Twa Milhoms

The air in Ikanbi was heavy with mist and quiet expectation. With Ben away, the camp pressed forward, driven by habit and quiet discipline. Mala stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes scanning the tree line. Her hand rested on the hilt of a sharpened spear. It wasn't fear that kept her alert—it was duty. And with Ben gone, that duty had weight.

Druel, meanwhile, was elbow-deep in stone.

He knelt near the half-built communal shelter, smoothing flat river stones into a floor pattern no one had taught him. His movements were too precise to be guessed. There was rhythm in his hands, memory in his fingertips, and a haunted look in his eyes that unnerved the others.

Boji approached from the waterline, dragging a string of fish, his hands damp and muddy.

"Druel," he called. "You sure you didn't hit your head when you fell into all that knowledge?"

Druel didn't look up. He pressed one last stone down and whispered something under his breath. Boji blinked. The air shimmered faintly around the stone.

"Okay, now that was definitely weird."

That night, as the tribe gathered near the central fire, Mala's eyes caught something—Druel's Face. His mark was glowing, faint but unmistakable. In the center of the coiled rope sigil now sat a single character: "Ⅰ" — Roman for one.

She stood slowly. "Druel."

He looked up.

"What is that on your Face?"

He hesitated. "I don't know. It burned when I was laying the last stones. And then I felt… clear. Like I finally understood what I was doing."

Sema stepped closer, frowning. "But that's new. It wasn't there before."

Before Druel could respond, the bamboo parted.

Twa Milhom stepped out, barefoot, skin glistening as if the shadows themselves moved across it. He walked past them, uninterested, heading toward the river. His presence, even without speaking, bent the air around him.

Mala rushed forward. "Wait—what is this mark on him? What does it mean?"

Twa Milhom didn't stop.

"Answer me!" she said, stepping toward him.

He didn't even turn. He simply walked away, vanishing into the trees like mist burned by sunrise.

Boji watched with wide eyes. "He ignored her."

Sema whispered, "He doesn't care about worship, about praise… I don't think he even wants it."

Druel held his hand close to his chest. "He didn't need to answer. I already know what it means."

By morning, word spread: Druel had become the first to bear a numeral in his mark, after Ben.

The mark alone gave every chosen tribe member increased endurance within their boundaries, stronger immunity to illness, and a sense of clarity when performing their duties.

But those who bore a numeral—they were different.

Druel's cuts healed faster. His back no longer ached after long days of labor. He moved as if his body responded before his mind told it to.

He wasn't just marked.

He was awakened.

That day, Mala called a meeting.

"Listen," she said to the others. "Our god may not speak to us, but that doesn't mean he isn't watching. Druel's mark proves that survival is no longer the measure. Purpose is."

Boji crossed his arms. "So if we want to awaken, we can't just wait. We have to become something."

Jaron, sitting near the watch post, nodded once. "Pain. Sacrifice. That's the price."

As the sun dipped and torches flickered across the camp, a low roar shook the trees. It wasn't close. But it wasn't far either.

Sema looked up from her cookfire. "That wasn't any beast I've heard before."

"It wasn't a beast," Druel said quietly. "It was the jungle itself. Reminding us that it doesn't care what marks we carry."

He stood slowly, staring at the glowing "Ⅰ" on his hand.

"I'm ready to earn the next one."

The sun was high when a voice rang out from the trees—low, calm, and familiar.

"Someone help me carry this before my spine turns into river stone."

Heads turned. Ben stepped from the jungle, his shoulders coated in dried sweat and salt dust. Behind him, a makeshift sack slung over his shoulder sagged with weight. The unmistakable white of raw, wild salt peeked through its seams.

"Ben!" Mala rushed forward, her face breaking into something rare—a genuine smile.

Sema was already moving to help, followed closely by Druel, whose newly imprinted ring glowed faintly as he offered support. They hadn't realized how much they missed Ben's presence until he returned, radiating exhaustion and purpose.

Ben dropped the sack near the central fire and took a long breath. "We can season food now. And if we dry it right, we can preserve it for the cold moons."

Boji squinted into the sack, eyes wide. "So… this is what flavor looks like."

Ben laughed. "Only part of it."

Later that day, the jungle trembled again—not from danger, but from effort.

Jaron and Kael returned, sweat-drenched and silent. Their clothes were torn, their weapons bloodied, and the plant Ben had requested—a wiry green herb with thick leaves—was clutched tightly in Jaron's hand.

Kael dropped to one knee, breathing hard. "We didn't run from the beast. We circled. Flanked. Fought."

Ben stepped forward. His eyes moved over them—two men who had risked death not just for survival, but for the betterment of the tribe.

Then it happened.

A subtle pulse.

A hum in the air.

First, Kael's chest mark lit with a dull orange glow. A single ring formed around it, then shifted and burned itself gently into his skin just above his left eyebrow.

Jaron stumbled slightly. The same thing happened—his mark flared with heat, and a glowing "Ⅰ" embedded itself into the design now etched into his brow.

Everyone watched in stunned silence.

Ben exhaled and looked toward the bamboo grove.

"Twa Milhom."

No one else could see him. Not yet. But Ben knew he was near.

"I want to make it easier to know who carries your mark. The brand—move it. To the left side of the face. Above the eyebrow."

No answer.

For a moment.

Then, a laugh—deep, amused, echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once.

It drifted over the trees like wind catching fire.

One by one, every branded mark shifted.

Mala gasped, placing a hand to her temple. "What…?"

The sigils now sat above the left eyebrow of every marked member. Some glowed faintly. Others were dull, passive but present.

Ben smiled. "Now we'll know who stands with us. And who's waking up."

Boji muttered, "I liked it on my hand."

"You'll live," Ben said.

Druel gave a satisfied nod. "Now there's a standard."

Ben looked to the horizon. More trials would come. More pain. More tests.

But now, his people were marked.

And some had begun to rise.

The path to higher rings had begun.