"Remember Nelius! There will always exist a being more formidable than the most formidable," she had warned. "And you have wronged one such. I gave you the liberty to choose; and choose you did. But you chose wrong, Nelius!


    "Now I realise. A monkey cannot fathom the value of a precious garland. Nor will you. Hence when I return — and I will, as all seasons do— I will undo my misreckonings. I will take back my precious garland. And when I do… Your sins… your recklessness… will echo in the suffering of your children."


    —–


    The ceremonial noises reached its peak, indicating the ritual is at its climax. The priest offered him a handful of the wild rice and gestured him to scatter it into and around the Holy Fire. Chief Nelius Tuscan did as he was instructed. When the ritual was over, the people around the clearing grew quite, anticipating the most important event of the day.


    The anointment ceremony!


    Everyone knew that their beloved Chief and the twenty-eight men who were about to accompany him in the journey might never return home. And so, Chief Nelius Tuscan had already chosen his younger sibling, Ibarius Tuscan, as the new Chief of the tribe.


    Ibarius Tuscan was a lean, agile man with eyes that gleamed with a cunning intelligence. He watched his brother with a hidden smile, knowing that his time was near. The priest gestured him and his wife, Freesia, to come closer. Chief Nelius Tuscan was already standing with his wife, Rosa.


    Ibarius Tuscan''s wife, Freesia, stepped ahead of the crowd to join him, her fingers shivering with excitement. After all, her husband was about to be anointed as the new Chief. But as she moved closer, Ibarius shot her a pointed, icy glance. Freesia froze mid-step, then retreated into the crowd, her head bowed. She prayed no one noticed the tear sliding down her cheek.


    Once she was gone, Ibarius Tuscan squared his shoulders and approached his brother with pride and arrogance, now, unable to keep his lips from curving into a cunning smile.


    The priest, noticing the silent exchange between Ibarius and his wife, probed him for an explanation: "Ibarius, Where''s Freesia? Call her." He searched the crowd as if he didn''t know exactly where in the crowd had the poor woman disappeared moments ago. "Both partners must be present for the anointment."


    Ibarius feigned ignorance, casting a casual glance around the gathering. “Freesia?” He smirked, his tone laced with disdain. “She won’t be joining us.”


    The priest paled, his eyes darting nervously between Ibarius and Nelius. “But the gods require her presence. Her role is as important as yours. The ritual cannot—”


    Ibarius cut him off with a dismissive wave. “The gods don’t need Freesia for this. I am more than enough.”


    But the priest''s face shrunk in disapproval at Ibarius'' dismissal of tradition. His skin was sweating profusely, either from the intsnse hea and smoke of the Holy Fire or from his own nervousness of breaking the tradition. "You underestimate the gods, Ibarius. They demand balance. The anointment will not—cannot—be complete without her…" He paused, staggering to find his footing as Ibarius pushed through the priest to stand in front of Chief Nelius Tuscan.


    A collective gasp and a wave of murmur rippled through the crowd as Ibarius Tuscan stepped past the priest, his gaze locked onto Chief Nelius Tuscan. The priest stumbled, his mouth hanging agape as he watched the blatant disregard for tradition unfold. Ibarius was the future chief after all. If the one who''s supposed to lead the people doesn''t respect his elders, their traditions or even the women of his own family, then what would be the fate of the tribe at his hands?


    The Holy Fire crackled, sending sparks into the air. The sky was a bright white with just a tinge of orange as the sun began to rise above the horizon.


    "You speak of gods as though you’ve conversed with them personally. Let me assure you, priest. They won’t mind. Why don’t we move on? Or shall we keep the tribe waiting for the whims of a woman?” His smirk broadened as he approached his brother.


    The priest''s face grew grim, his eyes darkening. The crowd watched, frozen in concern.


    "Shall we, brother?" he asked.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    —–


    Meanwhile, Rosa''s mind was preoccupied with the impending departure of her husband. They might never see each other again. She remembered him saying that he would only return when he had found a way to save his people. Something in her gut told her that there was nothing any mortal could do to undo the inevitable future. Yet she kept her opinions to herself just because she didn’t want to come across as a negative influence over the tribe—her husband won''t be happy with her if she were.


    But that also meant… her husband would never…


    She sighed, blinking the tears back into her eyes. That was when she noticed her brother-in-law approaching them to get anointed as the new Chief. She didn’t have a good feeling about him being responsible for their people''s future either. He wasn''t as kind and caring and shrewd as her husband, not even with his own wife and children, let alone the tribe. But then no one is as good as her husband in her eyes. Her perception would always be biased when it concerned her husband. So maybe… accepting his judgement would always be better than hers would be the right thing to do as a proper wife, she thought.


