First Step
Waking came slowly. Pain from my back, each breath like fire. I blinked, disoriented. Not the floor—my personal yurt. The familiar smell. Someone had carried me here when I fainted.
Struggling to sit upright, I crossed my legs despite the pain. Meditation couldn't wait. My master's words flowed through my mind again: "Your body houses your mana," he would say. "If your vessel is weak, your mana will break it."
How true those words had proven today.
Time blurred as I steadied my breathing. The yurt's entrance flap rustled. Heavy footsteps. I knew who it was without opening my eyes.
"You should be resting." My father's deep voice broke the silence.
I opened my eyes. He stood near the entrance. Father moved closer. Crouched beside me. His thick beard nearly reached his chest.
"The boar," he said simply.
"What about it?"
"I've hunted mountain boars with the soldiers among our clan before. Strong warriors. Experienced hunters." He picked up my spear, examining the dried blood along its length. "Yet my son, with limbs like saplings, kills one alone."
His nostrils flared slightly—the only sign of emotion. "The wound pattern tells a different story. Elder Aori believes you crushed it against stone. That requires strength no young ape has." He paused.
"I could sense mana flowing into you. I knew the elders were wrong."
Father set the spear down and sighed heavily, the sound carrying unexpected weight. His hand reached out, hesitated, then settled on my shoulder. The gesture surprised me—he rarely offered physical comfort.
"When your mother died bringing you into this world, the elders called it a curse." His voice lowered. "I feared they might be right when you stayed small, when your strength didn't come."
I remained silent, unsure where this led.
"But perhaps..." His grip tightened slightly. "Perhaps her sacrifice gave you life and strength to lead this clan to a better future."
The kinetic gift. The blessing of the sun.
"The elders will want to test you." His voice lowered. "You are coming of age now, ready to lead. I grow too old for the burden of chieftain."
"Yes, father," I said simply.
He rose, moved to the entrance, then paused. "And son... Your mother would be proud."
The flap closed behind him. I sat alone with this new understanding.
By morning, my pain had faded. Light stung my eyes as I stepped from the yurt. "Training again," I muttered.
The village bustled—more activity than usual. Eyes followed me along the path. The scent of roasting meat filled the air—my boar, now feeding the clan. Warriors turned the massive carcass over flames, fat dripping and hissing.
I made my way toward the village gate, conscious of the stares that tracked my movement.
"Young chieftain!"
A small voice called from behind. I turned to find Elsu, barely seven, racing toward me. His mother called after him, but he ignored her, skidding to a stop at my feet.
"I heard you killed a giant boar!" His eyes widened with excitement. "All by yourself!"
Before I could answer, he mimed stabbing motions with an imaginary spear. "Was it big as a tree? Did it try to eat you? Did you stab it through the eye?"
Stolen story; please report.
I crouched to his level. "It was big," I said. "But not as big as a tree."
"Elsu!" His mother hurried over, grabbing his shoulder. "Do not bother the young chieftain." She bowed her head slightly—a gesture of respect in the clan.
"He's no bother to me," I said.
"Still." She pulled him back. "The chieftain's son has important matters to attend." Another bow, deeper this time. "Forgive the intrusion."
They retreated, though Elsu looked back twice, still making stabbing motions with his hands.
At the village gate, several guards stood watch. One of them stepped forward as I approached.
"Young chieftain." She bowed her head. "Training in the redwood forest again today?"
I nodded once.
Her hand shifted on her spear. She paused. "Your father instructed us that if you're gone too long, we must search for you."
"Understood." I continued past her, feeling their eyes on my back.
Over the next sunrise and moonlight, a routine emerged. Before dawn, I pushed through basic physical training—running, climbing, and various exercises that left my body exhausted before the real work began. Then came mana sensing practice, followed by meditation techniques that my elven master insisted were essential for control.
On the next day I changed pattern. "Today I move something," I said to myself while placing a small pebble in front of me. Now cross-legged in the redwood forest, I closed my eyes, remembering my master's teaching when I was first learning:
I focused on the pebble, reaching out with my mana. I felt the connection—a tingle that extended from my core to the small stone. In my mind, I pictured it rising.
The pebble shot upward like a bullet, disappearing into the sky.
"Too much. Again," I sighed.
Another pebble took its place.
Closing my eyes again, I remembered my master's teaching:
"Because you push with force instead of guiding with intent," my master would explain to me. "Imagine the pebble wants to move. You simply show it where."
Hours passed. Pebbles flew in all directions—too high, too fast, sometimes crumbling to dust under the pressure of my mana.
"Damn," I said, closing my eyes again, remembering the teaching.
"Your frustration feeds your power," my master would say to me. "You must separate emotion from action."
Opening my eyes again, I placed a new pebble before me. This time, I breathed deeply, letting tension flow from my body with each exhale. I extended my awareness, not just to the pebble, but to the air around it, the space it occupied.
My mana wrapped around the stone—gentle, supporting. The pebble trembled, then lifted from the ground. One inch. Two. It hovered at eye level, rotating slowly in the air.
Perfect control. The pebble continued to float as I moved my hand, not touching, just feeling the connection between us.
Small victory, but it's something.
My body changed with each passing day—gaining weight, building strength. My senses sharpened too, reaching further into the forest than before.
A scream cut through my meditation. Female. Distant. Desperate.
Standing upright, I moved faster, following the sound. The forest blurred around me as I moved faster than any normal ape should.
Then I saw her—a female pinned against a giant redwood tree. A tusked boar charged toward her, its massive bulk promising death.
No time to think. I leapt between them, my hand extending by instinct. Mana surged from my core through my arm. The boar froze mid-charge, hovering above the ground in my invisible grip.
The female ape froze behind me.
My other hand gripped my spear. With a fluid motion, I launched it forward, channeling mana into the throw. The weapon cut through air like lightning, piercing deep into the boar's.
I released my hold. The beast crashed to the earth, dead before it touched ground.
I turned to face her. Wide eyes. Golden-brown fur. The desert clan markings along her arms.
I studied those markings. Each clan had their own—markings or necklaces to identify them. Our teachers had taught us this, though my clan rarely encountered others.
She stared at me, then at the boar, then back at me. Her mouth opened but no words came.
"You're far from the sands," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Desert clan doesn't usually venture this deep into the forests."
Her shock turned to wariness. "There are... apes here?" She glanced around as if expecting an ambush. "We thought these woods were empty. Haunted."
My eyes studied her.
She straightened, pride overcoming fear. "Our wells have dried. The desert expands. Food is scarce." Her eyes moved to the dead boar. "My father sent scouts in all directions to find resources."
"What clan are you?" she asked, keeping distance between us.
"Your clan doesn't know about us then." The Peacock Clan had isolated itself after the Great War, before I was born. Few outsiders knew of our existence anymore.
"Peacock Clan," I said.
I watched her face for recognition.
Nothing. Just confusion.
I held out my hand.
She hesitated, then took it. Her grip was stronger than her frame suggested.
"I'm Emhyr."
"Lula," she replied. "How did you... make it float?" Her eyes drifted to where the boar had hung in air.
Suddenly I heard voices calling her name. She didn't seem to notice.
"Your people approach," I said. "These woods aren't safe for those who don't know them."
She glanced at the dead boar. "What about—"
"Take it. Consider it a gift between clans."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Not trusting such generosity.
I slipped away, moving silently through familiar trees until I reached a thick trunk. From this position, they couldn't sense or see me, but I heard everything.
I heard the commotion. The other members of her clan were surprised at how large the boar was. I heard Lula telling them, "There are other clans here. I must tell father. They speak our language too." The others looked shocked as well.
