By the end of spring, something changed in how the tribe looked at us.
Not at me.
At us.
Six children who played strange games, asked strange questions, and learned in organized patterns instead of tribal instinct.
The rescued children no longer looked like frightened prey.
They looked like pupils.
The adults didn't have a word for that yet — they would in time.
Sight Slips Through
The first crack in our secrecy happened during a tracking lesson.
We followed deer spoor through wet pine needles. The hunters whispered and touched marks on trees. Tullen sniffed the wind. Haniwa pointed at scat and asked how old it was.
Ren crouched beside a track and traced a deep indentation. "Heavy," he said. "Buck. Good meat."
He was right.
But then Talli pointed ahead and said:
"There."
The adults froze.
Because she pointed at something she should not have been able to know existed — a broken branch, ten paces ahead, barely visible between ferns.
Hunters did not point.
Hunters felt.
Baba turned his head slowly. "What did you see?"
She hesitated, then spoke the death sentence:
"Branch. Broken."
Half the hunters sucked in breath through their teeth. One made a warding gesture. One muttered a prayer under her breath.
Baba crouched in front of Talli.
His voice was careful.
"You saw the branch?"
Talli nodded, small and sure. "Yes. It was… there."
She pointed again — innocent, confident, sighted.
Tullen elbowed her so hard she hissed. He whispered fiercely:
"We do not say see!"
Talli clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.
Too late.
The idea had already escaped.
Containment
Baba didn't shout. He didn't scowl. He didn't strike her.
He simply turned to the hunters and said:
"Children sometimes feel things they cannot explain. Words are sloppy. Do not chase meaning from sloppy words."
But even that explanation was thin.
The older hunter with bone charms in his beard whispered:
"Spirits see through children."
Baba didn't argue.
Arguing gave ideas teeth.
He simply stood and said:
"Hunt is ending. We return."
They obeyed.
But the System did not miss the breach.
SECRECY THREAT DETECTED
Risk of Sight Revelation: +12%
Potential Outcomes:
• Curiosity
• Fear
• Reverence
• Exile
• Infanticide (Low)
Infanticide.
Not rhetoric — probability.
This world did not tolerate anomalies. Anomalies attracted gods, curses, and enemies.
The Fire Question
That night, Baba called us to the fire pit behind his hut.
Only children. Only us.
He knelt and spoke softly.
"What you did today was dangerous."
Talli shrank into herself. "I'm sorry."
"You are not sorry for seeing," Baba said. "You are sorry for saying."
He pointed to his ear. "Words carry farther than sight."
Then to his chest. "And fear lives here, not in eyes."
I understood what he was doing—he was reframing sight as dangerous knowledge rather than supernatural power.
Then he asked the question:
"How many of you can see?"
No one moved.
Not because we were afraid of him.
Because we all looked at each other first.
That was the first moment of internal trust.
Haniwa raised her hand first. Then I did. Then Talli, reluctant but honest.
Three out of six.
Baba nodded, unsurprised. "You must hide it."
Talli whispered, "But why?"
"Because the world kills what it does not understand," Baba said. "Slavers take children. Priests burn prophets. Warriors kill witches."
Then he leaned forward.
"And tribes kill miracles."
Silence smothered us.
The System chimed:
Concept: Suppression for Survival
Cultural Insight: Genius must often hide before it leads.
Then Baba tapped his spear haft against the ground.
"You will learn to see like the blind. You will learn to move like the blind. And one day, when you are strong enough, you will decide if the world deserves your sight."
He didn't say you will reveal it.
He didn't say you will hide forever.
He said decide.
Decision was kingship.
Training Begins
For weeks, training changed.
Baba blindfolded the three sighted children first.
"Find each other."
We swung sticks, stumbled, cursed, and collided.
He tossed stones.
We had to turn our heads before they landed.
He dragged furs.
We had to tell direction.
He snapped fingers.
We had to react.
Haniwa excelled.
Talli struggled.
I adapted quickly because I already understood the logic.
The non-sighted children watched in awe.
Soon Baba added them to the drills, and suddenly the advantage of sight disappeared.
In a blind world, too much reliance on vision made you slow.
The System approved:
Skill Gained: Blind Combat Basics (Group)
+Reaction Speed
+Directional Hearing
+Joints & Foot Placement
Then:
Trait Acquired: Dual Perception (Seed)
Effect: Balanced use of sight & non-sight senses.
Dual perception would become the cornerstone of future training.
But something else happened during these drills:
The non-sighted children stopped seeing sight as alien. They saw it as just another skill to master or ignore.
That was how revolutions began—not in war, but in normalization.
The Elder's Ultimatum
But secrets were never perfectly kept.
One evening, the white-haired elder appeared at Baba's hut unannounced. Her cane tapped the dirt twice—sharper than usual.
"Your children play strange games," she said.
Baba did not answer.
"Strange games make strange adults," she continued. "And strange adults make strange tribes."
Still no answer.
Then she said the part that mattered:
"Alkenny survive by being known. If your children change what we are, you must tell the council."
Baba finally spoke:
"Or?"
She tapped her cane once.
"Or the council will decide for you."
The System translated that bluntly:
Threat: Internal Polity Intervention
Forms Could Include:
• Council oversight
• Religious scrutiny
• Forced conformity
• Quiet removal (Low but non-zero)
Baba bowed his head—not in submission, but in respect.
Then he said the sentence that shocked even me:
"Give me one year."
The elder paused.
"One year for what?"
"To make them useful."
She considered.
"One year," she agreed. "Make them hunters or apprentices or scribes or witches—whatever you claim they are. Just make them something the tribe can understand."
Then she left.
The fire hissed. The children swallowed fear. Baba stared into the flames as though seeing the year ahead in all its blood and brilliance.
The System chimed.
New Quest: A Year of Purpose
Objective: Establish societal role for cohort
Time Limit: 365 days
Reward: Cultural Legitimacy
Failure Consequence: Council Intervention
One year to make six children into something a blind tribe could comprehend.
Soldiers? Scouts? Scribes? Diplomats? Priests? Leaders?
I didn't know yet.
But I knew this:
A year was enough to change a tribe.
And tribes were just kingdoms with stage one turned on.