In a wasteland filled with a desolate feeling, where no trees dared to grow, a large settlement stood alone.

  Numerous tents served as homes. Inside one of them lived a family of six—four children and their parents.

  The father, Kha'Ruun Oru, was a tall, dark-skinned man with long dreadlocks and broad shoulders. His presence was imposing. He stood nearly two meters tall, and when he looked at someone, his piercing gaze made it feel as though he could see straight through them.

  Beside him was the mother, Saheera Oru. She was a beautiful woman with dark skin that seemed to glow softly even under the harsh light of the wasteland. There was a natural warmth in her presence, something soothing that contrasted with the cruel land surrounding them.

  She was holding a baby in her arms.

  The other children sat on mats arranged in a circle around a large pot. Inside it, meat simmered, and beside it were some dried fruits—a rare delicacy in this barren land because it wasn't easy to hunt for beasts before the seasonal change.

  The first child was a young boy, about thirteen years old.

  Rokan Oru closely resembled his father in both appearance and posture. There was a mischievous air around him, the kind that suggested trouble often followed him—yet beneath it lay the instincts of a protector.

  The second child was a young girl, about eleven years old. Meysha Oru had a beautiful face that strongly resembled her mother's. Her short hair framed her features, and her bright smile seemed capable of illuminating even this desolate wasteland.

  The third child was also a girl, much younger than the others. Tari Oru, around six years old, took more after her father. Her hair was longer than her sister's, and her lively expressions made her irresistibly cute.

  The last child was still a baby, resting quietly in his mother's arms.

  He was once known as Antonio, but was now Ankai Oru.

  Transported from another world, his soul had reincarnated into this body. He was reborn here—not as the man he was before, but as a child. Fortunately for him, he would not yet experience the weight of this truth.

  Those memories would remain sealed.

  They would only return when he reached the age of four to five.

  "Now let us thank our ancestors and their god for blessing us with this dinner," Saheera Oru said softly.

  She was a firm believer in the god of her ancestors.

  Even in this harsh world, filled with mystical power known only as legend to them, they were wanderers. Others were once slaves, others born from those slaves, others not belonging to a tribe or a city—so they had little knowledge of this world's power.

  However, she still had an ancestor who had passed down legends of mystical power.

  And one of the most mystical was the totem power, something her ancestor had narrated to her before disaster fell upon their tribe.

  She wore a stone pendant around her neck—a charm said to have supernatural power, made by the first shaman of the Oru tribe.

  It carried the stories of a great matriarch of their family who once ruled vast territories in a faraway land.

  Still, she thought it was all legend, because if they had been this powerful, they couldn't have declined this fast and found themselves in this terrible situation.

  "Alright, children, you heard your mother. Let us bow our heads and pray before the food gets cold. It's not every day that we can eat this fresh meat," Kha'Ruun Oru said calmly.

  "Yes, Father, and thank you for bringing this much meat. I will eat till I burst," Rokan said aloud, already leaning forward to look at the food.

  "Hahaha, you glutton, control yourself," Kha'Ruun reprimanded him while joking.

  "Okay, children, let me start the prayer, so silence," Saheera said.

  "Great spirits of our ancestors, guardians of the Oru line, we honor your presence here. May your wisdom guide our hearts, your strength guard our paths, and your power flow through us as it once did through our forebears. In your names, we give thanks." Saheera finished the prayer she repeated so often, which her late grandmother had passed down to her.

  Saheera smiled faintly. She'd sensed Rokan peeking while everyone had their eyes closed during prayer.

  "You little rascal, do you think I didn't know you peeked while the prayer was still ongoing? Now I will reduce your portion." Saheera looked at Rokan with a firm gaze.

  "Mother! I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Please don't reduce my portion!" Rokan pleaded. He kneeled on the ground and bowed rapidly.

  "Hahahaha, Saheera, forgive him. I think he's learned his lesson." Kha'Ruun laughed. He knew Saheera was joking.

  "Okay, my love, I'll forgive him only this time," Saheera said while putting on an air of someone who was still angry.

  She began distributing the food into handmade plates. These plates were her own creation, a skill her late grandmother had taught her.

  "Mother, you are the best at making things with clay. I will also learn to make them. I love their name too—clay plates! Ahahaha," said little Tari.

  It was time to serve the baby, so she handed Ankai to Meysha to help feed him some mashed meat paste. Today, everyone would get a share of the feast.

  "Meysha, take your brother for a moment. I will help Tari eat first and feed him after."

  Meysha carefully took Ankai into her arms. Though still a baby, he was already six months old, and he looked pretty big for his age.

  "Little Ankai," she said warmly, smiling down at him. "Look at your beautiful brown eyes."

  She gently played with him, making him giggle softly.

