Mol, Solon, and the others sat around a stone table in heated discussion. Their voices rose and fell as they argued about how to rule the settlement.
"This is our problem—we love ourselves too much. If I hadn't stepped forward as a volunteer at my age, you wouldn't have come forward either." Mol, the old man stood, shouting angrily.
"We are lazy. We don't want to work hard," he said again before sitting down and folding his arms in frustration.
Solon stood calmly. "There won't be any privileges for now if we want to control the people. Anyone who receives our blood must work. Whether they're our relatives or friends, they must work. That way, the rest of the people will be obedient. Old man Mol is right."
Mol spoke again: "If we have everyone listening to us, then we can create the hierarchy. But if not, we will face rebellion."
The conversation continued for hours before they retired to sleep.
The next morning came too quickly, and people came and filled the gathering place.
Mol was effective—his speech was short and persuasive. He convinced them that the alien harbored evil intentions, which they had recognized the moment he healed them.
They now knew how to cure the rest. However, people must work for it. Everyone given medicine must follow orders so that more cure could be made.
The people tried to learn what the cure was, but the old man said it was something they had obtained from the alien.
One hundred people were chosen—fifty females and fifty males—to enter the large building.
Moments later, they emerged with rosy skin and eyes filled with energy. The audience could see a clear difference in their health and the way they moved.
Division of labor was immediately assigned. Among the males, gatherers, breakers, grinders and shapers went to their respective work.
As for the females, their job was to move around the settlement and invite certain individuals who would be useful once they were healed.
---
Eiran opened his eyes. He could hear faint sounds, and his mind grasped what they meant.
The whole settlement was confined within buildings made of stones that repaired themselves even when broken. They had no farms or animals, but rather fields at the edge of the settlement where valuable edible materials fell from the sky.
Gatherers were tasked with collecting those.
There was also another place filled with useful rocks and stones. Breakers worked hard to break them and then brought them back to the settlement.
Shapers were the craftsmen who shaped the rocks into useful tools while Grinders simply turned certain rocks into dust and processed them.
There were other manual jobs as well, but these were the heart that made the settlement function.
The most important aspect was the exchange.
After they gathered materials, ground dust, or shaped useful things, they had a way to exchange them with other settlements.
When the day was ending, glowing brown rocks filled the ancestral ground. Men and women who had been healed worked with various tools.
Some turned stones into dust, others shaped them into tools. A few were packing the processed items and adding enhancements.
A stone knife became a metal knife. Brown dust became blue dust that floated in the air. A brown cup became a glass cup.
Four people were also tasked with bringing wooden boxes and packaging the items, then moving them inside the largest building; The Ancestral Building.
---
Mol, Solon, and a few others stood, their faces stern as they looked at each other.
"Let me do it, father," said Rol, old man Mol's son.
"No. You are an excellent grinder. We can't put you at risk for this."
"Let's choose a random man and heal him for the job!"
"Hmm. I've thought about that. But if he dies, we will be accused. It has to be one of us!"
"Why are you so concerned with the people?" Dol shouted. "We have the power, we have the cure—they must obey us!"
"You're a fool. Do you think we truly have the power? We bound the Cursed One with the collective will of the people. The moment they lose faith in us, he will be free."
Mol felt a headache coming. "I hate working with fools. Just because you're young and feel a bit of power doesn't mean you can do whatever you want!"
Dol became silent. He couldn't deny what Mol was saying, but if the old man kept this up, they should just push him aside.
They were stronger and younger than him. The only problem was his son.
"I will do it!" Solon declared.
The room was spacious, with a steel door facing them. He went there and placed his hand on it. It slid open without difficulty.
Inside was a stone chair with complicated designs, and before it was a glass table embedded with metallic patterns.
An artifact that could control the settlement, but it demanded knowledge and power. Solon sat on the chair and took deep breaths before he began.
The others brought the boxes filled with items they had made and placed them on the table.
Solon's body was seized by power. Gravity around him pressed down, his bones began to crack, and his nose began to bleed.
The boxes on the glass table began to disappear one by one. More were placed until Solon could no longer hold on.
He slumped down, bleeding. He opened his bloody eyes as Rol helped him up and laid him down.
Mol brought a vial and poured it into his mouth. "Bring a flatbed and carry him to the healer!"
The first hurdle was done. Now they would wait for a reply indicating that a settlement had accepted their products in exchange.
He turned to leave when the table lit up. He came back quickly and checked. Their products had been taken, and even more were being demanded.
"Looks like months with no delivery have made others hungry!" he muttered.
He called the others, and they confirmed what they wanted: Blood Beetles, Energy Stones, and Food—the types they couldn't gather in their settlement.
---
The appearance of rare food materials gave the people the will to come forward and listen.
Under Mol's strategic manipulation, they gained the people's trust and established a hierarchy. For the first time in a long time, a leader emerged in just one week.
Though this was strictly against their traditions, the exchange room was now controlled.
