Long ago, before the age of humanity's dominion, there existed a race known as the druids. Their story, erased from history, is one of unparalleled intelligence and creativity. Unlike homo sapiens, who relied on brute force and crude tools, the druids could transform a grain of dirt into magnificent structures and harnessed the world's essence in ways incomprehensible to others. They revered the natural world, seeking harmony and balance. Yet, this brilliance came at a cost. The druids' frail bodies betrayed their extraordinary minds. They lived shorter lives, susceptible to diseases that homo sapiens could endure. Their peaceful ways made them vulnerable to the aggression of humans, who saw them not as allies, but as threats. Thus, the druids were driven to the brink of extinction, their golden age forgotten by the tides of time. Despite their intellect, the druids faced immense challenges. Their weak immune systems limited their lifespan to just 30 years, compared to the 50 years of a homo sapien.
This harsh reality forced them to focus their efforts on survival. They devised medicines, catalogued herbs, and even invented primitive soap to ward off disease. Each discovery, painstakingly achieved through trial and error, was passed down like a sacred torch to the next generation. But their ingenuity had limits. Overwork claimed many lives, and their ability to reproduce was fraught with tragedy. Pregnancies often ended in death for mother and child, leaving the population dwindling. Still, they persevered, holding onto hope that one day they could unlock the secret to extending their lives.
The druids' golden age was not marked by grand conquests but by their quiet pursuit of knowledge and understanding. Yet, their isolation would soon be challenged in a way no one could have foreseen.
In the sixth village of the dwindling druids, a new chief was chosen. He was only 15 years old, the son of the previous leader, and untested in the ways of leadership. The weight of his people's survival rested heavily on his shoulders. At his first council meeting, he proposed an idea so bold it left the elders stunned.
"Why don't we collaborate with the homo sapiens?" he asked.
The room fell silent, then erupted into laughter. "They're violent, primitive creatures," one elder scoffed. "They throw rocks when we wave. They hunt with sharpened sticks and revel in cruelty. They are nothing like us."
The young chief, undeterred, spoke with conviction. "They're not so different from how we once were. If we teach them, guide them, perhaps they can change. Isn't it worth the risk?"
The elders remained skeptical. One, however, offered wisdom. "We must value our people first. But perhaps, with time, the homo sapiens will learn as we did. For now, let them be."
The young chief took these words to heart but resolved to test his theory. Little did he know, fate would soon grant him the chance.
It happened one quiet afternoon. As the young chief wandered near the forest edge, he encountered a homo sapien for the first time. The creature was taller, more muscular, with wild hair and an imposing presence. Fear gripped the chief, but he remembered the elder's advice: value others as potential allies, not threats.
The homo sapien approached cautiously, sniffing the air as if trying to understand this strange being. The chief resisted the urge to run. Instead, he raised his hands slowly and extended them in a gesture of peace. When the homo sapien touched his hands, the chief did something bold: he embraced him, like a newborn needing comfort.
To his surprise, the homo sapien smiled. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. Over the next few days, the two formed an unspoken bond, teaching and learning through gestures and expressions. The chief's fear turned to hope. Perhaps collaboration was possible after all.
When the young chief brought the homo sapien back to the village, the druids were horrified. "He's dangerous! He'll harm us!" they cried. But the chief calmed them, explaining his vision.
"He is not a beast," he said. "He is like a child, untrained and untaught. We can guide him, help him understand our ways. Imagine what we could achieve together."
The villagers hesitated but agreed to trust their leader. The homo sapien was introduced to their ways, learning to speak, to craft, and to live as a druid. Over time, he became one of them, bridging the gap between their worlds.
Two years later, the young chief stood before his people, addressing the homo sapien who had become part of their village. "You came to us as a stranger, but today, you are one of us. You are not just a homo sapien; you are a human. And with your help, we will begin a new chapter in our history." As the homo sapien heard himself being called "human" for the first time, tears welled in his eyes. Overcome with gratitude, he wept openly, thankful for the druids who had guided him toward a brighter path. With a deep breath, he addressed the gathered crowd, his voice steady yet filled with emotion. "That's true," he began, his words carrying the weight of transformation. "I was a homo sapien—naïve and hopeless—until fate brought me to the sixth village. I remember that moment vividly, as though it happened yesterday. When I saw him—the young chief—for the first time, I thought, 'What a strange being.' He was so different from anyone I had ever known. But as time passed, I found comfort in his presence, in his guidance, and in the wisdom he shared."
