"Red!"
Red walked with a frown of displeasure as his name was called. He just couldn't get used to it when the people pointed their fingers at him while mocking him in a not-so-low voice. Today was supposed to be a celebration day for him and his kind within his generation as they reached one year old.
The first year was the big day for their kind, as it was the day of awakening. He only knew this was a big day as his first step to adulthood, where he would gain more freedom than living in the confined space the Elders and Matrons decided for him and the kids in his generation.
That was it; he didn't know much about the awakening, but it would give him more freedom in the tribe. He would be allowed to go outside and given a weapon to hunt. That was the only thing he knew about the Awakening.
The adults never shared that information with him, the Elders avoided him, and the kids from his generation isolated him. He was pretty much isolated in this tribe. That was why he put much more emphasis on this freedom when it came to awakening.
The reason for such treatment? Because he was born different from his kind. His kind, the normal one, had green skin. Meanwhile, his skin was crimson red, almost like human red blood. On top of that, he was taller than his kind within his generation. In fact, he was as tall as the adults in the tribe.
He was twice as tall as the kids from his generation, around the same height as the adults. Even some adults were shorter than him. His eyes also had the same color as his skin, and he had two fangs that emerged from his lips even when he closed his mouth.
The Elders regarded him as a sign of disaster for their clan, and he must be cast out or executed. However, the Matrons decided to keep, and their decision was absolute, above the Elder and the Shaman. When the Chief was out to hunt or pillage, the Matrons were in authority.
Even so, the Matrons' reason to keep him alive was for the sake of the tribe. With his size, they thought he would be good at hunting food for them. He would be a good hunter who would be an asset to the tribe. That was the reason why he was kept alive in this rowdy tribe.
Red tried his best to ignore the mockeries and fingers that were pointed at him as he walked toward the altar after his name was called. Now he realized that even the Shaman didn't call him by his name, but Red, not the name given to him by the Matrons. Not that he cared about it because he already accepted the new name. But that showed how the tribe treated him.
He reached the altar, climbed the stairs, and headed toward the Shaman who stood at the center of the altar. The Shaman wore his official attire, a black cloak with engraved runes he didn't know, holding an old staff with a human skull on top of it.
His tribes thought he was a weirdo, but in his eyes, the Shaman in front of him was the actual weirdo. Especially with this attire, where he wore a necklace made of finger bones, not just one, but three of the same necklaces.
He stopped a half meter away from the Shaman, and it showed how abnormal he was for a one-year-old kid. He was three heads taller than the Shaman. One of the reasons was that the Shaman was hunched, as he was one of the oldest members in the tribe.
"Go down!" The Shaman spoke to him with his hoarse voice and accompanied with absolute authority.
Red was flabbergasted because he unconsciously lowered himself on his knees and bowed his head to the Shaman. There was something that influenced him, and he tried to fight it. The Shaman seemed to sense his attempt as the Shaman snorted at him.
"You are quite bold for a one-year-old snotty brat. Unfortunately, you are just a disaster-bringer for this tribe!"
He felt more pressure as his muscles in his legs and stomach started to tighten up. His hands tensed up, and it looked so obvious because of how thin he was. Despite his size, there was not much meat on his body. Being isolated was not the only thing; his meal was the kids' leftovers. If there was a leftover, then he would eat. Otherwise, he would starve for a few days until one of the Matrons fed him, just to ensure he would not die.
The Shaman didn't lessen the pressure despite his obvious struggle under the pressure. The Shaman then started to recite a ritual in an ancient language. At least, that was what he heard about it. The only one who understood and spoke the ancient language was the Shaman.
The ancient language was just a bunch of nonsense in Red's ears. His breathing was ragged as sweat covered his head, face, and body. The pressure didn't get more intense, but that was not needed. He didn't know why, but he felt like the Awakening ritual was much longer than the other kids' earlier.
That was right, he was put dead last for the Awakening. The other kids had done the ritual together in a batch, while he was the last one, alone for the last ritual.
He thought it felt longer because of the pressure. Holding up against the pressure on his body, which made him feel the time was so slow.
However, Red was not wrong about the ritual being longer than the previous ones. The murmur among the crowd started to get louder because they noticed it too. This ritual was unusual, and they could see the Shaman start to sweat as well; his body shuddered as he recited the ritual. That didn't happen in the previous rituals, which was why the crowd noticed the unusualness in this last ritual.
Unfortunately, Red was too busy to hold up the pressure that he didn't notice the unusualness in his ritual, nor did he notice the louder murmur from the crowd. Just as he thought he would collapse, the pressure disappeared. At the same time, a blue screen appeared before his eyes.
He tried to give a closer look at what this blue screen was about, but his arms gave up as he fell forward, kissing the Shaman's stinky and ugly feet. His face scrunched in displeasure because it smelled like rotten food. Before he could get his head away from the stinky feet, the Shame kicked him on the chest.
"URGGHHHH!!!"
Red grunted in pain as his body slid on a stone altar, stopping at the edge. He almost fell from the altar, but it seemed like the Shaman didn't have that much strength to begin weakly pushing him off.
He knew that he must get up and leave the altar before getting humiliated further. However, before he could move his hand, the Shaman placed his right foot on his left butt cheek.
"How dare you dirty the Sacred Altar with your filthy sweat! Scram!" The Shaman pushed him off the altar with his foot.
Red landed with his right side and created a "Bugh" sound as he fell. The altar was not that high, around his chest tall. The Shaman's kick was more painful than the fall. He was not hurt at all. However, the humiliation was something else.
The adult laughed; the kids from his generation laughed harder than the rest. The Shaman stared at him coldly from the altar as if he had done something wrong.
Red could beat up ten kids of his generation when they came at him. The adult didn't dare to mess with him. The only thing they did was isolate and mock him. No one really dared to challenge him in a fight.
However, the Shaman was on another level. The unknown pressure on him during the ritual was an example that the Shaman was someone whom he could not afford to mess with if he didn't want to die.
He endured the humiliation and headed back to his isolated home. His expression darkened, his eyes shone brighter without him knowing it, and the kids from his generation's laughter stopped when they saw his expression. His current expression left a deep impression on them because he made the same expression when he beat up the ten ten kids that tried to gang up on him.