The next morning arrived with a strange, unfamiliar stillness.

Usually, the hut would be a flurry of frantic activity long before the sun breached the horizon. Lyra would be up first, organizing baskets with nervous energy. Veyra would be sharpening digging sticks by the dying embers. Liora would be whining about the cold. The fear of hunger usually acted as their alarm clock, driving them to beat the other gatherers to the best spots near the perimeter.

But today, the sun rose unchallenged.

Golden beams of light filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, a scene that would have baffled any other family in the tribe.

Sol was the first to open his eyes. He didn't feel the usual grogginess of the primitive life. He felt sharp. Alert. He lay there for a moment, listening to the rhythmic breathing of the four women scattered across the furs.

He hadn't been able to sleep last night… not out of worry, but out of sheer, vibrating excitement. Today was the day. The day he launched his business. The day he started his conquest of the tribal women, one bowl of soup at a time.

He placed a hand over his chest. The hollow cavity hummed against his palm. The Ash Gray energy was swirling lazily, replenishing itself from the ambient atmosphere and his own rest. It was about halfway full now…a comforting weight in his core.

"Good," he whispered. "Batteries recharging."

He sat up, the furs sliding off his chest. He stretched, his joints popping satisfyingly. He looked around the room.

Lyra was sleeping deeply, her face relaxed in a way he had never seen. Her hand was curled loosely near her shoulder, the spot he had "treated" the night before. Arelia was curled protectively around Liora. Veyra was sprawled out, one arm thrown over her eyes.

He stood up and moved to the water jar in the back. He splashed his face, the cold shock waking up his skin. He used a rough twig to clean his teeth, then adjusted his loincloth and tunic, making sure he looked presentable. He wasn't just a scavenger today; he was a proprietor.

The noise of his movement finally stirred the house.

Lyra's eyes snapped open. For a second, panic flashed across her face… the instinctual panic of a provider who has overslept.

"The sun!" she gasped, scrambling up. "Girls! Up! We are late! The berry patch will be picked clean!"

The commotion woke the others. Veyra groaned, rolling over and reaching blindly for her digging stick. Arelia sat up, rubbing her eyes, instantly reaching for her basket.

It was a well-oiled machine of survival.

But then, her hand froze in mid-air.

The memory of the previous night washed over her… the intense heat, the strange healing, and Sol's manic, confident declaration.

We are not scavengers today. We are something called merchants.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and lowered her hand. She looked around the room. Arelia was already sitting up, Liora was till sleeping albeit reluctantly, Veyra was staring at the ceiling, looking torn between relief at sleeping in and anxiety about starving.

But Sol's sleeping spot was empty.

"Where is he?" Lyra asked, sitting up, a flicker of worry in her chest.

"Here," a cheerful voice called out.

The leather flap to the bathing area pushed open, and Sol stepped into the room. He was dripping wet, his hair slicked back, a towel scrubbing his chest. He looked annoyingly awake and vibrant, humming a strange tune.

"Morning, ladies," Sol grinned, tossing the wet rag into the corner. "I hope you're hungry. We have work to do."

The girls groaned, rubbing sleep from their eyes, but the energy in the room was infectious. They took turns at the water jar, splashing their faces and smoothing their hair. Within minutes, the fog of sleep had lifted, replaced by a burning curiosity.

They gathered around the fire pit where Sol was kneeling, arranging kindling with the focus of a man defusing a bomb.

"So," Veyra asked, leaning against a support beam with her arms crossed. "What is this... 'soup' you were raving about last night?

"And," Liora chirped, squatting beside him, her knees pulled to her chest. "What is the 'work'?

"Of course, we are cooking," Sol corrected, striking the flint. A spark caught the dry moss, and a small flame bloomed. "We are making Soup."

"Soup?" Veyra repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You mean... hot water with stuff in it? We eat that every winter when the meat runs out and we have to boil tree bark. It tastes like shit"

"No," Sol said, feeding small twigs to the fire until it crackled nicely. "That is slop. Slop is what you eat to keep from dying. What I am making is... an elixir."

He stood up, gesturing grandly to the empty clay cauldron.

"This isn't just food. It is a concentration of vitality. It extracts the hidden strength from the bones, the spirit from the earth, and the fire from the plants. It warms the blood, heals the weary, and..." he looked at Liora, "...it makes your skin glow like the moon."

Liora gasped, touching her cheek. "Really?"

"Ancestors guarantee it," Sol lied without blinking.

Even Arelia looked intrigued. "It sounds... powerful."

"It is," Sol confirmed. "Now, watch and learn."

He lifted the heavy clay cauldron and placed it over the growing fire. He filled it with water from the jar, instructing Liora to keep the supply coming.

"First, the foundation," Sol announced.

He grabbed the rock-badger carcasses. Instead of throwing them in whole, he used the obsidian knife to separate the meat from the bone. He cracked the leg bones with a heavy stone... CRACK... exposing the pink, fatty marrow inside.

"The flavor lives in the bone," he explained to his captive audience. He tossed the bones into the water.

Next came the tubers and the bitter greens. He chopped them with a rhythmic thud-thud-thud against the cutting stone, a technique that looked far more professional than anything they had seen.

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