The sun rose golden over the stone courtyards of Cain, casting long, regal shadows across the gathered tribes. Flags from every corner of Eden waved in the warm wind—Salem's crimson flame, Nimrod's emerald wolf, Cush's obsidian crescent, Shem's ivory oak, Noah's twin moons, Seba's silver lion, and Cain's own—two black spears crossed beneath a golden crown.
A horn sounded.
The Lord of Cain, tall and broad-shouldered, stepped forward in ceremonial robes of deep black and gold. He raised his hands as silence fell like mist over the crowds. His voice rang out, powerful and proud.
"Brothers. Sisters. Tribes of Eden. Today, the old ways awaken once more. The Games of the Founders begin—not for war, but for honor. For unity. And for the chance to dine beside Mother Mariah herself."
A murmur ran through the crowd at her name.
"Each clan shall send forth a champion. Six days. Six trials. The victor shall earn gold, glory… and the Queen-Mother's favor."
Drums thundered. The crowd erupted in cheers.
The Lord of Cain stepped back as the marble colosseum opened its gates, and the first contenders entered the arena. Among them, small and cocky in oversized sandals, was David.
---
Day One – The Game of Ur
Stone boards were placed on ornate tables lined across the arena floor. Each square was carved, smoothed, and polished, dotted with inlays of bone and ivory. The ancient game was one of strategy, luck, and willpower—requiring a mind as swift as a blade.
David hopped into his seat and cracked his fingers dramatically. Across from him sat a towering woman from the tribe of Noah—her hair braided in coils, her eyes cold and calculating.
Mark, seated in the audience, leaned forward. "Is this really a game for a child?"
Beside him, the Huntress didn't answer. She just watched. Silent. Sharp-eyed.
David's hands moved with lightning grace, dropping tokens and rolling carved dice with grins and hums. But his opponent was relentless, calculating every angle.
Then—on the final roll—David paused.
He looked up at her, winked, and rolled.
A perfect number.
The arena roared. David stood on the bench and bowed mockingly.
"That's how it's done."
He jumped off the table and walked past the stunned champion of Noah.
"Maybe next time," he whispered with a grin.
---
Elsewhere, Above the Arena
Hidden behind a high-laced veil and a golden mask shaped like a falcon, Amariah stood in a private balcony.
She said nothing.
Beneath her, the tribes cheered. Laughter, music, dancing—all distractions.
Behind her stood Abinadab, arms crossed.
"You should not be here," he said quietly.
She didn't look at him.
"This is the best place to watch the games... and watch them forget what they've lost."
Her eyes traced over the lords gathered below—the Guardian King, the Council Chiefs, even Mariah's glowing presence among the nobles.
"So much comfort," Amariah murmured. "So little memory of Babel. Of Joab. Of our father."
Abinadab's voice was low. "Not all have forgotten."
Amariah stepped back from the edge. "Then they will remember. When fire falls again."
---
Day Two – The Arrow Trial
The second day brought new energy. The archery grounds were lined with targets made of hay and steel. Each contestant was given a single bow—crafted by their clan's own hand—and three arrows.
The crowd whispered, the sun rising high above as the announcer called out the names.
David stepped up, holding a tiny bow that looked more like a toy.
"He's joking," muttered someone in the crowd.
David drew, calm and confident. His first arrow soared.
Ping!
Dead center.
Second arrow. A flip before the release.
Ping!
Dead center.
Final arrow. He turned around, firing over his shoulder blindly.
PING!
The crowd gasped.
Dead center.
David turned and waved both hands.
"Three for three. I'll be here all week."
Mark watched from the sidelines, amazed. "How is he this good?"
The Huntress, standing nearby, allowed herself the faintest smile.
"It's not about the bow. It's about the heart."
---
Above, in the Shadowed Balcony
Amariah narrowed her eyes.
"This one… the child. He knows too much. Moves too well."
Abinadab looked at her. "He's Mariah's."
"No," she said. "He's someone else's. Something older moves through him. I'll find out what."
She turned, her golden mask glinting in the sun.
"Let the fools play their games. We have work to do."
Below, laughter filled the arena. But a storm brewed quietly in the hearts of those watching.
