Meanwhile, back at the human village, Tallow stood inside one of the larger primitive huts alongside three other children his age and several adult women.
The hut smelled faintly of dried herbs and woven grass. Thin beams of sunlight slipped through gaps in the wooden walls, illuminating the interior in soft streaks. The walls were lined with bundles of colorful plants, strips of dyed cloth, and carefully prepared fibers.
The women sat in a loose circle, their hands moving skillfully as they wove bright leaves, dyed threads, and decorative beads into ceremonial garments.
Their fingers moved with practiced precision.
None of the children were allowed to help.
Today, they were the focus.
Tallow shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching as one of the women tied off a final strand and lifted up a finished garment. It shimmered in the light, woven from reds, yellows, and deep greens.
"Hey, Tallow, can you believe it's finally the day?" a tall boy beside him asked with a wide grin.
Tallow turned his head.
Chester stood with his arms folded confidently across his chest, chin lifted slightly. He always tried to appear older than he was.
"Yeah, Chester," Tallow replied, attempting to sound just as confident. "I'm going to awaken a strong class."
He flexed his thin arms dramatically, though there wasn't much muscle to show.
The other kids laughed.
One of the women glanced up and let out a soft chuckle.
The mood in the hut was light.
Excited.
Hopeful.
But beneath the smiles and laughter, the women carried a silent burden.
Each of them shared the same thought.
Please… let at least one of them awaken.
It had been over fifteen years since someone in the village had awakened a class.
Fifteen years.
That last awakened villager had been strong. Strong enough to defend them for a time. Strong enough to hold back monsters when they relocated to this new land.
But he had died protecting them from a horde of monsters that they encountered whilst looking for a new home.
Since then, only one person in the village possessed a class.
The village elder.
And as much as none of them wished to admit it, her life was nearing its end.
She was well over one hundred years old. Magic had extended her lifespan far beyond what a normal human could endure. It preserved her body, strengthened her mind, and allowed her to stand where others would have long since fallen.
But even magic had limits.
They could all see it.
Her chants were slower now.
Her movements were not as fluid.
The glow of her spells flickered faintly compared to years past.
If she were to pass without another awakened protector…
The village would be vulnerable.
The forest surrounding them was not kind.
So while the children laughed and boasted about powerful warrior classes, the women wove garments with silent prayers in their hearts.
Hours passed.
The weaving continued.
The children talked endlessly about what they would awaken.
"I'm going to be a Flame Knight," Chester declared proudly.
"No, you won't," another boy scoffed. "You'll probably get something boring like Farmer."
Chester shoved him lightly, and the two began arguing.
Tallow stayed quiet for a moment.
He had thought about it many times.
What class would he awaken?
A warrior?
A hunter?
Something rare?
Something powerful enough to stand beside the elder and protect everyone?
He imagined himself holding a spear, standing atop the wooden fence, driving back monsters.
He imagined villagers cheering.
His chest tightened with a mixture of excitement and pressure.
As the sun began to descend toward the horizon, the women finally stood.
"It's time," one of them said softly.
The children fell quiet.
One by one, they were dressed in the ceremonial garments the women had spent the day preparing. The woven clothes were intricate, layered with dyed leaves, thin cords, and small charms carved from bone and wood.
When Tallow looked down at himself, he barely recognized his reflection in a polished metal dish nearby.
He looked important.
More mature.
The women guided the four children out of the hut and toward the center of the village.
The sky burned orange and red as the sun dipped lower. The large fire in the center of the clearing had already been lit. Flames crackled loudly, sending sparks spiraling into the darkening sky.
Villagers gathered in a wide circle around the fire.
When they saw the children approaching, they stepped aside respectfully, creating a path.
Tallow's heartbeat quickened as he walked between them.
He could feel their eyes on him.
On all of them.
Some villagers smiled encouragingly.
Others looked tense.
Some clasped their hands together in silent hope.
That was when it truly hit him.
They were relying on them.
Some of the other kids might not have realized it.
But Tallow did.
If none of them awakened a class tonight…
The village would remain defenseless once the elder was gone.
His palms began to sweat.
His steps grew heavier.
The noise of the crackling fire seemed louder now, almost overwhelming.
What if he failed?
What if none of them awakened?
The thought pressed down on him like a weight.
Just as his nerves threatened to consume him completely, he felt a soft hand take his own.
He looked up.
His mother stood beside him, her face illuminated gently by the firelight. She smiled down at him, her eyes warm and steady.
She didn't speak.
She simply squeezed his hand lightly and reached up to stroke his hair.
That small gesture steadied him.
He inhaled slowly.
No matter what happened, she would still be there.
Finally, the children reached the front of the clearing.
A raised wooden platform stood near the fire.
Upon it stood the village elder.
She was thin and slightly hunched, her long silver hair cascading down her back. She wore layered robes decorated with symbols stitched in faded gold thread. In one hand, she held a long wooden staff carved with ancient markings.
She moved slowly, but with purpose.
She danced around the fire in measured steps, chanting in a low rhythmic tone. The language she used was old, older than the village itself.
The villagers watched in silence.
No one dared interrupt.
The children were guided to stand in a line at the base of the platform.
The women who had escorted them stepped back, joining the rest of the villagers.
The chanting grew louder.
The elder raised her staff high above her head.
The flames in the center of the clearing surged upward briefly, crackling violently as if responding to her call.
The air felt heavier.
Charged.
Tallow swallowed.
His heart pounded in his ears.
The elder slowly brought her staff down, striking it against the wooden platform with a firm thud.
The chanting ceased.
Silence fell over the village.
Slowly, deliberately, the elder turned her gaze toward the four children standing before her.
Her eyes, though aged, still held a faint glow of power.
A soft smile appeared on her face.
It was not the smile of a leader addressing her people.
It was the gentle smile of a grandmother looking upon her grandchildren.
Finally, she spoke.