The chief walked down the pathway. His bone staff in hand. He used it like a walking staff like the previous chief. Not because he needed to, but because of tradition. His young age and relative inexperience was made up for by his trained image of majesty. He was drilled so many times how to walk and behave in the event of his choosing.

He just didn’t know it would’ve been so soon.

Half the part of being chief was looking the part. Heavy black black robes, just covered with white symbols of his patrons. He let his chest slightly poke out. It let his tattooed chest slip through. A way of silently showing status among monsters. His long black horns, stretched up from behind his ears. His face rested in a way that lacked emotion. It wasn’t any indication of how he actually felt. He’d been born like this.

Takaa told him that he had never cried when he was born. Just sat there unwavering. The other imps were concerned because they didn’t know when he needed to eat. He never gave them any signs. Just sat there observing, dead eyed.

He walked through the streets of his camp. Walking past the preparers building. Frowning as he looked at the black singe marks they still hadn’t been able to get out of the buildings. The production class were beasts of their own kind. Working through the sweat, rushing around like worker bees. Training blades, training vests, dummies filled with grass, meals being cooked on spinning spools. Some waved as they caught his eye, then rushed to complete their jobs. He saw their tired eyes and weary smiles.

They were tired.

And very excited.

He watched them eagerly use their nimble fingers and gifts. Crafting items that would push forward the camp's progress. They didn’t let the early seasons' tragedy slow them down. If anything, it made them work harder. He admired them. Even he sat in his room for a few days, just being haunted by that day. The hordes. He tightened his grip around his staff. Remembering the smell of fire. Running through the burning camp, not knowing if any one of his friends were alive or dead.

The crescent smile of that barbaric chief knocked him onto the ground.

That horrible smile, as that ogre had stolen his eye.

He was still haunted by the chuckle it had as it plunged its sword through his fathers back. It still didn’t feel real. The sword ate away at his father with a horrible greed. The mummified face had left–

“Chief!” The yell of the production head brought him out of his thoughts. Older woman, almost the age of 10. She was a short portly woman with hands covered in calluses. She wore robes of a similar vein as his. 2 short horns that curved up above her eyebrows. Dark red skin with permanent bags over her eyes.

He looks around and notices that the entire department has stopped working. Looking at him with eyes of concern. He bit the inside of his lip. How long had they been looking at the Chief?

How long had he been standing here?

“You alright?”

“...Yeah, sorry.” He bowed.

“It’s alright, Chief.”

The word chief still felt odd in her mouth. She had trained him how to use a sword, and taught him how to survive under the worst of conditions. Even though he had wanted this title, and intended to honor it, it still felt weird to be this high up.

“...I’m going to go see the children,” He told her, “Would you like to come?”

She thought for a minute. He smiled as she went on a run. Dashing through her mind palace thinking of all her responsibilities.

The elderly imp wasn’t even close to being the strongest.

But everyone knew how much she held this camp together. That’s why no one objected when she was given the robes. “Red!” She called. A little imp with a little shock of orange hair poked out from the back. “Yes mama?”

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“Make sure everyone keeps on schedule. You’re in charge.” Everyone in the camp groaned. “You hear anyone complaining, you tell me. I’ll put them on basket weaving duty for a week.” She told the youngling. The plucky imp grinned wildly. Giving a salute.

The two of them headed out and the chief chuckled. “Why’d they all groan?”

“Sunny likes to work ‘em hard. He’s a good number two for that reason.”

“Production camp not wanting to work? Sounds like a bad joke.” He said.

“They work fine, it's just that nobody wants a boss that constantly stands over ‘em.”

“Fire and flames keep the soul alive.”

“Aye,” She thought for a moment, then said, …That’s why we listen to our ancestors, their knowledge is valuable.”

He immediately knew what she was insinuating and ignored it. She always did this thing of not saying His reign as chief had started with a lot of the old rules being annulled. It's what he had promised the others. He would do when he got the power.

“I’m not taking it back,” He said firmly.

She sighed, in a sort of tired smile. “Rules are there for a reason, Chieftain. Our ancestors–”

“If it were up to our ancestors, an imp like you wouldn’t have a name or a robe.” He snapped. She stopped talking. The walk was a bit awkward after that, the Cradle was a decent distance away.

She wasn’t going to admit it but she knew he was right. She’s worked for Taaka for four years without even a lick of appreciation. He’d loved the man, but Taaka was not without flaws. What he did before made the brightest jewels inaccessible to the village. He’d inadvertently pressed coal so hard that they had become diamonds. And the Chief was going to figure out how.

The building was different from the others in the compound. A large smooth dirt dome constructed with brilliant earth magic. It seemed simple (And was,) But it was a marvel of technology. In pure area it was even bigger than the production department. It had square holes poked out every 5-6 feet around the top. Letting small peeps of light. In front there was a door that had no knobs. No openings. It just had a jutting indent in it and almost made the dome look like it had a massive overbite.

The chieftain laid his hand on the building, commanding his mana from within and pushing it into the building. The cradle’s earth mana was tightly compact; it had taken stress tests from some of the strongest hitters in the camp. He began to slightly sweat pushing his mana into it. The chiefs were the only ones who knew exactly where to place their mana to let the door come down.

It was one of the many secrets passed down.

The lip slowly descended, dirt dust coming out of the well designed golem. Mama whistled, “It truly is a work of art. Chief Arri’s golems have always been a marvel. I hope my stars we get to see another like ‘im.” Mama had lived through three chiefs. Which was no easy feat. The forest was a cruel mistress. It took away the best and worst of us with little prejudice. It almost made someone want to be human. Though from what he’d been told by the scouts, human town hadn’t been much better.

Maybe it was just the world that was cruel.

That didn’t matter though.

Because this is what mattered. “Waah! Waah!” He watched the Cradle with happiness. Standing on the soft dirt floors. He enjoyed coming here every day. Not because of the crying. But because this particular month's batch was huge! He counted at least twenty baby imps.

The deaths had seemingly brought a ton of new life to the colony.

They rolled around, babbling, looking for anything to chew on or destroy. He watched some of the young talent summon fire. At this age! It was a fantastic sign. It meant good fortune for the colony.

One of the babies crawled over to another. It was marveling at its rock and holding onto its new treasure. Minding its own business. The rockless looked at the rock quizzically, before snatching the rock from their owner's hand.

He'd read about human children. He was told their reaction to this was to cry for an adult to soothe their pain. Or kick and scream on the ground.

Not imp children. The one who had their rock stolen–his pulled back horns already starting to grow in–Launched at his peer with ferocity. The two rolled around in the dirt. Smacking each other with their undisciplined open handed punches. Breaking into a full brawl for the treasure. Biting each other.

He laughed to himself.

Violence came easily to baby monsters. Their first response is to fight. Their potential was shown from right out the womb. The forest was cruel to all those that didn’t adapt quickly. And adapt they did! These imp's would become their Onis, Demons, Lords, Satyrs… Maybe he would even get a fabled Ghoul out of these bunch. He almost frothed at the thought.

“You always get so happy seeing ‘em.” She smiled, seeing him show emotion.

He wanted to stop smiling but couldn’t, he was excited.

The energy in the room made him feel full. Proud and full of inspiration. He should've focused on the talent in front of him, however there were a few… problems. In the corner they caught his eye.

Timid and staying away from the other kids were the few pink imps. Five, he counted. He frowned at this. It was somewhat impressive how fast they separated themselves. Like even they knew how dangerous their competition was. Good survival instincts, he'll give them that.

"Shoji." He called.