The continent of Hume had a vast and storied history dating even past the oldest of religious origin stories. The humans who first pioneered these lands in the old-old times operated as nomadic opportunists. Their populations would fluctuate with the success and failure of the chieftains and warlords leading their charge. It would be hundreds of years before the first fractured tribe would settle in a lush valley and discover the art of cultivation.

These first people were known as the Garzi, and their ingenuity created the backbone of the longest spanning civilization of all time. But, like all great nations, a single decade of turmoil and tragedy was sufficient to crumble this monolithic empire.

Refuge groups fleeing the rubble of their former homeland settled in all directions, causing a larger rift to grow between them and the dwindling tribal groups who still held strong to their nomadic lifestyle.

It was no contest for the highly advanced budding civilizations of the continent, their metal spears and bladed weapons completely outmatched the stone tools the nomads carried.

As more and more of the vast continent became dotted with cities and villages the land these tribes could roam grew smaller and smaller, soon being forced to the one land left abandoned.

The ruins of the Garzi Civilization, the land was desecrated after the long years of neglect, but it was the one place the tribes were left alone. No longer the verdant plain it once was, the decade of flames and destruction had turned it to a torn, craggy, scab on the landscape.

Small sections had recovered and some wildlife had returned to explore the new niches the odd place had formed, but it was far from enough for the various tribes who found themselves forced upon the small expanse of land.

Tribes merged and consumed each other until only few remained. This tricky balance on such a small tract of land was not easy to maintain but having no other option, they made do for hundreds of years.

And somewhere along the line, this land they’d never chosen became something they protected fiercely, and even considered as sacred as heaven.

And nothing was more sacred than the crater that once marked where an ancient granary had stood. As the thick pool of muck that seeped into the crater rose higher and higher, they recognized it was a good omen and would often make offerings to the pit before hunts and great battles.

The thick black tar became a vital aspect of their way of life. Firewood was treated to burn longer, preserving the already limited resource. Their homes, which at one time resembled a skin wrapped wig-wam, had over the years received numerous thick coatings of tar, insulating them from the windswept winters and extending the lifespan of the structures near indefinitely.

These solidified layers of tar also did much to defend against arrow or spear when applied carefully to clothing. These ‘pitch’ black suits of armor developed rapidly in the vacuum, and they quickly became walking works of art.

Intricately applied layers of tar were painted in shapes that flexed comfortably while still providing life-saving defensive capabilities. Each of the tribes could be distinguished at a glance by the specific patterns etched into their chest plate. To the merchants and travelers they met, it meant little as their chances were the same weather it be hawk or an eight-sided ring. But to the small hunting parties that would constantly come across each-other in the wastelands, it was vital information that could save their lives if noticed in time.

There was no particular animosity between the tribes in most cases. Uneducated though they maybe, they were pragmatic. Unless pushed to extremes they wouldn’t directly attack one another. It was while hunting that tribalism truly showed its ugliness. The claim of ‘stolen prey’ had killed more than any starvation or exposure had.

This behavior is what surprised so many of the optimistic generals and mercenaries who’d put their eyes on the barren land. When attempting to root out the tribes one by one they would find themselves facing the might of a unified front with enemies who’d bathed in one anothers blood standing side by side.

But to them it seemed as obvious as breathing. An attack on one of them was an attack on all. And they’d defend their home to their last breath, with old stories of being forced from their ancient homes as kindling to the fire.

To the grand civilizations who’d long even forgotten about the ruins that once birthed them, the odd tribals were seen as an inexplicable existence that was better left ignored.

How many years had it even been since the last crusade was sent to cleanse the group? Certainly not in any of the tribesman’s lifespans, so when horns began echoings across the barren wastelands and into the dense settlements. Most didn’t immediately recognize the pitch sequence.

Once word of mouth had deciphered it, men and women scrambled to equip whatever they could get their hands on. Whether it be metal tools stolen from caravans and passerbys, or their own obsidian blades. After a handful of minutes, the ominously clad army of tribes poured out from their three villages towards the source of the rapidly piping scout horn.

A stampede of armored horses and cavalry lead each tribe, blaring their own horn tunes to overwhelm their enemy, and inform their allies of their imminent arrival.

Fear grew in the thousands of tribespeople as they recognized the beaten path under their march. They were going directly towards their most important location. Any hesitation in their steps vanished as they sprinted with terrifying speed towards the tar pits in the center of the wasteland.

