Starting point

Eve began to speak, her voice breaking the silence with an uncharacteristic seriousness.

"Alex," she said, pausing to give me a moment to collect my thoughts. Her usually playful demeanor was replaced with a sincerity I hadn't expected. Her eyes bore into mine, as if trying to read the turmoil within.

I struggled to form the words, my mind racing. "Eve?"

She looked at me with curiosity, trying to lighten the mood with her usual childlike tone. "Yeh?"

Taking a deep breath, I continued, "What if there were a way to save our tribe?"

Eve's expression shifted, her tone becoming serious and thoughtful. "How so? You're not looking for revenge, are you?" She paused, her eyes searching mine for answers. "You're not serious... Are you?"

The look on my face gave away my thoughts. "Revenge isn't possible," she stated firmly, her voice tinged with concern.

"But what if it is?" I countered, my voice tinged with desperation and determination.

She started to get frustrated, her brows knitting together in confusion. "What—how could it be possible?"

I pressed on, my voice trembling with a mix of excitement and fear. "I had a dream last night. A figure appeared, claiming to be a deity. He called himself the god of chaos and said he could give our tribe revenge."

Her frustration turned to curiosity, her eyes narrowing as she considered my words. "What does this... deity want? What could they possibly need from us?"

I shook my head, the confusion evident. "I don't know. Why would some unknown being offer something without asking for anything in return? It doesn't make sense."

Eve sighed, the weight of the conversation hanging heavy between us. "We'll talk about this later. It's time to pack up the tent," she said, returning to her usual briskness and practicality.

"Alright, go tell the men we'll be leaving at sunrise," I instructed, my voice carrying a sense of urgency and purpose.

As we began to dismantle the camp, I took in the faces of our tribe members, each one marked by hardship and resilience. Old Margo, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, struggled to fold her blankets with arthritic hands. Her grandson, young Timmy, tried to help, his small hands fumbling with the heavy fabric. Nearby, Thom, our burly blacksmith, was already busy packing his tools with the efficiency of a man accustomed to hard labor. His daughter, Lena, stood beside him, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and curiosity as she watched him work.

Cora, our sage moved through the crowd with a calm demeanor, checking on the children and elders. Her twin daughters, Ivy and Isla, trailed behind her, mimicking her movements and trying to help where they could. Even old Rufus, the tribe's storyteller, was packing up his makeshift tent, his weathered face set in a determined expression as he carefully placed his precious scrolls into a wooden box.

As the sun began to rise, casting a golden light over the camp, the sound of our preparations filled the air. The clang of metal as Thom secured his tools, the rustle of fabric as tents were taken down, the murmur of voices discussing the day ahead—all of it created a symphony of survival.

A lingering thought nagged at me. Why did this deity wish to save us—our tribe, raised only to be slaughtered in an endless cycle? It didn't make sense. Perhaps they needed our tribe for some reason. But why not approach someone else? The answer was simple. As the sole surviving descendant of the tribe chief, I was the acting chief.

With everything packed, I gathered the tribe together. The men, women, and children looked to me with a mixture of hope and apprehension. Eve stood by my side, her playful demeanor replaced with a serious determination.

"Everyone, gather around!" I called out, my voice carrying over the noise of the camp. "We need to move quickly. There's a long journey ahead, but we'll find a new place to call home."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. As we began our trek, I sat in my caravan with Eve, Thom, and Cora. Behind us, the rest of the tribe followed, their footsteps a steady rhythm on the dusty path.