"Are you not excited, Teng?" whispered the tall, wiry boy beside him, his sharp eyes darting between tree and shrubbery.

On Teng's other side, another boy snorted quietly in response. "Don't act like you've never been beyond the tribe's borders.

"But I haven't," the tall boy admitted, wide-eyed. “And neither have you.”

The shorter one groaned. "Teng didn't need to know that!"

A full moon's turn had passed since they began training under the instructor, Talric, a manifestation stage's cultivator. Together, they had endured grueling days filled with bruises, fatigue, and endless training.

Now, Teng and his two companions—Vanod, lean and full of restless energy, and Namur, stocky and sardonic—had been judged ready for their first hunt, though only to watch until they had formed their belly pouches and reached the condensed stage. Vanod and Namur were the boys who had caused a stir when he came to the tribe a month ago.

Together with them was a hunting party from the tribe, consisting of five marked and ten tribe folk of the condense stage.

The tribe folk were all men except for two women. Each held a spear, the word they used to describe a fighting stick, while the marked were all men, marks upon their shoulders, bore lumps of wood overlaid with what Teng believed to be rawhide. Alongside a throwing spear, the tribe folk had different weapons strapped to their backs and tied to their waist in something called a belt.

The company pressed into the depths of the woodland, the marked advancing like vanguards before them. The group had traveled from the tribe's town, venturing south into the untamed forest, where gnarled roots sprawled unchecked and the air brimmed with the hum of life.

Amid the thick boughs, one of the Marked halted abruptly, and the hunting party froze as one. The leader of the hunters, a weathered figure with hard eyes and quiet authority, moved swiftly to his side. He crouched low, peering through the bramble, then rose and signaled with a curt gesture.

The hunters fanned out, their movements practiced, soundless, and quick as if they had done this many times. A tall huntress urged the younger boys forward with a firm hand, her angular face as hard as a stone.

Teng stifled a sharp intake of breath as his gaze fell upon the creature nestled in the shade of a tree. The beast was immense, thrice the size of any tiger he had seen, its form a mixture of buffalo and bear. Its fur was a coarse gray, broken only by the glint of two sharp horns that crowned its head.

“Gravok," whispered Vanod. "Savage stage."

The hunters moved to encircle the clearing, the Gravok oblivious in its sunlit part of the woods. Shields of rawhide and wood were held firmly in the hands of the Marked as they stepped forward. A low growl rumbled when the Gravok stirred, reverberating through the meadow with a primal menace that set Teng's pulse racing.

The Marked formed a loose circle to trap the beast. From the tree line, the tribe's hunters loosed their spears, swift and sure. The long shafts of wood struck true, but the Gravok's hide was hard as stone, turning most aside. Yet one spear found its mark, sinking deep into the beast's exposed underbelly, where its natural toughness faltered.

A roar erupted from the Gravok, a sound of rage and pain that shook the air. It reared, thrashing violently, forcing the Marked to step back. The tribe's hunters hissed sharp commands, and the Marked held their ground, their shields raised. The Gravok, maddened by pain, charged to the right, its mass a relentless force.

Two of the Marked flew beneath its strength, cast aside like reeds in a storm, one bouncing off a tree and another skidding across the ground.

The hunters seized their chance. From behind the marked, they surged forward. A blade flashed, striking the Gravok's belly; a spear drove in with force; an axe descended. Each strike aimed true – the vulnerable flesh beneath the beast's fearsome bulk.

The Gravok bucked and roared, its fury lighting the clearing like a storm, and the hunters pressed their advantage as its soft underbelly opened and drowned the ground in blood. It lifted another marked into the air, impaling him through his abdomen with one horn, and threw him overhead. Then, the hunters descended again, and the beast seemed to feel the attacks and slow down finally.

All retreated as the beast roared and looked side by side. More blood spilled through its open underbelly, and the Gravok slumped, breathing heavily before closing its eyes and stilling.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Teng ran over to the wounded marked men. The two wounded ignored his outstretched hand, and the third didn't move. They shoved him aside, not unkindly, as the man carried over to the beast. The tribe folk threw man and beast onto the thing of wood and signaled for them to move.

"What's that thing?" Teng asked.

Vanod followed his gaze toward the wood contraption. He frowned and then understood: "Oh, that's a cart. Do you not have those from where you come?"

Teng shook his head.

"We use them to transport heavy beasts," Vanod explained. "You see the round things there?"

Teng nodded.

“They are wheels. They allow the thing to roll. We can move heavy things more easily with this cart."

They had left the tribe at dawn, and now the sun was at its zenith. The town was alive as they returned through the gate at the surrounding wall. The guards ushered them through and the hunting party's leader told the two boys and Teng to return to Talric.

