At dawn, before the sun rose, ZE-RAK left his hut and began to run. A strange restlessness devoured him from within.
"I can't stand this feeling anymore," he murmured between ragged breaths. "This desire to do nothing, this lethargy taking over me... It must be laziness."
He tried to immerse himself in his parallel world, but the fog persisted, thick and impenetrable. So he ran faster, as if the heat his body generated could melt away this parasitic sensation.
"Besides, since when did I start feeling like this?"
The answer came, obvious and painful: after the spirituality lesson, when the Priestess spoke of the taboos.
"Huh! Taboos?"
The Priestess's words echoed again in his memory: "If you break this taboo, it is inevitable that you will die. It is not a punishment. It is a consequence."
The terrible thought that had invaded him returned. What if his father had truly broken a taboo? What if ZE-BE's death was not a conspiracy, but the simple consequence of his actions? This possibility, which he had always refused to consider, suddenly weakened the very pillar of his anger and determination.
"I will not take revenge," he repeated to himself, as if to convince himself. "It will only bring trouble for Mother and little sister. I must become a good hunter so they can live well."
--
His face hardened, and as he continued his run, something strange happened. The fog in his mind began to lift slightly. The luminous filaments that had danced in his head for days disintegrated, turning back into simple sparks before extinguishing completely.
A new clarity emerged, fragile but real.
--
The next day, ZE-RAK woke up in top form, ready for EVALA's lesson. The sun beat down on the dusty yard where the apprentices had gathered after warm-up.
MASSI watched them, impassive.
"Good, today we will put into practice what we saw the other time with a small exercise. All of you must touch me. Those who succeed can go practice some wrestling holds while the others finish."
The youths exchanged incredulous looks before rushing at him all at once. But MASSI began to move with disconcerting agility: small, quick steps, sudden changes of direction, his body bending, dodging, escaping every grasp.
ZE-RAK stayed back, observing. Then he smiled.
"If that's how it is, let's play the game."
He didn't even need to resort to his imaginary world. Instead of charging like the others, he made himself supple, approached with slow, low movements, trying to anticipate the steps rather than follow them.
MASSI subtly changed his rhythm, his feints becoming more complex.
ZE-RAK didn't think. He lunged, finding himself face to face with the instructor. He bent his knee, ready to pounce. MASSI pivoted on himself, moving out of his line of attack. But ZE-RAK didn't fall into the trap. He stood up and, in a fluid gesture, extended his arm like a snake to brush MASSI's shoulder.
They exchanged looks. It was a game they had played before.
"ZE-RAK! Pass. You can go," announced MASSI.
As ZE-RAK walked away, some apprentices looked at him, unable to hide their astonishment. They had just felt the gap separating them from him.
--
ZE-RAK was sitting apart when a shadow approached him.
"ZE-RAK, right?"
ZE-RAK looked up. It wasn't his usual tormentor.
"Who are you?"
"Me?! I'm MOUSSEY, the son of the intermediate hunter MOUGBE!"
ZE-RAK looked him over. The stocky build, the broad shoulders—indeed, you could see the resemblance to the instructor.
"And...?"
"You! I want you to be my rival."
ZE-RAK stayed silent for a moment, then let out a short laugh.
"You're talking to the wrong person. I have no interest in the childish games of apprentices."
"Childish games? You think you're much stronger than us, then?"
"It's obvious."
MOUSSEY gave a satisfied smile.
"I knew it. That's what a man, a real man, is like. A man must always be confident. You are the son of the legend ZE-BE. But I too am the son of an intermediate-rank hunter. Just one rank below. It doesn't change much. Unless you're afraid?"
"Afraid? Me? No. I think you don't know who you're talking to. Besides, you don't know how to evaluate your opponent's strength. I am not your opponent."
"Who knows?"
ZE-RAK sighed. A dangerous glint passed in his eyes.
"Fine, if that's what you want, I'll discourage you."
…
They moved a little further away. ZE-RAK threw a stone into the air.
"We start as soon as the stone hits the ground."
When the stone hit the earth, MOUSSEY moved with a threatening heaviness. Every step was anchored to the ground. He wasn't seeking finesse; he was seeking the center, the position of domination.
Facing him, ZE-RAK turned slowly, on the tips of his toes, his body like a blade ready to bend but not break.
The first engagement was a clash of philosophies. MOUSSEY rushed, not to strike, but to grab. His arms, like tree trunks, closed in for a bear hug that would have broken ribs. ZE-RAK didn't wait for the impact. He pivoted, using MOUSSEY's momentum. MOUSSEY's arm slid over his shoulder, and ZE-RAK attempted a quick arm lock. But MOUSSEY was too stable. With a simple rotation, he broke free.
For long minutes, it was a ballet of opposing forces. MOUSSEY advanced, tireless, like a glacier. ZE-RAK yielded, dodged, evaded. He was like water around a rock.
Once, ZE-RAK managed to get behind MOUSSEY, wrapping his arms around his waist for a backward throw. But MOUSSEY, planted like an oak, resisted, and with an explosive push, sent ZE-RAK rolling to the ground.
The few apprentices who had finished were drawn to the fight.
MOUSSEY smelled victory. ZE-RAK's frustration was palpable; his strategy of attrition wasn't working.
Then came the moment when MOUSSEY changed his rhythm. As ZE-RAK was getting up, slightly winded, MOUSSEY dove for a low sweep with surprising speed. His foot wrapped around ZE-RAK's ankle with surgical precision.
Off-balance, ZE-RAK crashed heavily to the ground. Before he could catch his breath, MOUSSEY's weight came down on him, crushing him.
It was the embrace of the mountain. MOUSSEY worked methodically, moving from an attempt at an arm lock to pressure on the chest to turn ZE-RAK over and pin his shoulders to the ground. ZE-RAK's breathing became wheezing, labored. His face pressed against the cold ground, he was trapped, cornered.
Suddenly, the sun hid behind the clouds.
And it was there, in that unbearable pressure, in that sensation of being on the verge of breaking, that something surged within ZE-RAK.
A strange sound, muffled by the ground, escaped his lips. It wasn't a groan of pain, but a laugh. A hoarse, wild laugh, charged with long-contained excitement. MOUSSEY's eyes, so close to his, widened in incomprehension. The fear he should have seen had given way to a yellow glint, almost animal.
The metamorphosis was instant. The hunter's patience vanished, replaced by an instinctive ferocity. ZE-RAK no longer tried to escape with technique. He exploded. With a movement of his hips of unheard-of violence, he broke MOUSSEY's balance.
This was no longer wrestling; it was a territorial fight. He turned over, enveloping MOUSSEY in a tangle of limbs. His legs, agile like snakes, wrapped around MOUSSEY's right arm in a lock of exquisite brutality.
MOUSSEY, the master of strength, found himself struggling to breathe. He grunted, trying to loosen the grip, but every movement tightened the hold.
In a desperate effort, feeling submission approaching, MOUSSEY gathered all his power and broke free with a titanic push. He stood up, staggering, freeing his sore arm.
But in that opening, in that moment of vulnerability where he exposed his neck to catch his breath, ZE-RAK's hand shot out.
It wasn't a strike. It was a promise. ZE-RAK's fingers, taut and hard, closed into a perfect pincer that stopped a millimeter from MOUSSEY's throat.
Time stood still.
ZE-RAK's face was close to MOUSSEY's, hidden in the shadow of the veiled sun. There was nothing but pure, ecstatic excitement, illuminating his features with an almost demonic joy. A wide grin split his face.
"Is this what you wanted?" he murmured, his voice a rasp of pleasure and defiance. "Shall we continue?"