Now I feel my heart beating

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned in months and months into years, Throughout those years the trio's efforts to teach the gathered tribes unfolded in an inspiring display of collaboration and transformation. Each of the 12 tribes brought their unique strengths and challenges to the table, and Rice, Ryden, and Darius adapted their teachings to fit the nomadic culture of the central plains.

One day the 12 tribal chiefs convened in the grand tent, its canvas walls adorned with symbols representing the various tribes. The air was heavy with anticipation as they settled around the fire at the center, their faces illuminated by its flickering glow. The trio—Rice, Ryden, and Darius—sat slightly apart, listening attentively as each chief spoke, their voices filled with passion and purpose, their voices carrying the weight of years spent learning, growing, and sharing knowledge in this central hub where tribes had come together.

Zael, the Thunder Strider chief, was the first to speak. A wiry woman with a sharp, commanding presence, she rose to her feet with a proud grin. "We have found our purpose" she declared, her golden eyes gleaming with fervor. "The horses are not just beasts to us—they are partners, family. We will tame every horse in the plains and the Thunder Striders will be the fastest messengers and deadliest warriors this world has ever seen."

Her words were met with murmurs of admiration, and Zael's horse spirit materialized behind her, its golden mane rippling like flames. It stamped its hoof, emphasizing her declaration.

Next was Korrin, the Storm Scale chief, a towering figure with a deep, rumbling voice that carried authority. His draconic spirit coiled lazily behind him, sparks of lightning flickering across its silver scales.

"Spirits have only recently entered our lives" Korrin began, his gaze locking onto Rice and Ryden. "But we have never understood them as deeply as we do now. Your teachings have opened our eyes to their true potential. How they choose us, how we might form stronger contracts, and even how to guide them to greater power—we want to know everything."

His questions came rapidly, his curiosity insatiable. "What makes a spirit bond stronger? Can a spirit choose multiple humans? What happens when a spirit grows beyond its element?" The other chiefs leaned in, equally intrigued, as Korrin's thirst for knowledge sparked a lively discussion.

Clarissa, the Root Binder chief, followed, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to Korrin's intensity. Her serpent spirit, sleek and silver, curled protectively around her shoulders as she spoke.

"Our lands have never been so abundant," she said softly, her green eyes shimmering with gratitude. "The seeds you've given us, Rice, and the irrigation techniques you've taught—our people no longer fear hunger. For the first time, no tribes people of mind have died of hunger" She gestured to the trio with an almost reverent expression.

"We wish to expand this knowledge further," Clarissa continued. "Teach us how to sustain our crops through the seasons, how to preserve food for the times when the land is less kind. You've given us a taste of what is possible, and we crave more."

The Cliff Walker chief, a grizzled man named Barak, stood next, his presence as solid as the cliffs his tribe called home. His spirit—a hulking mountain goat with jagged, stone-like horns—loomed behind him, its eyes gleaming with sharp intelligence.

Barak held up a bronze sword, forged under Darius's guidance, its edge gleaming in the firelight. "This," he said, his voice low but firm, "is the future, Your weapons have already made us stronger, but we need to learn more. Please show us how to refine our forging techniques, how to make armor and tools that will last generations."

He turned to Darius, his expression one of solemn respect. "You have given us the foundation, but we want to build something greater. Will you teach us how to wield this knowledge, not just in battle but in everyday life?"

The other tribal chiefs also expressed their priorities:

Chief Nahlia of the Sky Vine Tribe stood gracefully, her lithe frame silhouetted by the firelight. She was a woman of quiet intensity, her gaze always drifting upward, as if she were searching the stars for guidance. Her people had always revered the skies, their love for climbing and exploring the treetops ingrained in their culture.

"Our home is among the branches," she said, her voice as soft as the rustle of leaves in the wind but filled with conviction. "We wish to craft tools that will carry us higher, let us move faster, and make our treetop camps safer."

She gestured to a warrior standing beside her, who held up a crude grappling hook made of bone and woven vines. "This has served us well, but we believe we can do better—with stronger materials and better designs."

Her words resonated with those present, especially the artisans and smiths who eagerly offered ideas. Darius, listening intently, began sketching a design in the dirt—a more durable climbing hook reinforced with iron tips.