As they came to the training field, Talric nodded and gestured for them to get back to exercise. The other boys looked at them with jealousy, making Teng chuckle quietly.

As Teng trained, the memories of the hunt clung to him like smoke, acrid and unshakable. The tribe's way of hunting was nothing like his valley, where every hunt was in harmony with the spirits' guidance, and everything was done to ensure no one was wounded. Here, the hunt left a bad taste in his mouth, bitter as unripe fruit. A man had died, and two others returned with injuries that might affect them for the rest of their lives – for what?

Vanod had explained to him that marked who helped with hunts would receive benefits. Their families would get more food, and their children might get the chance to become actual tribe members if they showed aptitude, whatever that was.

Yet, still. Teng saw how the tribe folk moved. He doubted they would have had any trouble with the beast, regardless of the marked being there or not. Their speed was such that they wouldn't have suffered any losses by taking turns and whittling the beast down. A knot twisted in his stomach at the thought.

"You three, stay behind."

Talric waited for the other boys to leave as the training was over.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?” the old man asked as Teng, Vanod, and Namur approached him.

“Yes!” Vanod and Namur exclaimed at the same time, causing the older man to smile faintly. He turned to Teng, who nodded.

“Eat and rest," Talric told them. "I will have someone to guide you when you come at dawn."

Back in his room at the tribe house, Teng lowered himself onto the fur-draped bed, the faint musk of the pelts filling his nostrils. The crackle of distant fires and the occasional murmur of voices seeped through the cracks of the wooden walls and the hole that brought in fresh air.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to his village. He saw the familiar faces of his family and his friends. And then Delia. Her image rose in his mind as vividly as if she stood before him, her tear-streaked face framed by the golden light of the valley. He remembered the sharp sting of her slap, the ache it left in his chest more than on his skin. She had run after that, and though the memory stung, he told himself it was better this way. Better for her to be angry, to curse his name if it brought her peace, than to wait for him. Waiting would only bring her sorrow—waiting for something that might never come, something that could waste a lifetime.

The new day dawned restless and gray; the sky furrowed with heavy, brow-like clouds. Teng joined Vanod and Namur at the training grounds. Their energy was infectious, their excitement lighting a fire in his chest.

“Good, you're here,” Talric said, his voice carrying over the muted rustle of the tribe and groans ahead. He gestured toward a figure beside him—a broad man with dark, searching eyes. Teng recognized him instantly: the one who had led him to the grounds before.

"Gockta will guide you," Talric said, his tone leaving no room for discussion. He turned away then, striding toward the circle of boys waiting for his instruction.

“Come,” Gockta commanded, his voice deep and rough as a stone dragged over bark. He led them into a side room by the entrance, its low ceiling lending the space a cave-like feel.

“Sit.”

They obeyed and lowered themselves onto the hard-packed earth, the cool ground seeping into their bones as Gockta began to speak. "The belly pouch," he said, slow and deliberate, "is where a cultivator stores large amounts of essence. It is created by infusing essence into an organ beyond its natural limit. It is a dangerous process. Push too far, and the organ will tear itself apart."

Namur leaned forward, skeptical. "Won't we die then?”

Gockta’s lips curled into a faint smile, humorless and sharp. “You will.”

Teng nearly choked, turning the sound into a rough cough. Beside him, Vanod tilted his head curiously. "Is that why you're here? You can regenerate injuries since you're a wise man?"

Gockta raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “No. That is a myth. No one can regenerate injuries. But the belly is resilient—far more so than other organs. That's why the fatality rate is almost zero." He paused, his gaze steady as he continued. “Making the belly your pouch allows you to digest meat faster. Cultivate faster. That is what matters."

Teng's voice broke the silence. "What about the brain? Or the heart? What benefits do they give?"

Gockta's expression darkened slightly. "I told you this so you would understand the process, not to tempt you. But if you must know…" He sighed, running a hand over his short-cropped hair. "The brain sharpens perception. Heightens thought. The heart grants endurance and allows you to recover quickly from blood loss. Both the brain and heart would have their uses. But they are fragile. Too fragile. One mishap, and you will burst apart. No– the belly is where you will form your pouch."

The room grew quiet again, Gockta's words sinking into the still air. The faint sound of footsteps passed outside, and Teng's thoughts churned. Fragile or not, the heart and brain were tempting to him– the heart mostly. He thought of the valley spirits, their wisdom vast. The heart, he knew, was the essence of life. Should it not also hold all his essence? Where better to keep it?

"So," Gockta said, his voice cutting through the silence. "Are you ready?"