The cave buzzed with activity, a mix of triumph and hunger after the hunters returned with two deer—one large, one small. The smell of roasted meat filled the air, thick and smoky, mingling with the chatter of the tribe. I sat near the edge of the gathering, chewing methodically on a piece of venison, my ears pricked to the conversation nearby.

A group of young men gathered around the half of the smaller deer, savagely tearing into it like wild dogs. The enthusiasm in their eating bordered on comical. One of them, mouth half-full, decided to contribute to the conversation.

“Slow down, you’re hurting the meat,” he said with mock concern, glaring at the nearest offender. “What, did its mother kick you or something?”

The others laughed, spitting out half-chewed bites in their amusement. Another chimed in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why pity the thing? Did its mother nurse you?”

The group erupted into raucous laughter, a chaotic symphony of half-wit jokes and over-the-top reactions. I bit down harder on my meat, willing myself not to roll my eyes.

It didn’t take long for one of them to notice me sitting nearby. “Hey, when do you think Anir will join us on a real hunt?” one asked, loud enough for the entire cave to hear. “I mean, he did kill that dark thing, didn’t he?”

The others murmured agreement, and for a fleeting moment, I thought they might show an ounce of respect. Then reality set in.

“Not now,” another scoffed, shaking his head like some kind of sage. “Not until he’s fully mature with a strong aura. Rabbit-chasing doesn’t count.”

A smaller voice piped up, braver now that the group dynamic encouraged nonsense. “Why do you think he’s always so absent anyway? Hunting a few rabbits and pigeons shouldn’t take all day.”

I didn’t turn to look, but my fingers tightened on the venison. Keep it together, Anir. Let the fools talk.

That’s when Tuzen, Bronlo’s son—the ringleader of dimwits—decided to grace the conversation with his profound wisdom. He leaned forward, his voice dripping with fake casualness. “Maybe he just likes taking long shits. Huh? You know, ‘cause he’s full of shit.”

The laughter that followed was forced, hollow, and tinged with desperation. Oh, how they wanted Tuzen to believe he was funny. The way they laughed louder than they needed to, slapping each other on the back, was like watching a pack of wolves fawning over a mangy alpha.

I kept my head down, pretending not to notice, but inside, I was grinning. Long shits? That’s the best you’ve got, Tuzen? No wonder Bronlo’s disappointed in you.

As they cackled over their half-dead humor, I allowed myself a moment of indulgence. These idiots think I’m out hunting rabbits for fun. If only they knew the truth—that I’m not just feeding the tribe but stockpiling resources for spells and survival against the horrors lurking out there. But no, let them think I’m out here perfecting my bowel movements. It’s safer this way.

Tuzen, emboldened by the fake laughs, continued, “You know, if Anir wasn’t so quiet, maybe we’d hear about all his grand rabbit-hunting adventures. Maybe he’s even got a pet pigeon by now.”

I took another slow bite of venison, savoring the taste as if it were the most important task in the world. In my mind, though, I imagined dropping a hexed iron coin near their sleeping mats later. Nothing harmful, just enough to give them nightmares. Let’s see how funny you are after a restless night, Tuzen.

As their laughter started to die down, I finally glanced in their direction, giving a calm, almost friendly nod. “Enjoying the hunt, gentlemen?” I asked, my tone smooth and disarming.

Tuzen froze, his grin faltering. “Uh… yeah, yeah, of course. Great hunt.”

The others mumbled in agreement, suddenly finding their meat far more interesting than continuing their conversation. Yeah they remember me and how savagely I can fight, I can see the childhood memory’s flash in there eyes. And what I did to that Fae proves that even with there older more mature auras am still capable of braking bones even if I die doing it. bones that if healed wrong could end your hunting ability. and soon my aura will blossom, and they don't know if am going to be a threat to them or just low aura, so they play carefully around me until they are sure am good victim.

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I turned back to my meal, hiding my smirk. Keep talking, Tuzen. You’ll slip eventually. And when you do, I’ll be there to push you down to hell. few years from now and this tribe will be mine.

I finished my food and scanning people with mana sight and found no Fae, i scanned Tuzen twice, But Tuzen wasn't the problem now.

People were starting to ask questions. Why does Anir disappear for so long into the forest? What could he be doing out there? The murmurs had grown louder over the past few days, and I could feel their suspicious eyes boring into me every time I stepped out of the cave.

