn't," she admitted. "I still can't."
He set the meat down.
"Good."
Then he inhaled—not deeply, not theatrically—and let something slip from within.
The air changed.
Pressure rolled across the room like a wave, silent and crushing. The stone floor beneath Mia's hands felt heavier, the space between them thick with presence.
Ben's body shimmered faintly with heat and motion—not glowing, not shining, but vibrating with restrained power.
And above his left eyebrow, where there had once been nothing—
The mark revealed itself.
A dark-rope circle, inked deep into the skin, with a clear, bold VI in the center.
Six rings.
Mia's lips parted, but no sound came. The cord slipped from her fingers.
Ben exhaled.
And the presence vanished like a tide pulling back to sea.
He went back to slicing meat, casually.
Mia found her voice.
"Why haven't you gotten rid of them?"
He paused again.
"Who?"
"Kael. Mala. Others. You're six. They're five. That's close." Her voice was low, cautious. "In the tunnels… someone that close is either preparing to kneel or to strike."
Ben looked up, visibly puzzled.
"I should punish them for growing stronger?" he asked.
"For possibly challenging you," Mia replied. "Isn't that what happens?"
He gave a soft laugh, shaking his head.
"This isn't the Duru."
She flinched at the name of her tribe.
"There are others stepping into five now," he said. "More than a few since the Red Clawed war. Kael. Mala. Khol. Enru. Even some civilians are close."
Mia blinked. Civilians?
"I'm waiting for winter to end," Ben continued. "So I can see the tribe's strength. Who survived. Who changed."
She stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was naïve or terrifying.
"You're not afraid?" she asked.
Ben tilted his head, a faint grin curling the corner of his mouth.
"Of being betrayed?"
Mia nodded slowly.
"No."
He stood and stretched slightly, the muscles across his arms corded and calm.
"I don't lead because I'm stronger," he said. "I lead because I believe in the tribe."
He turned back toward the table, reaching for a clay jug.
"And if someone stronger comes?" he added. "Then I'll follow them—if they care for the tribe more than I do."
Mia had no answer.
And for the first time, true fear touched her—not the fear of being hurt or used…
But the fear of standing too close to something she couldn't understand.
Something that didn't play by the rules of her world.
The cold did not retreat—it lingered like a silent predator. Though the blizzards had slowed, the world was still draped in white, muffling every sound and motion beneath a heavy silence. Trees stood frozen, rivers barely whispered beneath thick sheets of ice, and the ground refused to thaw.
But the Ikanbi endured.
Across the stone and bamboo dwellings, smoke did not rise—because it didn't need to. Their fire pits, linked to the will of Twa Milhoms, pulsed with quiet warmth. No flame. No ash. Just a steady, invisible heat that radiated from stone like a god's breath.
Inside these shelters, life stirred. Blankets rustled. Bones ached. But no one froze.
Not here.
It was well-known by now: those who bore the rope-ring markings across their bodies were no longer like the rest. Warriors with one ring could walk farther in the cold before their hands numbed. Those with three could hunt without complaint. And the highest—like Ben—moved through the frozen world as though it were spring.
Kael, Mala, Khol, and Enru—each marked with a bold V above their left brows—could stand shirtless at the edge of the cliffs and still breathe easy.
But what defined Ikanbi was not the strength of its warriors.
It was what they did with it.
Even the weakest, the unmarked, the injured, the elders—none were left behind. They were assigned to shelters closest to the fire pits. Food was delivered in strict rotation. Blankets were woven from braided furs. Every hand had something to do, and no task was beneath the strong.
Where other tribes abandoned their unmarked to freeze or starve, the Ikanbi built around them.
Beyond the outer ridge, in a specially constructed longhouse of thick stone and insulated thatch, the Red Clawed captives lived.
They were not bound in chains. They were not beaten. But they were watched.
In the center of their shelter burned a wide, circular fire pit—glowing not with fire, but with the same soft energy that warmed the main tribe. It was Twa Milhoms again, present even among those who had once raised spears against his people.
Some of the Red Clawed warriors stared into the warmth as if trying to understand it.
Others sat in quiet disbelief.
Bread and boiled root were delivered twice a day. No one spoke much. Some flinched whenever a militia guard walked near—but none were mistreated.
And when one of the youngest among them collapsed from old wounds, an Ikanbi healer was sent.
Not out of mercy.
Out of principle.
Mia saw all of this.
She saw it from Ben's home, through narrow slits in the wall. She saw it when she was allowed to help wrap cords or deliver food.
This tribe didn't behave like hers. Their power wasn't used to dominate—it was used to carry.
When she passed the children huddled in fur, reading stories traced into stone tablets… or the way Kael helped build a new roof without needing to be asked… or how the five-ring warriors never wore their strength like crowns—
Something began to loosen in her chest.
