The first word they created wasn't spoken.
It was carved.
Kael pressed his stone against the bark of a tall tree and etched a looping arc that ended in a sharp point. It meant "here"—not just a location, but a moment. A presence. A feeling.
Aila watched from behind, arms crossed. "That's a word?"
Kael shrugged. "Doesn't matter if it makes sense. Only that it carries something."
---
By noon, they had twenty symbols.
Each one scratched into bark, dirt, or stone. They didn't assign meanings at first. Just drew based on how the world felt. Curves for stillness. Sharp lines for hunger. Spirals for fear and forgetting.
Oran added one no one else understood—four crooked lines that intersected in the middle.
Kael asked, "What's that?"
Oran said, "It's the shape of when you see something once… and know you'll never see it again."
Kael stared for a long time. Then nodded.
"That one stays."
---
They called it "the script."
