Ethan Drake didn't want to waste time debating over a name. Strength, he knew, spoke louder than words. He settled himself on a flat rock, his hands skillfully working rough stones into serviceable weapons. Stone axes and spears emerged from his efforts, each one crude but effective. The best of them he handed to the tribe's four strongest warriors. The rest went to the others.
As the tribe's first warrior, Rio Drake already wielded a stone axe, but his eyes lit up when he saw the stone spear. He hefted it, tested its balance, and swung it experimentally before shaking his head. "Too light."
Ethan smirked. "The stone axe packs weight for power. The spear offers reach and speed. If it's too light, stick with your axes." He picked up another freshly made axe and extended it toward Rio.
Rio grinned, a flash of white teeth under his tangled beard, as he took the second axe. "Two axes, huh? I've been itching to try this." His excitement faltered as he glanced at the others. "But is it fair? Weapons are scarce."
Ethan waved the concern away. "We'll make more. Keep an eye out for the right stones while hunting. They're simple to craft, and we'll have plenty soon."
Rio's grin returned, and with a fierce battle cry, he swung the dual axes in a wide arc, eliciting cheers from the gathered tribe. The other warriors clutched their new weapons with similar enthusiasm, murmuring excitedly among themselves.
By the time the scouts returned, dusk painted Mirror Lake in hues of silver and gray. The lead scout, face smudged with dirt and exhaustion, reported back with a crucial revelation: the location of the enemy tribe. He described the path he'd marked and the defensive layout he'd observed.
Ethan nodded in approval, a rare smile flickering across his face. "Good work. What's your name?"
The scout blinked in surprise. "I don't have one, Patriarch."
"James Drake," Ethan declared. "You've earned it."
The murmurs of envy that rippled through the group didn't escape Ethan's notice. Naming was a rare honor, one tied to deeds that served the tribe. It wasn't something given lightly.
As the sun disappeared completely, the tribe prepared for their evening meal. Ethan's stomach growled in protest. Hunting had been fruitful, but starting a fire in the bitter wind was another matter. Each spark struggled against the elements, snuffed out before it could take hold.
Ethan narrowed his eyes at the flickering embers. His mind churned until an idea struck. With effort, he hauled several large stones into place, fashioning a rudimentary stone stove.
**System Tip:** *Congratulations to the player 'Ethan Drake' for creating a 'small stone stove.' Earned 20 Civilization Points, 2 Cultural Points, and 2 Industrial Points.*
Ethan barely registered the notification, focused instead on the task at hand. "Now, let's get a pot going," he muttered.
The women of the tribe took over, their hands adept at crafting the crude stone pot and bowls needed for cooking. Meanwhile, Ethan directed the men to fetch water from the lake and retrieve the fishermen stationed by the ice hole.
The fisherman, however, surprised them all. As Ethan was about to call it a day, the scout hauled in a net heavy with flailing movement. Cheers erupted as he pulled free a gleaming, silver-scaled squid.
**System Tip:** *Congratulations! The tribe has discovered 'squid.' Earned 30 Civilization Points, 3 Production Points, and +1 Fishery Development.*
Ethan's laugh rang out, loud and triumphant. "Proof of concept," he said, his gaze sweeping over the awestruck tribe. "This lake will sustain us."
The old man, a wizened figure with a keen memory, shuffled closer. "Is this the fish you spoke of earlier, Patriarch?"
"It is," Ethan confirmed, grabbing the squid. He expertly dispatched it with a blunt stone, though the process was messier than he'd have liked. Scraping the scales and gutting the fish was clumsy, but he managed. The processed squid went into the pot with water.
As the fish soup simmered, its aroma wafting through the air, every eye in the tribe locked onto the bubbling pot. The meat of the wild boar was being roasted nearby, but it seemed no one cared.
When the soup was finally ready, Ethan ladled it into rough bowls, cautioning, "Watch for bones."
Despite his warning, yelps of pain broke out as some were pricked by the sharp fish spines. Ethan sighed but bit back frustration. They'd learn.
The taste of the soup, though simple, was divine after a hard day. Ethan allowed himself a moment to savor the warmth spreading through his body. Looking at the tribe, their smiles faint but genuine despite their hunger, he couldn't help but feel a pang of responsibility.
He leaned back, watching the fire crackle. "Not even half full," he murmured, patting his stomach. He glanced at the others, most of whom had only scraps to eat. "This life... it's brutal."