The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the vast expanse of verdant forest that enveloped the small clearing. In this isolated sanctuary, the remnants of a world long forgotten blended seamlessly with the vitality of nature. The air was thick with the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves, a testament to life thriving amidst the ruins of the past.
Arak, a young member of the tribe known as the Kethari, knelt by the riverbank, carefully crafting a fishing spear from the slender branch of a tree. His fingers moved deftly, guided by the lessons of his father, who often spoke of the balance between man and nature. The Kethari revered the land, believing it to be a living entity that offered sustenance and wisdom to those who respected it.
"Do you think we'll catch anything today, Arak?" a voice broke his concentration. It was Lyra, his childhood friend, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She waded through the shallow water, her bare feet splashing playfully as she approached him.
"If you stop scaring the fish away," Arak replied, a smile tugging at his lips. "You're more likely to catch a cold than a fish."
Lyra laughed, her laughter echoing like a melody through the trees. "Come on! We're not going to survive on berries alone. Besides, we'll need something for the evening feast."
Arak's gaze drifted upstream, where the river wound through a tapestry of greenery. It was a route they had traversed countless times, but today felt different. Today, he sensed an unexplainable pull toward the horizon, where the treetops met the sky. Whispers of ancient legends danced in his mind—the tales his grandmother spun by the fire about the Sky Lords and the wonders of the Old World.
"You're daydreaming again," Lyra teased, pulling him back to reality. "Let's go. If we're lucky, we might find the shimmering trout the elders love."
Together, they set off along the riverbank, the sun filtering through the leaves above, painting patches of light on the forest floor. As they walked, Arak couldn't shake the feeling that the forest held secrets beyond the familiar paths they knew. The Kethari believed that the spirits of their ancestors lingered in the trees, watching over them and guiding their actions. Yet, Arak's curiosity often tugged him toward the unknown.
In the distance, the sounds of the tribe's activities drifted toward them. The rhythmic thumping of wooden tools against stone signaled the preparation for the evening feast. It was a sacred time for the Kethari—a celebration of the earth's bounty, a chance to honor their ancestors and share stories of the past.
"We should hurry," Lyra urged, sensing his distraction. "The elders will start without us, and you know how they get."
Arak chuckled, his thoughts returning to the present. "Right. We wouldn't want to upset the elders. Let's catch some fish."