In “The Tribe,” everything known is provided by nature: the water, the plants, the animals. Generation upon generation, the people cultivate their stories, their faith, their bond with the world around them. At the heart of it all stands Tuba, “father”, who bears the sacred weight of leadership. He guards the Heart of the Serpent, an artifact of divine power, relinquishing his own kin so the tribe may endure. Yet even his towering sacrifice cannot hold back the shadows gathering beyond the mountain. In the midst of silent forests and hushed animal calls, Ubi, once a proud father, mourns the children he lost. An echo of sorrow resonates in the temple’s dark corridors. Ena, whose vision pierces both flesh and spirit, warns of cannibals stalking the north. But caution fuels uncertainty, and Tuba fears that a brash strike will only bring more death. Huddled in the gloom of old symbols and flickering torches, the tribe’s elders debate how to stand against the looming threat. Nature itself falls silent, as if burdened by the same dread. And when young Bambu’s laughter momentarily lifts the pall from Ubi’s heart, hope sparks anew, but danger lurks near the river, revealing horrors no hunter can easily forget. Amid rituals that spill blood to honor the gods, duty clashes with the need to protect one’s own. As the forest grows quiet and the dead multiply, the tribe learns that unity may be both their shield and their undoing. In the face of unstoppable shadows, “The Tribe” asks if devotion and ancestral might will be enough to weather the coming storm, or if even the greatest sacrifices will fail to save what they love most.