  As they ate, the sky gradually turned dark, and a strange stillness settled over the land.

  Outside their tent, Saheera looked at the sky.

  "It will be freezing tonight, so we should take some precautions."

  "You're right. I will trade for more beast hides." Kha'Ruun also looked at the sky.

  Today marked the first night of the Twin Moon Appearance.

  The Twin Moon was a natural phenomenon of this world that marked the change of seasons.

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  Kha'Ruun stood up, went into their tent, and took his spear from the corner.

  "You should all go to sleep. It's getting late," he said. "I need to go out with the others. We need to protect the settlement."

  Saheera looked up at him, concern flickering briefly in her eyes.

  "Take care of yourself," she said softly. "And don't worry about us."

  Kha'Ruun nodded once, then stepped out of the tent, disappearing into the cold, moonless night.

  Unseen by all, in the tent, the child in Meysha's arms stirred slightly as some marks appeared around his neck and disappeared just as fast.

  Above the wasteland, the sky awaited the rise of two moons.

  Kha'Ruun took his spear and stepped outside the settlement perimeter.

  The sky was getting dark, heavy with thick clouds.

  "It seems a storm is coming," Kha'Ruun thought to himself.

  A storm was a rare occurrence in this wasteland.

  Soon, dangerous beasts would emerge from the forest bordering the wasteland. They marched this long distance to attack different wanderers' settlements in the wasteland.

  They grew very aggressive every time the Twin Moons appeared, attacking the wanderers' settlements as if drawn toward them.

  For some, this was a threat that could destroy their whole settlement.

  But in the wasteland, danger also meant opportunity.

  And it was different for them—they were more organized than the other settlements in this part of the wasteland.

  Beast attacks were common in these lands, yet the arrival of the Twin Moon Appearance made this period especially dangerous and valuable.

  This strange celestial phenomenon occurred only once every three months, and during that time, stronger beasts appeared. Slaying them meant fresh meat... and survival for days to come. Still, sometimes a ferocious beast could appear. When that happened, the whole settlement was obliged to migrate, even during difficult times like the Twin Moon phenomenon, when danger levels rose.

  Kha'Ruun glanced toward a familiar figure who strolled beside him.

  "Greetings, Kha'Ruun. Are you ready for the blessing brought by the Twin Moons?"

  The voice belonged to an enthusiastic, burly man with a stocky stature and messy hair.

  "Well, you know I was born ready, Doku," Kha'Ruun replied as he approached Doku.

  "Hahaha, I hope we won't be unlucky enough to meet a ferocious beast," exclaimed Doku while grinning, looking at Kha'Ruun.

  "You crazy bastard, nothing of the sort will happen. Don't jinx us," Kha'Ruun told him.

  Doku was a guy who loved challenges. Every time they went hunting near the forests that bordered the wasteland, they hoped to find beasts. But Doku, the crazy guy, always hoped to fight a ferocious beast.

  The two men joined a group of thirteen men outside the settlement. Others were also gathering at a distance. They stayed one hundred sixty meters from each group. They did not all come from the same tribe, city, or place, but circumstances had brought them together. In the wasteland, unity meant survival.

  Together, they were stronger.

  Alone, a man could be captured—sold—or left to die.

  That was the fate of many without power or protection. Those who lacked the strength to protect themselves often migrated deeper into the wasteland, far from safer lands, risking everything for freedom.

  Because being from a destroyed tribe, being wanderers, or being born from slave parents meant being a slave. And living as a slave was worse than death for some of them. That was why they risked everything for freedom.

  The group numbered nearly two thousand men.

  To keep order, they divided themselves into smaller hunting units—groups of ten to fifteen men each.

  "Okay, guys, be alert. Some beasts will be here soon."

  Kha'Ruun, also known as one of the settlement's strongest hunters, led one of these groups as a team leader.

  Above them, thunder rolled softly.

  The storm was close.

  And with it came blood, fear... and opportunity.

  The one managing the entire settlement, as agreed upon by all, was a middle-aged man named Saghor.

  He did not look strong, nor intimidating, but he carried himself with the calm air of someone filled with wisdom. His hair had already begun to turn gray, and his eyes held the weight of many hardships and experience.

  He had helped many wanderers escape captivity and organized this large wandering settlement.

  This period, marking the arrival of a new season, was the most crucial moment for the entire settlement. It was the time to stockpile meat and dried supplies—enough to last for a long while. Soon, they would need to migrate, as the settlement could not remain in one place for long.

  The hunters worked together, protecting one another as they hunted. Each man lived on the prey he caught and, sometimes, on desert fruits, but these were extremely rare.

  Time passed.

  Four years went by.

  The settlement had moved more than once, wandering deeper into the wasteland, never staying in the same place.