Not trust. Not yet.
But something softer than fear.
Inside a quiet shelter, Ben met with his inner circle: Kael, Mala, Enru, and Khol. Each bore the five-ring mark. Each had seen war.
They spread dried bark sheets across a flat table, drawing simple maps with sharpened stone.
They marked shelters. Supply trails. Known weak points. Places where children had slipped or old men had fallen during the snow.
But the meeting wasn't about strategy.
It was about preparation.
"How many civilians have been showing signs of change?" Ben asked.
"Sixteen," Enru replied. "Three women, thirteen men. They're not marked yet—but close."
Ben nodded. "Spring will tell."
"We should train them," Khol offered. "Not just in spears. In work. In watch."
"We will," Ben said. "But not until we know who makes it through the cold."
He leaned back.
"We need to survive first. The tribe must live. The future comes second."
That night, the sky opened.
Clouds parted, and stars glittered above the white horizon. The forest groaned and cracked, but did not fall.
By the edge of the eastern ridge, a one-ring civilian knelt beside a two-ring warrior. Neither spoke. Their hands rested on their knees, eyes raised to the stars.
Behind them, the tribe pulsed like a quiet heart.
Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.
But in Ikanbi…
No one shivered.
And no one stood alone.
The end of winter did not come with thunder or sun.
It crept.
The snow still clung to branches and rooftops, but the air no longer bit as deep. Ice cracked quietly along tree roots. The wind carried the scent of thawed earth—not fully awake, but stirring.
Within the Ikanbi camp, stores were empty.
Every preserved root, salted meat, dried herb, and marrow bone had been stretched to its final use. Hunger became constant. Furs grew thinner. Still, no one panicked.
Because they had one last chance.
The lake.
It sat at the edge of the lowlands—frozen still, but with a sheen that shimmered too much in the rising light. Cracks spidered outward beneath the surface, faint but growing.
Boji had been waiting for this.
For ten days, he had kept flat slabs of riverstone heated in his personal furnace, reducing the warmth inside his own home to do so. The stones glowed with a deep internal heat, wrapped in layers of moss to preserve their strength.
When the clouds broke for a single morning and a warm breeze passed through the camp, he ran to Ben.
"I need the militia," Boji said, half out of breath. "And every able body we can spare. We fish today."
Ben nodded without question.
By midday, the Ikanbi militia stood at the lake's edge.
No children. No elders. They remained sheltered near the divine fire pits, protected by warmth and stone. This task was too dangerous.
The lake was more than frozen water.
Beneath the ice, currents swirled. Creatures slept. Some old. Some patient. If the ice broke wrong—or if too much blood seeped into the cracks—those that stirred below might rise.
The warriors knew this.
And still, they came.
Circles were cleared. The strongest stepped forward—five-ring warriors near the center, followed by those with fewer rings behind them. Heated stones were rolled out to soften the ice near the edges. Spears were readied. Nets stretched. No one moved carelessly.
Boji hovered behind them, shouting orders with an almost feverish excitement. He directed where the stones should fall, when to pull back, when to hold.
From the nearby ridgeline, a cluster of Red Clawed prisoners, wrapped in layered hide, watched in skeptical silence. Some crossed their arms. Others scoffed under their breath.
"They're fishing now?" one muttered. "With what—fire and hope?"
Further downstream, standing among a group of young women cloaked in pieced-together furs, Mia watched from the riverbank.
These were the girls she had led out of the Duru tunnels—her quiet rebellion. A mother held her child close. Another girl clung to Mia's arm, eyes wide.
"What are they doing?" one asked.
"They're talking about fighting fish," said another, squinting. "Is that a joke?"
Mia didn't answer.
She stared ahead, jaw clenched.
Ikanbi warriors—men and women alike—stood poised along the ice as if preparing for battle. But instead of enemies, there were nets. Instead of blood, only steam rising.
And then the lake answered.
The first fish leapt.
Then another.
And another.
Silver-scaled bodies burst through the weak spots in the ice, flailing onto snow with wet smacks. For a moment, no one moved.
Then cheers erupted. Nets flew. Cloaks were thrown. Spears pinned larger fish in place. Boji whooped with arms raised high, eyes wild with satisfaction.
A five-ring warrior blinked in disbelief, holding a fish in both hands.
He looked up to see Ben, the six-ring warrior, crouched on the ice doing the same.
The two shared a look—then a quiet laugh, full of exhaustion and joy.
On the riverbank, Mia said nothing.
But deep in her chest, something shifted again.
These people are mad, she thought. But they're mad together.
And the tribe, fed once more, began to gather what they had won from the cold.