Usually, everyone could prepare their tools and, if they had the power to send them, they did so. If they could pay someone else to do it, they did that.
Now, many people with healed bodies tried to access the room but were denied. They began to rally to force their freedom, but the next moment, everyone who had been cured fell ill again.
Old man Mol, in clean clothes with a well-groomed white beard, called for a settlement meeting.
"We are deeply sorry to realize that the cure we provided was temporary. It only lasts eight days. But I give you my word that we will work on the real cure that will heal us completely!"
He gave a long speech on the subject, but in the end, he issued orders.
"The temporary cure will be given to everyone. We have made more in the last eight days, but it will take another eight days for everyone to receive it."
Those who wanted the cure gave their names to be put on the list. About two hundred were chosen that day.
Red beetles flew from the building and landed on them, then flew back.
That was the first time everyone saw how the healing occurred.
It was instant.
The treated people only sweated briefly before standing vibrant and healthy. A badge was given to them, and then they were shown where they would be fed and sent to work.
---
"This is the unity we want," Mol said, smiling as he threw a piece of meat into his mouth. "We can train soldiers. We can even go beyond!"
Solon nodded. "Before the blood rain, no one would cooperate." He drank a juice before he said, "But we are draining ourselves too much!"
The seventeen people around the table nodded. The cure was simple—it was their blood. That's why they needed the Blood Beetles.
Blood Beetles were pests in another settlement, but some had seen their uses and shared them with people. Now they were in high demand.
They functioned as blood banks. They drank blood and converted it into pellets, but whenever they spat it out, it became blood again.
Most people used them to store large amounts of blood for later use.
"We shouldn't worry about that," Mol said. "I've noticed that those who received the blood need less to stay healthy again." He said with a smile as he cleaned his hand, "We are healing them gradually."
"If that's the case, we must start our plan now!" Dol said.
"For once, your head is thinking straight," Mol replied. He stood, coughed, and said, "I'm the third oldest person in this world, and I have the second-highest wisdom. It's my ingenuity that has made us succeed slowly until we reached this moment.
"Controlling 10,275 people is not easy, especially if we want them to keep the alien at bay." He spread his hand inviting them, "I believe, in my humble opinion, that I should be appointed as the Lord of Brownore!"
Dol jumped up to punch him, but Rol intercepted him.
Dol's brother, Kol, stood and pulled out a steel knife. "Your greed will cost us everything."
Solon shook his head.
"Lord of Brownore…" he sighed, "What you're aiming for is too high. How about a magistrate, servant, or caretaker?" His gaze intensified as he looked at the old man. "I didn't know you had become senile."
Mol smiled knowingly. "I know you will reject the idea because of its costs, but haven't I delivered all your dreams?" His hand folded behind him,
"Haven't I made it so you can all eat and drink whatever you want? I might be the face, but no one takes me seriously. I'm an old, weak man who only uses his mouth."
He gazed at them all. "You are young and growing stronger every day. You all have your factions, building strength in the shadows. Not to mention, the women who dismissed you before are now clinging to you."
He let that sink in.
If he successfully became lord, he was old and would soon die. It would be their turn to be lords. The hardship was in becoming the lord.
"We know all that," Solon said, "but becoming a lord will risk our destruction."
"That's true, father. We need to think this through!" Rol said.
"Your wisdom will not save us. So drop that diabolical ambition!" Dol commanded.
"Let us list what we need for me to become a lord!" the old man said calmly.
There was silence before Dol said, "A constant sitter on the Lord Chair!"
Rol said, "Regular exchange of resources!"
Solon said, "One hundred Rank 1 Warriors!"
The rest began to echo with answers:
"Commanding the world's will!"
"Creating a bridge to other worlds!"
"Challenging Hollow Fell!"
"Surviving waves of man-eating beasts!"
Mol smiled and said, "The hardest thing is challenging Hollow Fell. The rest are doable. Having one hundred Rank 1 warriors or more can save us from the beasts. Since we are united now, we can create warriors for that."
"What about the bridge?" Rol growled.
"The bridge, my dear ignorant boy, is the Table. We have the bridge—the previous lord made sure of that. What we need to do is keep it active to permanently link us to other worlds."
A wave of realization came to them. Even before the blood rain, people could only sit there for a few seconds before escaping.
Those who could stay for one minute could even converse with people on the other side.
Then what if they could sit for hours or days? Wouldn't that create a permanent connection that people could pass through from here to there?
"You've got it right," the old man smiled. "Having a sitter for one day will create a doorway out of here to anywhere we need."
"Father," Rol said, "but no one can sit for more than ten minutes without dying. Not even Rank 1 warriors can survive that..."
The boy became silent as realization came to him. "The Cursed One!"
A chill went through their spines. The idea horrified them, but if it was possible, wouldn't that be a great solution?
Solon sighed. "You really have thought this through. But that raises the question: How?"
Mol's smile beamed with dark satisfaction.