Father and son carried their grandfather's body deep into the cave—his sacred place of prayer, now his final resting place.
Anik's father turned to him, eyes red-rimmed and raw with grief.
Neither spoke. Words couldn't mend the hollow space left behind.
Kneeling before the crude grave, Anik reached for the dried animal blood in the offering plate—clumpy and stiff, clinging stubbornly to the stone.
He scraped it up with trembling fingers, smearing the dark streaks across his face, his arms, his chest.
Then he pressed his forehead to the cold earth and began to chant.
The ancient words spilled from his lips—the same prayer his grandfather had taught him in whispers.
The language of the forgotten.
The language of the mad.
"I, a devotee of Death, plead for your descent—
O Dancer who painted the Festival of Blood in carnage...
O Seraph of Death, sovereign of crimson tides,
Great Kraz Everbleed... HEED MY CALL!"
Anik stood with arms outstretched, staring at the dark wall before him.
The flickering candlelight made his shadow dance.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
He rose to his feet. His father watched his small frame, unsure what to say.
Now, his only son would be known as the new Madman of the Tribe.
…
Weeks passed, and Anik never missed a day of prayer inside his late grandfather's dwelling.
He stopped spending time with his friends and the other villagers, focusing only on his father's hunting lessons.
He grew skilled with a knife and bow, and even learned to swim in the river.
But loneliness weighed on him.
Still, he endured—this was the promise he had made to his dead grandfather: to keep praying and pass the ritual to the next generation.
One day, as Anik sat by the river, tossing pebbles absentmindedly, a sudden touch startled him.
It was Kanaz, smiling brightly at him.
But Anik only stared back in silence.
Kanaz plopped down beside him on the riverbank, her shoulder brushing his.
"Hey," she said, nudging him with an elbow,
"why so serious? Are you okay?"
Anik kept his eyes on the water.
"I'm fine. It's just... you don't have to waste time with me. The village madman, remember?"
She snorted, scooping up a handful of pebbles.
One by one, she sent them skipping across the current.
"Ain't it nice, though? Being left alone? No one pestering you all day..." A sly grin curled her lips.
"Maybe I should turn mad too. Then those idiots would finally leave me be."
"Don't say that." His voice sharpened.
"If they hear you talking like that—"
"Good." She laughed, bright and unbothered.
"Let them stare."
Against his will, the tension in his shoulders eased.
Only Kanaz could do this—peel back the weight with nothing but her presence.
A pebble plinked into the water. Then, softly:
"Hey... if I wanted to learn the thing that made them call you mad... would you teach me?"
He whipped his head toward her.
For a long moment, he could only gape.
At last, he huffed.
"Just asking that makes you sound ten times crazier than me."
Kanaz gave him a playful punch on the arm, her touch feather-light.
She tilted her head back to gaze at the sky, her radiant smile and dreamy expression making Anik's ears grow warm.
"One day," she declared,
"I'm going to leave this village behind. See the world, taste foods I've never even imagined, swim in rivers wider than this whole valley..." Her eyes sparkled.
"Maybe even find those legendary oceans the elders whisper about."
Anik shrugged.
"Yeah, well... I'll just stay—"
"No!" She cut him off, grabbing his sleeve.
"You're coming with me." The certainty in her voice sent heat rushing to his cheeks.
Anik rolled his eyes to hide his fluster.
"What choice do I have? Someone needs to cook for you, glutton."
Their laughter mingled with the river's murmur.
Then Anik grew serious.
"If... if you really want to learn what I do," he said slowly,
"meet me at my grandfather's old dwelling tomorrow."
Kanaz's entire face lit up.
"Promise!"
…
As they made their way back to the village, Anik and Kanaz spotted a group of heavily armed strangers speaking with the Tribe Leader.
Though they couldn't make out the words, the leader's expression was dark, his voice rising in clear frustration.
Then Anik noticed it—a shadowy figure seated inside a nearby carriage, watching silently.
As they drew closer, the tension thickened.
"You'll regret this decision," growled a broad-shouldered man covered in tattoos.
With a sharp gesture, he signaled his group.
"Let's move!"
The strangers turned, their bloodshot eyes sweeping over the villagers like hunters sizing up prey.
Anik caught Ton's gaze—a silent warning.
Without another word, he muttered a quick goodbye to Kanaz and hurried home.
His father stood by the doorway, staring into the distance.
"Father," Anik asked quietly,
"who were those people?"
His father didn't look at him.
"I don't know. But something about them… it's best we stay far away."
