Afterward, several feathered people gathered around Spiritfeather and asked why he had changed his mind.
At first, they had discussed leaving Agu after receiving their names. They had planned to depart together and establish something of their own.
But just now, Spiritfeather had chosen differently.
"Because I suddenly realized," Spiritfeather said calmly, "that power and territory are insignificant."
"What truly matters is God, and the glory that flows from His will."
There was a strange intensity in his scarlet eyes.
"We have received names. We have received a portion of glory. But we have not received the greatest share."
He turned his gaze toward the valley.
"The Law of the Feathered People."
His voice carried quiet desire.
"God entrusted glory through mission. Mission is defined by law. And the authority to shape that law remains in his hands."
Among the feathered people, Agu had only one name.
He was simply called Agu.
The name God had given him was sacred, and he had never revealed it to them.
As Spiritfeather finished speaking, the others understood.
In the valley stood the great stone slab engraved with the Ceremony, the behavioral code of their kind. Every rule carved into it was a boundary.
That stone defined legitimacy.
If they left completely, they would become separate from the main body of their people. And if Agu ever chose to alter the law, he could redefine rebellion itself.
A single addition to the carved code could strip them of recognition.
Spiritfeather had understood this the moment he read the stone.
"Only by standing beside him," Spiritfeather said quietly, "can we one day stand in his place."
He was confident.
In his own mind, his intelligence surpassed Agu's.
For now, Agu's physical strength remained superior. But Spiritfeather believed strength of body was temporary. Wisdom and capability shaped the future.
In his view, Agu's position existed only because he had been first.
And first did not mean best.
Spiritfeather still remembered being confined in the shelter. To him, locking them away had been a crude solution. If he had led them, he believed he would have inspired loyalty rather than enforced containment.
Because of this, he quietly judged Agu unworthy of being the true ancestor of their kind.
"Will Bluefeather stand with me?" Spiritfeather asked.
Bluefeather was the most beautiful among them. Her presence carried natural influence.
Spiritfeather's interest was not purely emotional.
He thought strategically.
To shape the future, they needed numbers.
They were the race created to bring color and order to the world in God's name. To fulfill that mission, expansion was essential.
At first, Agu had labored alone. His transformation of the land had been slow.
With more people, with shared knowledge and improved tools, transformation could spread far beyond a single valley.
There were only slightly more than thirty of them now.
That was not enough.
"She does not agree," came the reply.
It was from Windstep, the feathered man skilled in dance and agility, the one who had first bitten through the vines to fashion the swing. He admired Spiritfeather deeply and often acted as his intermediary.
"If she does not agree, then leave it," Spiritfeather said after a pause.
To them, reproduction was not romance. It was strategy.
Love had not yet emerged within their culture.
Spiritfeather's brief silence was not heartbreak. It was wounded pride.
On the other side of the valley, Agu stood before the stone slab, deep in thought.
The Ceremony of the Feathered People was still primitive. It contained only foundational behavioral laws.
Another text had yet to be fully realized.
The Chronicle.
If the Ceremony defined conduct, the Chronicle would record origin.
The stone tablet engraved with ritual law had been completed. But Agu still struggled with another medium.
He had attempted to shape river clay into tablets and carve words into them. Yet the clay was brittle. It dissolved in water. The carvings flaked away under pressure.
Such material could not endure time.
The Chronicle did not need to stand in public view like the Ceremony. It could be preserved carefully.
But if it could not survive generations, it was meaningless.
"I must find a way to strengthen clay," Agu murmured to himself.
Behind him, Bluefeather approached quietly.
"Are you not concerned about Spiritfeather and the others?" she asked. She also told him that Windstep had tried to persuade her.
Agu did not grow angry.
"No. This is inevitable," he said calmly.
Everyone was free.
If the world was to expand, divergence would occur.
"What matters," Agu continued, "is that the Law and the Chronicle remain true. As long as they guide correctly, leadership itself is secondary."
In Agu's heart, this mortal world was only part of a longer path. One day, he would return to God.
If, at that time, Spiritfeather became leader, then so be it.
Yet even as he spoke, a faint unease flickered within him.
Spiritfeather's intelligence was sharp. Almost too sharp.
Still, sharpness could elevate the tribe.
Suppressing further doubt, Agu turned his focus to construction.
First, they needed proper dwellings.
The earlier shelter had been crude, erected quickly at night. During recent days, many improvements had been proposed.
The surrounding forest soon paid the price.
This time, instead of using whole logs, they cut and shaved wood into boards with stone blades.
Previously, logs had been used to prevent young ones from breaking through. Now they built for comfort and permanence.
Gradually, a true gathering place began to take form.