"And not just for climbing," Nahlia added, a hint of a smile touching her lips. "We dream of reaching the highest canopies to map the stars and understand the heavens above. The skies are our legacy, and we will claim them."

The Burning Claw Tribe's representatives were the loudest of the group, their fiery enthusiasm impossible to ignore. Their chief, an imposing man named Garron, spoke with the same intensity as the tiger spirits that roamed alongside his people.

"Our warriors fight with the heart of the flame," he declared, his voice booming. "But we seek more—we want our weapons to become fire itself."

He unsheathed a heavy blade, its edge scorched and blackened from battle. Holding it aloft, he said, "This is what we have now. It strikes true, but it lacks the power of our spirits."

The warriors of the Burning Claw murmured their agreement, their fiery auras flaring slightly with their passion. Garron's gaze turned to Rice, Darius, and the allied blacksmiths.

"You've worked with metals and elements. Can you teach us how to forge weapons that burn as fiercely as the lions that guide us? Weapons that not only cut but sear, that can match the heat of our rage?"

Darius nodded thoughtfully, his mind already working through the challenge. "It'll take time," he said, "but I think we can harness fire as more than just a tool—make it part of the weapon itself."

The Burning Claw warriors roared their approval, their excitement palpable as they envisioned their fiery arsenal.

The representatives of the Moon Step and Shadow Tail tribes moved with a quiet, almost imperceptible grace, their cloaks blending into the shadows that flickered around the fire. Their chiefs, slender figures with piercing eyes, spoke with a calm precision that matched their people's cunning.

"We do not fight with brute strength," said Rynna, the chief of the Moon Step Tribe, her voice barely above a whisper. "We rely on speed, agility, and stealth to outmaneuver our enemies. For us, the shadows are both our armor and our weapon."

Her counterpart from the Shadow Tail Tribe, a wiry man named Zarek, nodded in agreement. "We value lightweight weapons—blades that strike silently and tools that allow us to disappear when we are seen."

Rynna gestured toward a small collection of their weapons: slender knives, curved daggers, and throwing stars carved from bone and obsidian. "These serve us well, but we seek to improve. We wish to move as the wind does, leaving no trace, striking before our enemies even know we are there."

Zarek added, "And for our spirits—foxes and panthers of shadow—we wish to deepen our bond, to learn how to use their abilities to mask our movements and heighten our senses. Can your knowledge help us?"

The allied craftsmen and strategists exchanged glances, inspired by the challenge. "There are ways," one said, "to make weapons lighter without sacrificing their strength. And to harness shadows… we may need to study your spirits more closely."

The Ash Coil Tribe's chief, Lyssara the Silver Tongue, was as cunning in negotiations as she was in battle. Draped in a cloak adorned with snake motifs, she stood with an air of quiet confidence, her eyes glinting like polished onyx in the firelight.

"Our concerns are different from those of the warriors," she began, her voice smooth and deliberate. "We are builders, strategists. We seek to strengthen our fortifications and create barriers that cannot be breached—not by man, beast, or spirit."

She gestured to a crude model of their current defenses—a series of wooden palisades reinforced with stones and vines. "These have served us well, but the Blood Talons taught us the limits of what we know. We need walls that stand against flame, that resist the claws of spirit beasts. And we need traps—clever ones that can turn an attacker's strength into their downfall."

Lyssara's words drew nods from those gathered, especially the engineers and blacksmiths among the allied tribes. "You're thinking of defenses that adapt," Darius said, leaning forward, his interest piqued. "We can teach you techniques to layer materials—stone, metal, and wood—so that each supports the other."

Lyssara's smile widened, sly but genuine. "Excellent. And as for traps, I have ideas of my own. With your help, they could become truly… persuasive."

At the end of the meeting, Rice leaned back and asked, "Are you sure you don't want to settle down and found a city? I've got ideas."

Torran, the Iron Fang chief, shook his head with a faint smile. "That life is not for us. Our people want to roam the lands. Perhaps in the future, but settling down is not in our blood."

The other chiefs murmured in agreement, their nomadic spirits unwilling to trade their freedom for permanence. Ryden nodded in understanding, even as a hint of disappointment flickered across his face.