This had Monire’s grubby little hands all over it, I can smell it. The smug bastard probably spread the rumors after I told him to fuck off. I could just see his slimy grin as he gossiped with anyone who would listen, spinning tales about my “mysterious absences.”

The thought made me groan internally. Great. Just what I need—paranoid cavemen tracking me like I’m some kind of elusive pigeon.

I sat at the edge of my home, poking at the dirt cave floor with a stick, my mind racing for solutions.

What do I do? How do I make these people lose interest in my business? Do I stage a dramatic faint and blame it on a stomach bug? No, too much effort. Claim I’ve been communing with spirits? Nah, that’s asking for trouble—Tahya might drag me into her creepy rituals.

I threw the stick aside, annoyed. The truth was, I couldn’t afford for them to start following me. My excursions weren’t exactly… innocent. Stockpiling gold, iron, silver, and hexing the shit out of everything wasn’t something I wanted to explain. “Oh, this giant pile of hexed iron? Yeah, it’s for a DIY anti-Fae death trap. Totally normal.”

No. I need a plan. A distraction. Something to keep their curious little minds occupied so they don’t stick their noses where they don’t belong.

Then it hit me.

What if I made them think I was doing something for them? A little self-sacrifice sprinkled with bullshit always worked wonders. If I framed my forest jaunts as some noble effort to help the tribe, they’d eat it up.

The idea started to take shape, and the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. A hero’s journey, but in the Stone Age. Anir, the humble forager, risking life and limb to bring back food and resources for his people.

I smirked to myself. Not only would it give me the perfect cover, but it might even boost my standing in the tribe. Who would question a man who spends his days tirelessly working for the good of his people?

The best part? I wouldn’t even have to lie entirely. I was collecting resources—just not for them.

“Perfect,” I muttered under my breath.

Now, for the details. If anyone asked, I’d tell them I was foraging for rare plants and herbs, things the tribe could use for medicine or trade. That would explain my long absences and give me the excuse to carry a heavy bag back to the cave without suspicion.

I’d even make a show of it. Bring back some random leaves, maybe a handful of berries, and dramatically present them to Tahya. She’d probably love the attention and back up my story without realizing it.

nah that bitch best not be involved, she may see me as competition or something stupid like that. I recalculated that part.

As for the nosy ones like Monire? I’d let them tag along once on a carefully planned “foraging trip.” Take them to the least interesting part of the forest, make them carry the supplies, and exhaust them to the point where they’d never want to join me again.

Problem solved.

I stood up, dusting off my hands, feeling a sense of satisfaction at my brilliance. The plan was foolproof. Not only would it keep the tribe off my back, but it would also give me a bit of breathing room to continue my work in peace.

As I turned to head back into my bed, I couldn’t help but grin. “Let’s see you spin that into a rumor, Monire.”

As the cave was sealed I kept thinking refining the plan until it benefited me more, I planed until sleep took me.

The morning sun broke over the rugged hills, casting a soft glow over the land and warming the cool earth beneath my feet. I took a deep breath, the morning air filling me with energy and a sense of purpose. Today felt different. Perhaps it was the mild scent of wildflowers, or maybe it was the quiet excitement of a new idea forming in his mind.

I approached my mother with a bright smile, my eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “Mother, I’ve been thinking… What if we made a different kind of food for the tribe? Something a bit special.”

She looked at me with interest, her brow raised. “Oh? And what do you have in mind?”

“That was supposed to be a surprise even for you, but people are asking questions.” I replied, choosing my words carefully. “I have been testing the recipe for few days now, am calling it Msemmen. It’s a flat, layered bread that we can make with simple ingredients. If we use honey with it, I think everyone would love it.”

my mother’s face softened, and she chuckled softly, a warm sound that matched the morning’s brightness. “Well, that’s a lovely idea, Anir. But such a big task to feed everyone it isn’t easy. We’ll need help, and the other women are already so busy…”

“I thought about that,” he replied quickly. “I will hunt few more pigeons and pay them with the meat for there work, If they help, I’ll make sure we gather more honey. We can share another harvest with the whole tribe, just like last time.”

She considered this for a moment, her eyes reflecting both pride and a glimmer of excitement. “I’ll speak to the other women. I’m sure they’ll be willing, especially with the promise of more honey.”

My face lit up as she nodded in agreement. And so, the plan started.

Now I just need a grinding stone.