Anik nodded and turned toward his room, but his father's next words froze him in place.
"Anik… tomorrow, when you go to your grandfather's cave… stay there. Sleep if you must. Maybe the prayers… maybe they'll finally answer."
The unspoken meaning hung heavy between them.
His father's instincts were never wrong.
If danger came, at least his son would be far from the village.
…
Morning light filtered through the hut as Anik sharpened his knife, preparing for his daily training.
Knife work first, then archery—his unwavering routine before visiting his grandfather's cave each afternoon.
His father cooked in silence, the scent of roasted rabbit filling the air.
When they sat to eat, Anik took a bite and paused.
"This is better than anything the village mothers make. How?"
His father chuckled, eyes distant.
"Your mother taught me. Back when..." The words trailed off.
Anik's chest tightened.
His mother was gone—lost bringing him into this world.
His grandfather too, claimed by time.
Now it was just the two of them, clinging to each other like survivors of a silent storm.
A calloused hand squeezed his shoulder.
"She'd be proud of you, son. The man you're becoming."
They finished their meal in comfortable silence.
Anik set out toward the forest where his grandfather's cave lay hidden among the trees.
But as he walked, the sight of the strangers' encampment gave him pause.
A lavish tent stood at its center, surrounded by wagons—most of them cages.
For captured beasts? he wondered.
He kept his head down, ignoring the unfamiliar faces, and pressed on.
Inside the cave, he began his ritual.
He replaced the old blood in the offering bowl with fresh rabbit's blood, then traced intricate symbols across his skin.
When he knelt to pray, his voice was fervent, almost desperate.
Hours slipped by.
Anik lingered at the cave's entrance, watching the shadows lengthen.
Where is Kanaz? He kicked a pebble.
"Probably got caught up with something," he muttered to the empty air.
Kanaz never broke a promise.
Whenever she said something, she meant it—no matter the cost.
If she dreamed of leaving the forest to explore the world, Anik knew she would make it happen one day.
But whether he would join her… that remained uncertain.
Only fate would decide.
After hours of waiting, his legs grew stiff.
He headed to the river to clear his mind.
If Kanaz didn't find him in the cave, she would surely look for him here.
Yet dusk came and went, and she never appeared.
Maybe Uncle Ton stopped her again.
Anik didn't let it unsettle him.
He had long accepted his place in the tribe.
The friends who once played with him now eyed him with disdain.
The women who used to tend his wounds turned away.
Even the elders, who once shared their wisdom, now kept their distance.
He had always known this would happen.
He was different now—an outcast.
And in this world, the only constant was change.
Still, he clung to one hope—that Kanaz, no matter what, would never see him differently.
As darkness swallowed the forest, he turned toward home.
Then he saw it—a flickering glow in the distance, lighting up the village like a festival.
Is it that time already?
The annual Festival of Dances—a sacred rite where the tribe's youth found lifelong partners.
Anik had once dreamed of dancing with Kanaz under the stars.
A hollow smile touched his lips.
Impossible.
A madman like him stood no chance.
And Kanaz? The Tribe Leader's daughter? Her father would sooner slit his throat than allow it.
He trudged toward the village, feet heavy with resignation.
Loneliness was his path now.
He had accepted it.
But as he neared, the air changed.
Not laughter.
Not music.
Screams.
His blood turned to ice.
He ran.
Chaos greeted him.
Homes burned.
Children lay motionless in the dirt.
Women were dragged away by laughing brutes.
Warriors, limbless and bleeding, fought like rabid beasts.
Father. Kanaz.
His house was already engulfed in flames.
No sign of his father.
The village center—where the sacred bonfire blazed—was worse.
Tied tribesmen huddled together.
Women.
Children.
And there—Kanaz.
Kneeling, bound, tears cutting through the soot on her face.
He lunged forward.
A hand yanked him back.
"I told you to stay at the cave!" His father's voice was a snarl.
Anik fought.
"We have to help them!"
But his father was stronger.
A hunter's grip.
A warrior's resolve.
He hauled Anik away, ignoring his thrashing, his punches.
Then—
A shadow blocked their path.
The tattooed man from before.
His father hurled Anik aside.
Pain exploded as he tumbled across the ground.
When his vision cleared, his father was already fighting.
No.
A veteran hunter.
A man who'd faced wolves and bears.
Yet the stranger cut him down like kindling.
His father staggered.
Fell to his knees.
"Anik…" Blood bubbled at his lips.
"Live."
The sword flashed.
A head rolled.
His father's body crumpled.