---
Day Three – The Fire of the Hearth (Cooking Challenge)
The arena was transformed into a grand open kitchen, with stone ovens, sizzling iron pots, and rows of ingredients laid out like war tools. Spices from Cush, root vegetables from Shem, cured meats from Nimrod—every tribe had brought its best. The crowd was alive with the aroma of roasting, searing, boiling.
David, shorter than every counter, wore a small apron that read: "Made with Chaos."
His opponent: a serious, silent woman from the tribe of Seba, her arms scarred from years of fire-crafting in tribal kitchens.
David cracked his knuckles, grabbed a mango, and shouted, "Today, we make fire sing!"
He tossed spices like he was casting magic—flipping a pan of marinated goat meat, caramelizing plantains in palm sugar, dashing wild herbs into a bubbling stew. The scent that rose from his station stopped people mid-breath.
The judges, including one of Queen Mariah's chefs, took bites.
Then they gasped.
"Who taught you to cook like this?" one whispered.
David grinned, licking his fingers.
"Let's just say… I was hungry a lot."
---
Day Four – The Arena of Bone (Wrestling)
By now, David was the talk of every campfire, the golden child of the Founders's Games. But as he stepped into the sandy pit of the wrestling ring, the crowd held its breath.
Across from him stood a juggernaut of a man—bald, bare-chested, tattooed in red ink from the tribe of Nimrod.
David tilted his head.
"You sure you're in the right game? You look like you eat wrestlers."
The bell rang.
What followed looked like a mouse dodging a lion. David ducked, twisted, leapt—letting the giant trip over his own feet, using momentum against him, never relying on strength.
And then, with a flick of motion, he twisted the Nimrod warrior's arm, flipped him off balance, and slammed him into the ground.
The colosseum shook with awe.
David stood over him, panting. "I don't lift weights. I lift moments."
---
Day Five – Blade and Bruise (Close Combat)
This round had no games, no flair. Just fists, kicks, and short blades. The fighters were given light armor and blunt knives to simulate combat, but the pain would be real.
David faced a boy from the tribe of Shem—older, serious, disciplined.
Their blades clashed like metal verses. David ducked, weaved, moved like a shadow, but his opponent fought with purpose and form.
For the first time, David bled.
A cut across his cheek.
He licked it. Smiled.
"Nice."
Then he moved faster. He disarmed his opponent with a trick twist and slammed the hilt of his blade into his chest. The crowd roared.
Victory again.
But David walked off silently this time, hand over his ribs, eyes sharper than before.
---
Day Six – The Grand Trial (The Final Race)
The final day brought thousands. The Guardian King stood beside Mariah, whose belly glowed faintly under moonlight silks. Even the Huntress sat forward. The prize was near.
The race was split into four grueling legs:
1. Horseback Dash – Across rocky hills and jungle paths.
2. Feast of Endurance – Contestants had to eat and keep down massive plates of foreign food under pressure.
3. Lake of Trials – A deep swim through a series of cave passages.
4. The Gauntlet – A final combat run against six masked warriors guarding a sacred cup.
The horn blew.
David galloped on a black stallion smaller than the others, but faster. He took wild shortcuts, slid under branches, and flew over ridges like a wind-born spark.
At the feast, he held his stomach, eyes watering—but smiled through it.
In the water, he swam like a serpent, slipping through currents, past desperate splashes of slower warriors.
Then came the Gauntlet.
Six masked fighters. Each one a test of speed, skill, and courage.
David faced them with no fear. He didn't overpower them—he out-thought them, misdirected, lured, escaped.
He grabbed the silver cup from the stone altar, tucked it under his arm, and ran—bloodied, breathless, eyes burning with victory.
He entered the colosseum to an eruption of sound.
---
The Victor's Circle
David stood before Mother Mariah. She stepped down with grace, her smile soft as moonlight.
"You are clever… reckless… but full of light," she said.
She leaned down and whispered something in his ear.
David's eyes widened.
He knelt.
The Guardian King handed him a gold-trimmed cloak, and David was named Champion of the Tribes.
---
Above the Cheers – In the Shadows
Amariah watched from her hidden box again.
"This… was not the outcome I wanted," she whispered.
Abinadab stepped beside her. "He's just a boy."
"No," she replied. "He's a key."
Then a voice came from the shadows behind her.
A stranger in grey.
"You've played your part well, Amariah. The Founders are watching. Soon… we'll need her blood. And the child inside her."
Amariah's eyes narrowed.
"Then let the games end. The real war begins."