The forest welcomed him with indifference.
Towering trees rose toward the sky, their canopies woven together so tightly that sunlight filtered through only in scattered fragments. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of moss, bark, and untouched earth. Somewhere in the distance, an animal cried out—a sharp, unfamiliar sound that echoed briefly before vanishing into the wilderness.
The clone stood still, letting the sensations wash over him.
Cold.
Alive.
Uncivilized.
This is what the world was like, he thought calmly. Before empires. Before industry. Before certainty.
Through the shared consciousness, the main body observed silently from within the Small World. There was no verbal exchange between them; none was needed. Every sight, every sound, every subtle emotional shift flowed back naturally.
Fear did not arise.
Curiosity did.
The clone lowered himself and pressed his fingers against the ground, mimicking the action the main body had performed earlier. Unlike the Small World, the earth here did not respond. It was stubborn, resistant, governed by laws that did not acknowledge his authority.
Yet.
He closed his eyes and allowed a thin stream of power to descend from the Origin Core.
Not enough to distort reality.
Just enough to understand it.
Information surfaced—soil density, mineral content, water sources nearby. Crude, fragmented, nothing like the clarity of the Small World, but sufficient.
"Livable," he muttered.
He rose and began walking.
Hours passed.
The sun moved slowly across the sky, marking time with a primitive honesty that no clock could replicate. As he traveled, the forest thinned, giving way to open grasslands. Wind swept freely here, bending tall grass in rolling waves.
And then—
Smoke.
Thin, gray, rising in a distant column.
The clone stopped.
Humans, he thought.
The main body felt the same conclusion at the same time.
Primitive settlements clustered around resources. Fire meant food, warmth, safety. It also meant danger—because where humans gathered, conflict followed.
The clone considered his approach carefully.
In this era, strangers were threats. Different skin, different language, different customs—all could mean death.
He adjusted his posture subtly. Relaxed his shoulders. Slowed his breathing.
Then he walked toward the smoke.
The settlement was small.
Less than thirty crude structures made of wood, hide, and packed earth, arranged loosely around a central fire pit. People moved about cautiously—men carrying tools of stone and bone, women tending fires and children, eyes sharp and alert.
They saw him before he reached the edge of the camp.
Shouts rang out.
Hands reached for spears.
The clone stopped well outside striking distance and raised both hands slowly, palms open.
A universal gesture.
He felt dozens of eyes lock onto him.
Tension thickened the air.
A man stepped forward—older than most, hair streaked with gray, posture rigid with authority. A leader, or close enough.
He spoke.
The words meant nothing to the clone linguistically—but intent carried meaning beyond language. Demand. Warning. Fear.
The clone responded calmly, speaking in a neutral tone.
"I mean no harm."
The words were useless.
So he changed tactics.
He knelt.
Slowly. Deliberately.
The grass brushed against his knees as he lowered himself until his head bowed slightly. Submission—not complete, but symbolic.
The reaction was immediate.
Confusion rippled through the group.
The leader hesitated.
Good.
From within the Small World, the main body observed the exchange with keen interest.
First contact must set the pattern, he thought. I am not a conqueror. Not yet.
The clone reached into his clothing—simple garments formed by the system, designed to blend rather than stand out—and withdrew a small object.
A smooth stone.
Unremarkable at first glance.
But as he placed it gently on the ground between them, he allowed a whisper of borrowed power to flow through it.
The stone warmed.
Not hot.
Just… alive.
The leader's eyes widened.
Murmurs spread through the camp.
The clone withdrew his hand and waited.
Seconds stretched.
Finally, the leader stepped forward cautiously, crouched, and touched the stone.
He flinched.
Then he looked up, staring directly at the clone for the first time.
Something changed.
The leader spoke again, slower now, tone altered. Awe mixed with uncertainty.
The clone did not understand the words.
But he understood the result.
Curiosity has replaced hostility, the main body noted.
That was enough.
He was welcomed—cautiously.
A place near the fire was offered. Food followed shortly after: roasted meat, rough bread made from crushed grains. The clone accepted with nods and small gestures of gratitude.
As night fell, the camp quieted.
Children whispered, glancing at him from behind their mothers. Warriors watched him closely, hands never straying far from their weapons.
He ate slowly.
Listened.
Observed.
Language patterns. Social hierarchy. Resource distribution.
All of it was cataloged by the shared consciousness, archived within the Origin Core.
This is the beginning, the main body thought. Not of domination—but of direction.
Later, as stars filled the sky, the clone lay near the fire, staring upward.
The constellations were unfamiliar.
No satellites.
No artificial lights.
Just the raw universe.
For the first time since rebirth, something stirred within him that was not calculation.
A quiet sense of distance.
Humanity is so small, he thought. And yet… so full of potential.
The main body felt the thought resonate.
Within the Small World, he stood at the center of his growing domain and looked up at his own sky—crafted, controlled, eternal.
"One will rise through knowledge," he murmured.
"One through faith."
"One through power."
His lips curved slightly.
"And all paths will lead back to me."
Far away, the camp slept.
And in the year 1000, a single unnoticed presence had just stepped onto the stage of history.
Morning arrived without ceremony.
The sun crested the horizon slowly, spilling pale gold across the grasslands and brushing against the edges of the camp. Smoke rose again from the central fire as embers were coaxed back to life. The scent of burning wood mixed with dew-soaked earth, grounding the moment in something ancient and familiar.
The clone opened his eyes.
He had not slept in the way mortals did. His body rested, but his consciousness never fully dimmed. Throughout the night, he had listened—to breathing, to shifting bodies, to the quiet sounds of a settlement at rest.
Patterns had already formed in his mind.
This tribe was small, but stable. They hunted in groups, shared food communally, and followed the authority of elders rather than brute strength alone. Conflict existed, but it was contained. Survival demanded cooperation.
A good foundation, he judged.
Across the distance of consciousness, the main body acknowledged the assessment.
Every civilization begins like this, he thought. Fragile, unaware of what it might become.
The first to notice the clone awake was a young woman tending the fire.
She froze when their eyes met.
For a brief moment, neither moved.
Her gaze was sharp, wary—but not hostile. There was curiosity there, and something else: the instinctive alertness of someone accustomed to watching for danger.
She said something quietly, glancing toward the nearest shelter.
Within moments, the older leader emerged, followed by two warriors. They approached cautiously, but without weapons raised.
The leader spoke again, gesturing toward the open plains and then toward the clone.
A question.
The clone stood slowly, making no sudden movements. He pointed to himself, then to the horizon, then spread his hands.
"Traveler," he said aloud, knowing the word would not translate. But intent mattered more than language.
The leader studied him for a long moment, then nodded once.
A decision had been made.