  But fate had a terrible surprise for this wanderer group. In the past two years, a powerful tribe that had lost a war in the innerlands fled to the wasteland's outskirts. That tribe had ruled fertile lands in the innerlands, but they provoked someone they shouldn't have. They feared destruction. They escaped to this far land.

  That tribe was the one capturing and buying wanderers from this part of the wasteland.

  Groups of slave hunters had come here, hearing the news. They were here to get a share of this great opportunity to make money.

  The Shakra were a tribe marked by their hyena totem and feared for their cunning and sudden ferocity. Their members had claw-like marks, symbols of the totem's power, and they moved day and night, striking swiftly and with deadly precision.

  Ferocity and cleverness ruled the pack, and outsiders who crossed them rarely escaped unscathed unless they had some power.

  The situation was far from ideal.

  Kha'Ruun's children were growing, and Rokan had already become a young man, taking on the role of protector for his family alongside his father.

  One evening, Saghor gathered all the strongest men remaining in the settlement inside a large tent.

  "I have bad news," he said gravely. "The enemy captured the reconnaissance team."

  "What? You mean Jaginhor's team was captured?" Salmohan was surprised.

  Murmurs spread through the tent.

  Most of the hunters present went pale.

  "How could this happen?" Doku exclaimed. "They were some of the strongest in our settlement!"

  Saghor's expression darkened.

  "That is exactly why the situation is dire," he said slowly. "The enemy sent a Totem Warrior."

  A freezing silence settled over the tent.

  "You... you don't mean the warrior from legend, right?" Jurhun said with a trembling voice.

  Everyone understood what that meant.

  Fear spread through the tent—the one thing they'd hoped wouldn't happen had still occurred.

  All they could hear was the sound of their own breathing and pounding hearts.

  Kha'Ruun, who had been seated among the others, abruptly rose to his feet.

  "How dire is the situation?" he asked Saghor.

  Saghor remained silent for a moment before answering.

  "To be honest, I don't know. Things can change tomorrow or even later." He looked at everyone in the tent. "All depends on whether they mobilize more Totem Warriors to attack the settlement directly."

  "We... we are doomed," cried Polamas, gripped by fear.

  "Sigh, right now I don't have a good solution," Saghor said slowly. "But I do have a dangerous option for all of us. It's the only possible thing I thought of in this little time."

  Saghor's words only deepened the despair in the tent.

  "Then tell us what to do, Saghor," a slim man asked urgently.

  The situation had become critical. With the appearance of a Totem Warrior, fleeing was nearly impossible, and disbanding the settlement meant many would be captured and others would die.

  Sending warriors as scouts was off the table—they would only be sacrificed.

  Fighting was also out of the question. Most of them had never met a totem warrior. Most of them had only heard of them in legend.

  They'd seen strong slaves and other humans with superhuman strength. Still, it was only one year ago that they'd heard that a totem tribe with the legendary totem warriors was planning to attack their settlement to get slaves.

  "As we all know, a totem warrior is someone who can crush us easily," Saghor continued. "We would not be able to escape together as a single group with thousands."

  "What are you implying, Saghor?" Doku interrupted him.

  Saghor didn't mind. "The best solution we have is to divide ourselves into groups."

  "Different groups, but why?" Polamas asked with a trembling voice.

  "Five. That's the number of groups I plan to separate into, and I know our settlement has around seven thousand people."

  Murmurs erupted. This decision seemed extreme to all of them.

  Their settlement was the safest in all this part of the wasteland. If they divided themselves, how were they supposed to survive without each other? And which group would Saghor go with?

  "Each group will be assigned a leader," Saghor said. "You will all take different routes. Each one will lead a group to different zones of the wasteland. That way, we increase our chances of survival and make it harder for the enemy to pursue us all."

  The man who spoke was Saghor himself—the wise leader of the settlement.

  "What? Separate ourselves like that? That's just killing us slowly!" Kha'Ruun replied sharply, his voice rising.

  That was the worst decision he could imagine.

  Saghor met his gaze calmly.

  "Kha'Ruun, you know well how I have managed this settlement all this time," he said. "But this is the best option left to us."

  Kha'Ruun clenched his fists as he heard Saghor's reply.

  The decision made sense... yet he could not accept it.

  "Every second we waste arguing puts everyone in more danger," Saghor continued firmly. "We must move now. Organize yourselves tonight, and by tomorrow morning, take different paths and go deeper into the other parts of the wasteland."

  He paused, then added, "I will choose five people to lead the groups, and you all will take different hunters under you. They all know who to trust their lives to."

  The tent fell silent.

  "Kha'Ruun, Doku, Polamas, Jurhun, and Salmohan—you will lead the people who will choose to be with you."

  All eyes turned toward the chosen men.

  "Be prepared," Saghor said gravely. "This world has no mercy for the weak."