The only lingering question in a few minds as they ran was, how attackers had penetrated so deep into the wasteland without anyone noticing them until now?

Their answer wouldn’t come for quite some time, however. And even when it had it would only add confusion.

“Well, I did say to bring whoever is in charge.” A strangely dressed man calmly said from the center of the massive encirclement of tribal warriors. “I suppose you all must take democracy pretty serious.”

He stood with a pair of similarly dressed people standing on his left and right. One, an older man wearing a thick navy blue vest and holding metal contraption across his chest. He carefully eyed the encirclement and cursed under his breath.

The other was a young woman who was curiously glancing between a notepad she was clutching and the army bearing down on her. She likely would have been more fearful if not for her fascination with the clothing and structures she’d discovered the moment they landed.

Writing something on a small square of paper she shoved it to man in front of her, drawing the ire of a few of the antsy warriors who eyed the outsiders carefully.

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The three weren’t alone, behind them were two large machines with a handful of workers scurrying around them. One appeared to have four massive swords that slowly rotated in a circle as a quiet whirring came from within, while the other shifted and grew as the men surrounding it scrambled to work, paying no mind to the horde of furious tribes-people.

“Why are you here!?” A younger man on a tall horse barked out, with eyes drilled into the three who’d met their charge. His armor, emblazoned with a three-petaled flower, was far more intricate than even the calvary members riding beside him.

As Gary panned the crowd he spotted two other armors of a similar quality and nodded to Sophia before turning back to meet the gaze and respond. “We are here to trade.”

“You are on sacred grounds. You are here to die.” The man shouted in response, righting his spear and giving one final warning. “Leave now, or face your gods.”

“Chief why are we waiting?” A man to the chiefs left asked as his horse stamped anxiously alongside him. “We’ve given enough courtesy.”

The Chief however ignored the words and instead glanced to the two familiar faces among the other two clans.

They were clearly facing similar questions as they held back their armies on the precipice of the holy grounds.

“The three will forever protect this land.” One of the chiefs uttered out loudly enough for even the distant groups to hear him over the grumbling machine the drill operators were bashing on. “It will be called sacred, and our bloodshed will not sully its soil.”

Hearing the ancient words which had been passed down to her slightly different, the chieftess with interlinked octagonal rings on her formed chest-plate nods in affirmation before continuing the lines of the passed down agreement. “Our providence to, and protection of, this place shall in turn be returned thousand-fold.”

“So she said.” The final chief affirms as if unable to remember any additional lines from the ancient story. “But they aren’t one of the Three.”

“So their blood won’t count?” The first chief with the flower on his chest piece asked skeptically at the insinuation. “I don’t think that was what was meant.”

Turning his attention back to the trio from Arna and Reynolds, he glared and raised his voice once again. “The seer’s words may tie our feet now, but if you’re wise you will leave now, before our pride outweighs our beliefs.”

“We really don’t mean any harm.” Gary reiterated, raising of his hands to demonstrate his lack of weapons. “You happen to be sitting on something we need badly. And it seems you’ve just begun scratching the surface of its uses.”

Motioning to both the small black hut, as well as the armors surrounding him to make clear his meaning.

“Thieves!” A voice from the crowd called out as a few of the tribesmen realized the purpose of the small group of invaders.

“We’re nothing of the sort!” Jeff growled, still clutching the grip of his rifle with whitening knuckles.

“You have something we need, and it’s not that junk.” Gary continued to calmly explain pointing to the pool of gurgling tar. “Deep underneath that little puddle is a reservoir tens of thousands of times larger, we want some of that. And we’re certainly willing to trade any amount for access to it.”

The man’s odd emphasis on ‘any amount’ sent a shiver down the spines of a few of the tribesmen, but only a handful could understand why it had alarmed them.

If anything would be worth trading, then how much further would they go for access if even trade was insufficient?

Most of the tribe members assumed the outside world saw the substance as useless yet here a group armed with strange machines and tools were willing to pay anything.

A silence settled as the two groups continued to stare down one another.

“Um,” Sophia muttered, enunciating more when her target ignored the start, “Um, a second ago. You said something about an agreement. Or a seer? Or something?”

“On the eve of our annihilation, hundred of years ago, on this very spot a wisewoman stepped onto the battlefield and stopped the bloodshed before it became too great. She told us of our long future, and of the generations that would be born safely into this wasteland if we jointly turned our spears away from our peers. She spoke of learning to adapt to our unfamiliar environment in order to one day look down on it with pride.”

