Three days passed after I finished making the walking aid, and with each passing day, my steps grew steadier.
At first, every movement still required intense concentration—placing the frame first, shifting my weight carefully, commanding muscles that had long forgotten their purpose. But by the third day, something changed. My body began to respond instinctively, no longer fighting each motion but accepting it.
If everything continued at this pace, I would be able to walk independently within another two days.
The realization filled me with restless excitement.
That morning, after finishing my exercises, I gathered my courage and spoke to Sister Jean.
"Sister… may I go outside?" I asked. "Just for a short walk."
Her immediate response was a sharp glare.
"No."
The word was firm, leaving no room for argument.
"You're still recovering," she continued. "If you fall again, it could undo months of healing."
I lowered my gaze, disappointment tightening my chest—but before I could respond, Elder Martha, who had been quietly observing from the corner of the room, spoke up.
"Let him go," she said calmly. "The body heals faster when the mind is at ease. Shelter him too much, and he'll grow afraid instead."
Sister Jean frowned deeply, her fingers curling slightly at her sides.
"…I'll go with him," she finally said. "If he so much as stumbles, we turn back immediately."
Relief flooded through me.
This would be my first real glimpse of the village.
As we stepped outside, the afternoon sun warmed my skin, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of earth, wood, and smoke. The sounds of daily life surrounded us—laughter, the clatter of tools, distant voices calling to one another.
I walked slowly, leaning on my aid, absorbing everything.
As we moved, my thoughts drifted to the information Elder Martha had shared with me over the past months.
This tribe was known as a Root Tribe, one whose natural attributes leaned toward wood. Such tribes excelled in forest scouting, herbal medicine, and rapid recovery from injuries. At its peak, the tribe had boasted more than three thousands members and stood on the verge of being recognized as a medium tribe.
Then came the monster horde attack three years ago.
Thousands had died.
Only around thousands survived.
Even now, the scars of that tragedy lingered—in the cautious way people moved, in the watchful eyes of the hunters, in the gaps where houses had once stood. Through steady recovery and new births, the population had climbed back to around one thousand seven hundred, but the loss was not something time could easily erase.
Sister Jean walked beside me, her posture straight, her presence commanding quiet respect wherever we passed.
She was the captain of the strongest hunter squad in the tribe.
There were three squads in total, each composed of roughly one hundred regular hunters. Their duties rotated between village defense, escorting resource-gathering parties, and participating in expeditions to other islands.
Her squad had been assigned to village defense and escort for seven months after returning from their last expedition—the same mission during which they had found me. In about half a month, they would be sent out again.
I tightened my grip on the walking aid.
That expedition… it had changed my life.
The tribe itself was led by Chieftain Odin, supported by five elders:
Elder Martha, in charge of medicine and healing
Elder Pablo, head instructor of the hunters and military commander
Elder Vulcan, master of construction and forging
Elder Garb, strategist and advisor to the chieftain
Elder Sandra, responsible for resources and logistics
All five elders were Tier Three Totem Commanders.
Chieftain Odin and Elder Pablo stood at the perfect stage. Elder Martha, Vulcan, and Garb were at the great stage, while Elder Sandra had only reached the minor stage three years ago.
As for Sister Dian—
She was at the perfect stage of Tier Two, a Totem Captain.
The same rank held by the other two squad captains.
Any hunter who broke into a higher major tier would immediately gain greater authority and influence within the tribe.
Lost in thought, I nearly failed to notice someone approaching us.
"Good morning, Jean."
The gentle voice startled me.
"And who is this young man beside you… and what is that strange object he's holding?"
An elderly woman stood before us, leaning lightly on a staff, her eyes sharp despite her age.
"Good morning, Elder Angeline," Sister Dian replied respectfully. "This is the boy I rescued from the island. I've taken him in as my younger brother. His name is James."
She glanced at me. "James, greet Elder Angeline. She used to watch over my brother and me when we were young."
I straightened as best I could and bowed slightly.
"Good morning, Elder Angeline. It's an honor to meet you."
Her stern expression softened instantly.
"Hahaha! What a polite child," she said warmly. "But you're far too thin. You should eat more—build some muscle."
I smiled awkwardly.
She waved her hand as she turned away. "I must go now. Elder Sandra is impossible to catch when she's busy. Take care, James. Jean."
As we continued onward, the village slowly unfolded before me.
Hundreds of straw huts were arranged in orderly rows, each with a spacious backyard enclosed by fences made from wooden stakes and polished bone fragments. Some families tended small gardens; others repaired tools or dried meat in the sun.
At the center of the village stood a massive structure built from stone, timber, straw, and thick hides. It towered above the surrounding huts, radiating authority.
"The chieftain's residence and meeting hall," Sister Dian explained. "That's where all major decisions are made."
Nearby stood five additional buildings—each belonging to one of the elders.
The roads beneath my feet were surprisingly even, compacted and reinforced over years of use. Near the village gate lay three large open fields, each roughly the size of a soccer field. Beyond them, another training ground stretched behind the central hall.
"That's where the hunters train," she said.
Encircling everything was a five-meter-tall wooden palisade made from thick, sharpened logs—a silent reminder that peace here was never guaranteed.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of amber and crimson, we made our way home.
Sister Jean's house lay at the far corner of the village, tucked away from the noise. She preferred solitude. Because of that, Elder Martha often visited—sometimes to relax, sometimes simply to escape her overwhelming responsibilities.
As I stepped inside, leaning on my walking aid, a quiet warmth settled in my chest.
For the first time since arriving in this world…
It no longer felt entirely unfamiliar.