CHAPTER 95: CHAPTER 95: TWO DYS TO THE ANNUAL RITE

The next morning, Sol woke up before anyone else the next day, just as the sky was turning a hazy, pre-dawn grey.

He lay still for a moment, running a diagnostic on his body. He stretched his arms, twisted his torso, and waited for the sharp, stabbing pains of broken ribs.

They didn’t come.

Amazing.

As expected, his unnatural healing factor had worked its relentless magic through the night. He was almost 80% healed. The sharp, agonizing fractures from the night before had dulled to ignorable aches. Unless he made a massive, violent movement, he was perfectly functional.

He stood up silently, grabbing the clay water jar without disturbing the sleeping women, tip-toed away, moving like an action movie spy (which was purely his imagination).

Getting water was the excuse, but his true purpose was intelligence. The riverbank in the morning was the village’s news hub. If he wanted to know where Vurok was, or what the tribe was planning, that was where he needed to be.

He slipped out of the hut, moving through the cool morning mist.

As he walked through the village, he noticed a distinct shift in the atmosphere.

A week ago, people looked at him with pity or ignored him entirely. Today, as he passed a group of women lighting their morning fires, they waved enthusiastically.

"Morning, Sol!" a woman waved from her doorstep, her face lighting up. "Soup today?" a hunter asked, nodding respectfully as he sharpened his spear.

Sol nodded back, returning greetings with a polite, charismatic smile. The "waste" label was peeling off, replaced by "provider."

Leaving the cluster of huts behind, the path to the river descended into the true wild.

The environment here felt older, heavier. The trees weren’t just wood; they were massive, twisting monoliths with roots as thick as a man’s torso, covered in vibrant, neon moss. Ferns the size of small huts crowded the path, dripping with dew that smelled of sulfur and rich earth.

Sol walked carefully, his senses assaulted by the sheer scale of the primitive world. In the distance, the canopy shook as something massive moved through the branches, sending a shower of leaves raining down. This wasn’t a park; it was a kingdom of giants, and humans were merely squatters.

He reached the river, scanning the bank. It was crowded with early risers. He found a spot slightly downstream away from the main crowd. He knelt to fill the jar, his ears pricking up, his heightened senses filtering the chatter of the morning crowd. He heard gossip about the Chief’s mood, about the weather, but nothing about Vurok.

"Sol!"

A cheerful voice interrupted his spying. Taru jogged over, grinning from ear to ear, looking more energetic than usual.

"Taru," Sol greeted, lifting the full jar effortlessly.

"My parents couldn’t stop talking about the soup last night," Taru beamed, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "My dad actually praised me for being your friend. Can you believe it? He didn’t even scold me for missing practice yesterday."

They made small talk for a minute, discussing the flavor and the village gossip. Then, Taru’s expression turned serious. He leaned against a tree, crossing his arms.

"So," Taru asked, his voice dropping. "How’s the prep going? You ready?"

"Ready for what?" Sol asked, confused.

Taru’s smile faltered. He looked at Sol as if he had grown a second head. "What? Don’t tell me you forgot. The Annual Hunting Rite. It is in two days!"

Sol paused. The term triggered a flood of memories he hadn’t accessed yet... fragments of the previous Sol’s knowledge buried under the trauma.

Sol stared at him blankly.

"The Rite?" Taru continued, shaking his head in disbelief. "All the young people are training for it! My father has been running me ragged for weeks."

It’s only you who dared to take the hunting rite in advance... and without training, no less. And of course, got hurt, but that doesn’t mean you can’t join the Annual one."

Taru sighed, kicking at a root. "It’s the only way to join a hunting team now. If you miss this, you have to wait another year. By then, everyone else will have experience. You’ll be left behind."

Taru continued rambling about the dangers and the glory, about how the elders promised honor and strength, but Sol stopped listening. The memory clicked into place, sharp and clear.

The Annual Hunting Rite.

Of course. It was the defining event for the tribe’s youth. Mandatory participation for anyone who wanted a future. It wasn’t just a test; it was a spectacle. The youth would enter the forest to hunt, to earn the right to be a hunter.

Even though there was risk, everyone yearned for it, partly due to the harsh environment, scarce food, and being a Hunter meant better rations, social status, and power. And partly due to the clever preferential treatment of hunters and the tribe’s propaganda.

It was a chaotic, sprawling event in the dense jungle, far away from the prying eyes of the Elders. Participants were separated. Accidents were common. Deaths were expected.

"If you want to join the hunting team properly," Taru was saying, oblivious to Sol’s silence, "you have to pass this. Otherwise, you wait a whole year, and by then others will have gained so much experience, leaving you behind in the dust."

Sol looked down at the water, his reflection wavering in the current.

The Rite took place in the deep forest. It was chaotic. It was dangerous.

And Vurok... Vurok, who was desperate to prove himself after being publicly humiliated by a "cripple," would definitely be there. He would be looking for a trophy to boost his honor.

A cold, perfect clarity washed over Sol.

In the chaos of the Rite, surrounded by beasts and inexperienced youth, the line between an accident and a murder was non-existent.

Sol’s lips curved into a faint, cold smile. Vurok had said, "Accidents happen in the wild."

He realized he didn’t need to lure Vurok anywhere. The tribe was sending them both into the killing grounds together.

The Rite was a killing field sanctioned by tradition. It was a place where "accidents" were the norm.

A perfect plan formed in his mind.

"I remember now," Sol interrupted Taru, a dark, dangerous smile spreading across his face that made Taru step back slightly. "I haven’t been preparing... but I think I’m going to participate."

Taru looked worried. "Are you sure? It’s dangerous, Sol. You just healed."

"I know," Sol said, gripping the water jar until his knuckles turned white. "That’s exactly why I’m going."