“So, stop me if I’m getting ahead of myself,” Sophia said as she jotted a small annotation on her clipboard with a pair of stars on either side. “And honestly I find myself having trouble suggesting this.”

“Just get on with it.” Jeff griped, to the agreement of a few of the still tense tribespeople.

“That quote mentioned ‘three’ a few times.”

“There’s three tribes.” Gary sighed with a shake of his head as he had just begun to grow hope that Sophia might actually prove to be a bit useful to ease the tense atmosphere.

“I know, that’s not what I mean.” Sophia chirped with blushing cheeks after hearing a few distant laughs.

“There weren’t then.” The female chieftess spoke, answering the underlying question Sophia hadn’t realized she was asking. “That was the time of the seven tribes. The wise woman’s eyes were strong, she knew the time of the seven was ending. But her prediction of the three surviving tribes would only become clear far after her death.”

“Oh,” Sophia muttered, again adding a few lines to a section of her notes. “So, Three tribes will protect this land, but they won’t kill anyone here, because its sacred. And for doing this and following these guidelines, you’re sacrifices will provide you protection and happiness in the after-life?”

Sophia threw a curious glance to the two chiefs who’d responded so far to gauge her interpretation.

“That’s roughly our belief. You may mock it if you’d like but our faith is strong. Fortunate for you, or you’d have already died.”

“And, I’m glad for that, definitely.” Sophia agreed with a hearty nod before once again mouthing the words in her head. “But I think you got some of it mixed up.”

A few furious glares began burning as their pride wore down moment by moment.

“Look, I'm just saying, everything fits your prophecy if you think about it.” Sophia shrugged as she continued analyzing the word puzzle while attempting to explain what even she was having trouble believing to be possible. “So, first I don’t think she was talking about you Three tribes. Or if she was maybe the meaning was double.”

“You can’t possibly mean…” Jeff muttered in stunned shock as he pieced together her hypothesis in parallel to her explanation.

“Three, will protect this place.” Sophia said with a nod as the words roll off the tongue smoothly. “Don’t kill the people you find at this sacred place, because they will provide tons of protection and happiness.”

An awkward silence filled the air for a moment before Sophia began again with what she felt was the most indicative clue. “Also looking down on this land with pride…”

Throwing a thumb toward the helicopter a few dozen feet behind her, she continues. “That can be arranged any time now.”

“I think your wise-woman really did see the future. But she maybe didn’t do a great job explaining what she saw.” Sophia reasoned with a final shrug. “But, that’s just a theory.”

“I don’t understand, are you saying what she predicted is this?” The older male chief bellowed out in confusion from behind the group.

“You said three…” The female chief begins to ask, eliciting a self-admonishing forehead slap from Sophia.

“Right, sorry.” Sophia chuckled, realizing she’d buried the lead that had bothered her initially. “Three, or Third as we call him. Luis Reynold III, you could say he’s our leader; sort-of. I think your wise-woman could have been referring to him, not your three tribes.”

A stunned silence continued for a handful of seconds before a few loud shouts began erupting from the machine as they prepared to begin the drilling process.

“So should we take a seat and do some more chatting?” Gary asked, pulling attention back to his negotiations.

The three chiefs, who until moments prior were simply waiting for each other to make the first move, now thought carefully about their next move.

They were completely unwilling to just accept Sophia’s sudden reinterpretation of the ancient words, but it had at least intrigued them. And beyond that, these were the first other humans they had met who didn’t attack them on sight or look at them with clear disgust, so their curiosity was high.

“Fine.” One of the chiefs concluded after exchanging a few nods amongst his own men as well as the opposing chiefs. Dismounting from his horse and handing its reins off to one of his men, he steps forward to come face-to-face with the three strange visitors.

The other two chiefs followed slowly after him and once gathered they all made their way over towards the small wigwam a few hundred feet from the pit.

No longer on high alert, a sizable portion of the assembled armies turned around after a short rest and began to make their way back through the wasteland to their undefended homes.

Two such groups were fortunate enough to catch glimpse of another helicopter a few hundred feet in the air hauling a stack of massive spools from a cable hung beneath.

Mouths sat agape as the tiny dot raced easily through the air sending gusts of dust scattering beneath its wash.

Those hopeful for the negotiation, grew more so, and those fearful did as well.