Before the empire, before history, before the first story was ever told above the open flame, there had only been the earth. No borders, no kingdoms and no written word to hold memory in place. There had only been survival, whittled into skin and bone, taught by pain and hunger. The world was raw and unformed, chiseled equally by wind, ice and blood. This world was called Oros. It was an unconstrained world, governed by no law except that imposed by the geography itself. Each gill and valley, each icy mountainside and hot marsh represented an invisible decree: adjust or die. The world did not yield to man. Man yielded to the world.
The lowlands of Oros stretched infinitely towards the blue line that ended at the horizon, an unending ocean of grass, only disturbed by rocky outcroppings. Cold rivers sliced through these lowlands, carrying with them the smell of animals and whispers of danger. On all sides, in every direction, north, there were mountains, rising infinity, like shattered teeth, their crests lost under an eternal barrier of frozen, white matter. There beneath this frozen mass, it was winter, where nothing ever would melt form the cold, where anything that still breathed, would become a foreign substance, a hostile world. In every direction, down, there were wet lands, entwined in a shroud of rot, where light itself, a blazing strip, fought desperately against darkness, as if it too would be engulfed by this planet. And the rivers, they were scars, irregular, crisscrossed, overland, remembering, yes remembering lives lost there.
These lands did not forget. The mud remained marked by footprints well after the victims were gone. The rivers spoke of hunters torn beneath there surface, of prey that bled into them. The mountains trembled the cries of those who froze in place. Oros remembered it all. Night did not mean the lack of light. Night meant fear incarnate. When the sun went down, darkness spread over Oros and it brought with it the screams of prey and the knowledge that death roamed freely.
Eyes lurked in the darkness, teeth waited. For humans, night meant an endurance test until dawn came again. There existed only one assignment - to live. There were three tribes among this mankind. The Wenja were hunters. These people had a close connection to nature and understood it too. They tracked migrating game, honored had spirits in earth and sky existed in unity. For them, hunting was not just a assignment - it had meaning in terms of ritual, tradition and culture itself. Each hunting mission conveyed their people's story form generation to generation to generation, from elder to child and it did so in deeds, not in words. Around their fires, the Wenja did not boost. The remembered hunts gone wrong and hunts that saved the tribe. Every scar was a lesson, ever loss was carried forward so that the next generation might survive longer then the last.
The Udam dwelled in the glacier-capped mountains in the northern part of Oros. They had been mighty but had fallen due to some illness that had been accompanied by constant starvation, because they ate the Wenja people in there tribe called soft-blood. Their bodies were rotting but they were alive. Malnutrition had clouded their minds, so in return they began to devour their own brethren for the lack of any food. The world was against them, so in return they responded to the world in the same manner. They were a legend in Oros, know by one name only, "men-eaters". Their wails resonated through the snowfields, filled with both fury and desperation. To hear an Udam war cry was to hear sound of extinction itself: loud, desperate and absolute.
The Izila were thriving in the Southern wetlands. Theirs was an advanced civilization that rested upon the pillars of fire, stone and soil. However this civilization had its ruthless side as well. They were convinced that the sun had favored them alone against all the other civilizations that had lived in this world. They enslaved the races, killed prisoners in front of the raging fires, and extorted in the form of the source of the fires, of the civilization that lived in the world. Pain meant power in the land of the Izila. To them mercy meant weakness. Flame was the truth and sun burning without pity saw a perfect God.
There were plain people in the Wenja: the hunters, the gathering women, the elders and the children. From these, a plain hunter, knowing lots about weapons like spears, clubs and bows. There were only one Wenja above all his name was Takkar. He never tough about being the leader. He never lusted for power, never wanted the spotlight. Takkar was a man Wenja counted on. He was a man who spoke little, a man who lures carefully. Takkar found purpose from being in the hunt, he also found purpose from being in a group. He believed strength came from standing by others, not above them. In his mind, survival was to be shared or it meant nothing at all. Then one day changed everything. He led the Wenja hunters through tall grass, spear in hands. His eyes scanning the surroundings for sings of prey and sings of danger. For the Wenja hunt, Takkar and the other hunters had sacrificed lots in their lives. It is an inheritance form the past- that thin line between patience and doing. Takkar tore those lines for the Wenja, steady in the middle, observing. Takkar never felt the need to lead the group. He only wished to be a part of something greater then the man he is. Each step was measured, each breath was silent. This was how the Wenja survived - together, aware, connected to the land beneath their feet.
But then - silence, the wind stopped, the whispering grass stopped. The birds dropped form the sky. Nature seemed to hold its breath. Before the Wenja had a chance to process this warning signal or react to it, the silence erupted. Let out like a beast from a green hell by hunger and a burning desire to rend and tear. Its eyes were fixed on the baby animal that happened to be in the place. Its voice thundered through the air. Takkar had a split second to comprehend that this was his turn next. Spear hurled in a frenzy, shouts of hunters filled the air. Fear spread like a disease. Takkar fought desperately, but saber-tooth tiger was irrevocably mad. There was no logic to this force in front of him that threatened his very life. Fear engulfed his mind and the spear was nowhere in reach. Strength weakening in his limbs. He shut his eyes and took to his heels. Not in fear, but in some animal knowledge that somehow compelled his legs to move in this specific manner to save his life. When he screams were over, Takkar was standing alone, unarmed, under attack by predators.