    But then she saw Ibarius pushing past the priest. Rosa clenched her fists, her heart pounding with dread and rage. How dare Ibarius mock tradition? Worse, how could Nelius remain silent in the face of such audacity?


    She tried to remember what was happening earlier but couldn''t. The memories remained foggy. She had missed the conversation between the priest and her brother-in-law, having immersed in her own world of worries.


    Yet, pushing past a priest?


    That''s unforgivable!


    She wanted to correct him. She wanted to punish him for ruining the ceremony. After all, this might be the last ceremony she and her husband would get to attend together—as a couple. Besides, what if Ibarius'' misbehaviour had angered the Gods and then her husband had to suffer for it? He was supposed to leave the protection of their homeland today.


    She wanted to yell at Ibarius. She wanted to make him apologise to the priest, to undo his mistakes, to save her husband from any potential misfortunes it might cause. She wanted to.


    But words caught in her throat, a tornado of emotions blocking her vocal chord.


    "You speak of gods as though you’ve conversed with them personally. Let me assure you, priest. They won’t mind. Why don’t we move on? Or shall we keep the tribe waiting for the whims of a woman?” She noticed Ibarius smirking and the priest''s demeanor deflating with shame. Everyone around them murmured in anxiety. As she watched, Ibarius took another step forward, completely ignoring her presence and stood in front of her husband. "Shall we, brother?" he asked.


    Before she could think better of it, Rosa stepped forward. Her voice cutting through the murmurs like the crack of a whip. “That’s enough, Ibarius.”


    Ibarius turned to her, his smirk faltering for a moment. Then, as if recovering his footing, he straightened and faced her with exaggerated calm. “Ah, Rosa! My dear sister-in-law. Shouldn’t you be bidding your husband farewell instead of meddling in matters beyond your station?”


    Rosa’s eyes narrowed, her voice cold as steel. “Beyond my station? You forget your place, Ibarius. This ceremony isn’t yours to ruin. Apologize to the priest and summon Freesia. Now.”


    Ibarius chuckled, a low, mocking sound that set her teeth on edge. “Apologize? For what? Sparing this tribe the theatrics of a trembling woman who can barely keep her composure? You should be thanking me.”


    “You think this is about Freesia’s nerves?” Rosa shot back. Her voice rose, unwavering. “It’s about respect. For the priest. For tradition. For the Gods who watch us even now.”


    “Respect?” Ibarius repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. “Respect isn’t what feeds the tribe or wards off enemies. Men do. Tradition is a crutch for the weak. And gods? If they cared so much, they wouldn’t have left us to fend for ourselves.”


    Rosa stepped closer, her gaze piercing. “If you think strength lies in tearing down what our ancestors built, then you are not fit to lead. A Chief protects his people, his family, his traditions—not tramples them underfoot.”


    Ibarius leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her. “And yet here I stand, about to be anointed. Where does that leave you, Rosa? Perhaps you should reflect on your husband’s silence before lecturing me.”


    Rosa’s breath hitched. She glanced at Nelius, hoping for support, but his face was blank, his eyes distant. Her heart sank.


    “The gods will not forgive this,” she warned, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. “And neither will I.”


    Ibarius straightened, spreading his arms in a mock display of grandeur. “Then let the Gods strike me down,” he declared, his voice booming over the clearing with a flicker of mockery. “But… alas! The Gods never punish the worthy. So, Rosa, step aside. You have no power here.”


    The crowd shifted uneasily, torn between their loyalty to tradition and their deference to the future Chief. Rosa stood her ground, her nails biting into her palms.


    Then, to her utter shock, Nelius moved. Slowly, methodically, he untied his Thalrek and handed it to her. “Hold this,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion.


    Rosa froze, the folded cloth heavy in her trembling hands. Her husband, the man she had always seen as just and strong, had chosen to stand idle. Ibarius smirked triumphantly and turned back to the priest, who looked on with visible despair.


    As Ibarius reached for the Zarvan, Rosa felt a cold wave of helplessness wash over her. She stared at Nelius, searching his face for answers, for even a flicker of regret. But his eyes remained glazed, his expression unreadable.


    In that moment, Rosa realized. The tribe’s future was no longer in the hands of the man she loved. It lay with Ibarius—a man who saw tradition as weakness and arrogance as strength. A man who would lead their people not with wisdom but with scorn. A man who wouldn''t think twice before stepping over the powerless just for sport.


    And the Gods, Rosa thought bitterly, would not be forgiving.