The human paused, his gaze sweeping over the druids who had nurtured him. "Now, I stand before you, no longer a lost soul but a human with purpose. I will carry forward the teachings you have given me, guiding others of my kind to the path we've built together. I have nothing but gratitude for all of you."
Moved beyond words, the young chief—the sixth of his lineage—burst into tears. He dashed forward, embracing the human tightly, their bond unshakable. That evening, as they celebrated with food and drink under a canopy of stars, both the human and the chief understood this was their final night together. The druids had taught the human all they could, and his journey now lay elsewhere.
As dawn broke, the young chief and the human stood apart from the others, sharing a solemn moment. "My dear brother," the chief said, his voice trembling, "I know we are not bound by blood, but our bond is stronger than kinship. There is a ritual—an oath of brotherhood—that I would ask you to take with me."
The human, a single tear tracing his cheek, nodded. "It would be my honor, my brother. Though we are different in body and behavior, I have come to see us as the same."
The chief smiled and produced a small cup of white wine. With a ceremonial knife, he pricked his finger, allowing a single drop of blood to mix with the wine. "With this," he said, "we are bound—not by blood, but by this oath."
The human mirrored the gesture, and together they drank from the cup before smashing it to the ground. "This oath is absolute," the chief declared.
As the sun rose higher, the human bid farewell to the village. "I won't say goodbye," he told the chief, his voice firm. "Our paths will cross again, my blood brother."
"And until then," the chief replied, "may fate show us its good face."
The human's departure marked a turning point for the sixth village. The young chief faced a new challenge: convincing the other nine village leaders to adopt his vision of guiding and nurturing homo sapiens. The meeting was 11 months away, leaving him precious time to prepare his arguments.
Meanwhile, the chief worked tirelessly to improve his village's infrastructure. The druids' frail bodies limited their ability to undertake heavy labor, but the chief proposed a revolutionary idea: teamwork. "Even if we have frail bodies," he declared, "by working together, each contributing just one hour a day, we can accomplish great things."
The druids embraced the plan. They mixed dirt, grass, and water to create a sticky, durable substance for construction. Over months of labor, they built a stone house reinforced with ash wood, a testament to their ingenuity and unity. They named it "Nion," a word symbolizing heaven and dedication to their shared dream. Amid these advancements, the chief harbored a secret. Though he spoke of prioritizing progress over personal life, he had formed a bond with a woman of his age. Their relationship remained hidden, a quiet rebellion against the chief's own declarations.
His people, unaware of his private life, rallied behind his vision for progress. They developed new technologies, including a device dubbed the "four-carrier," a precursor to transportation innovations. The engineer of the sixth village introduced the invention, designed to harness the strength of horses for carrying goods and people.
Despite these advancements, the chief knew the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. His ultimate goal remained the survival and prosperity of his people—and the integration of the homo sapiens into their fold.
300 Years Later: Unearthing the Past
Centuries later, in a world transformed by human advancement, the legacy of the druids was rediscovered. In the ruins of Bedak City, an archeological team uncovered artifacts from the sixth village, including the Arcane Relic—a mysterious rune said to unlock the full potential of the druid body.
The chief archaeologist, Maral Vasen, addressed an audience spanning Earth, Venus, and Mars. "This relic," he declared, holding up the artifact, "is the key to understanding the achievements of the druids—beings whose intelligence surpassed ours even now."
Maral's brother, Andillar, questioned the irony of their pursuit. "We live in an age of unprecedented advancement, yet we know so little about the past. Isn't it ironic that our ancestors' foggy history holds the answers to our future?"
Maral nodded, his determination unwavering. "Perhaps. But as long as I bear the name Maral Vasen—the destined arrow—I will pierce through the fog of our ancestors' past. The druids' legacy deserves to be known, not as a forgotten chapter, but as a cornerstone of our shared history."
Thus, the story of the druids, the human who became one of them, and the young chief who dared to dream of unity, continued to resonate across time—a testament to the power of collaboration and the enduring pursuit of understanding.