"The silence that followed was worse then the scream, because for once the sound was not a presence but an absence, the sound of the tribe wiped out in an instant" Tensai tough to himself, he was an ex-Udam. "The wolves howled across the timberline, yet Takkar did not die." Takkar's heart was driven by instinct, he began to learn to live once more. He fashioned weapons from rock and bone, he discovered he plants to make his wounds heal and save his life. His loneliness became his worst enemy. He needed someone to save. Each sunrise was earned, each night survived was a victory no one witnessed. The hunter learned again, not as Wenja, but as something alone and unfinished. One day, he found Sayla. She was wounded and starving, yet she lived. She thought Takkar had a chance to save Wenja. At first he said no, he was a hunter, a simple one at best. His actions had altered him, though, or perhaps the Wenja had more then enough hope. Takkar agreed to attempt to task. Hope, fragile and dangerous, returned to him - not as comfort, but as responsibility.
He had someone to save now, but then he decided she could save the Wenja. Takkar at first rejected to nation. He was a hunter and nothing else. But something in Takkar had now changed. He had lost, not been defeated, he still had some hope left. Hope was no longer a distant dream but something he had to bear with each step of the way. Saving Sayla meant taking responsibility for not only her life but also the lives of all the other potential survives in the area. Every choose felt heavy with the knowledge that a failure would not be his alone. Takkar had saved as many survives from around the area as possible and led them to a place deep within a nearby valley. Campfires were raised - small and frail, yet alive. The Wenja began to return. With each flame, the valley filled with quiet resolve. Scarred hunters, broken gatherers and frightened children gathered around the fires, drawn not by strength alone, but by the promise that they were no longer alone in the world. Takkar listened for the land itself - listened for the animals. He learned from the land and the animals. While other people felt fear, Tensai felt like everything was balanced. Takkar learned a now-forgotten skill from Tensai - how the beasts of Oros could be tamed.
This bond was not established by force. It was cultivated through patience, comprehension and respect for nature. Man and nature co-existed, neither one surviving above the other. The wolves, bears and saber-tooth tigers now roamed the landscapes with Takkar, not as a terror but as a friend. Wenja said his name in awe. Takkar was now called "Beast Master." However, trouble was not far away. News of his accomplishments was heard from far-off lands, not just form silence but from a mixture of fear and respect. And with it, enemies were not far behind. The Udam raided Wenja lands, taking Wenja away into the snow. They were led by Ull, a gigantic brute who was a twisted figure form his battles and sufferings. He believed that strength alone would see him surviving through a dying planet. Takkar was always at war with the Udam, defending his family and raiding their human settlements. This war caused wounds on both sides. There was red coloring on the snow and the mountains resonated to cries from both the conquered and the conqueror.
Nevertheless, as the wars wore on, the truth was revealed. The Udam were not monsters, they were a dying species. When Takkar bested Ull in the snow-capped mountains, he discovered a broken monolith. Ull no longer be threatened, the giant pleaded. The giant wanted his son and baby daughter safeguarded. Even moments before, he was a father. Takkar honored his request. In that moment, victory tasted hollow. Compassion, not conquest, marked the true end of conflict. In the south, another adversary resided, the Izila. Fire and the Sun were their Gods. They lorded over conquered tribes, burning live victims before sacrificial altars. The Izila's reigning goddess, Batari, possessed unearthly power. She was afraid of Takkar. His existence defied her authority. Wenja fighters and tamed beasts attacked Izilaent outposts from the shadow. The jungle itself seemed ti rise against the Izila, s flame met fang and stone met shadow. Belief battled fear, Batari called upon a solar eclipse, clouding the sky. Izila citizens were beset with dread. The Gods abandoned them,Takkar battled Batari amid fire and ash. Her power was a lie, the sun returned. Batari fell, the Izila disintegrated.
And so, with the fall of the Spirit Women, the fires faded and the screams that shook the swamp fell mute. Peace returned to Oros. There were bonfires through the night. Children laughed, Beasts walked alongside men, no longer predators. The land itself seemed to breathe easier, as if Oros acknowledged the fragile harmony now taking root. Takkar stood looking out over the valley of Oros. He was no longer just a hunter. He was a leader, a protector, a beacon of hope. In a time before kingdoms were forged, in a time before history was written, Takkar proved that in a world ruled by constant brutality, men could still be men. Survival in Oros turned into a tale to be spoken about. And thought time would erase names and reshape the land, the story of a hunter who chose unity over domination would endure and be carried forward by those who lived because they did.