The flames in the fire pit leaped higher.
The orange-red flames licked at the newly added kindling, crackling crisply.
Sparks danced lightly with the airflow, landing on the straw-covered ground, then quickly extinguishing.
The chill in the cave was gradually driven away, and the warm air, wrapped in the charred scent of burning wood,
Drilled into everyone’s nostrils—this was a long-lost, reassuring smell.
Ever since the Tribe’s fire source had dwindled, the Tribesmen had not felt such genuine warmth for a long time.
Alex leaned against the rock wall, looking at the scene before him, his lips curling into an unconscious smile.
The strength he had expended while rotating the wooden stick had not fully recovered, and his arms were slightly sore.
But at this moment, his heart felt very settled.
He knew that this cluster of fire not only dispelled the cold but also dispelled some of the despair in the Tribesmen’s hearts.
However, this peace didn’t last long, as a faint commotion came from the cave entrance.
“What is that?” an aged voice asked, filled with doubt.
Immediately after, a stooped figure, leaning on a wooden staff, slowly walked in—it was the Old Shaman.
He had been looking after the elderly and children in the adjacent cave, and hearing the commotion from here, he came over with his staff to investigate.
When he saw the leaping flames in the fire pit, his cloudy eyes suddenly widened.
His footsteps also paused, and the wooden staff in his hand hit the ground with a “thud,” his voice filled with shock.
“The fire…
how did the fire reignite?”
The Old Shaman tremblingly approached the fire pit, extending his withered hand.
But he stopped half a foot away from the flames, as if he dared not touch this “sacred” thing.
He turned to look at the surrounding Tribesmen, his voice tinged with urgency.
“Who?
Who preserved the fire source?”
The Tribesmen looked at each other, and finally, all their gazes fell upon Alex by the fire pit.
Yuna stepped forward and said softly:
“Old Shaman, it wasn’t preserved; it was Alex…
Alex who rekindled the fire.”
“Rekindled?”
The Old Shaman suddenly turned to look at Alex, his eyes filled with disbelief, even a hint of wariness.
“How?
Fire is a gift from the Sun God to the Tribe.
If it goes out, it means the god has withdrawn his blessing.
How can a mortal create fire?”
His words were like a bucket of cold water, dousing the excitement that had just ignited.
The surrounding Tribesmen also stirred, their earlier reverence slowly turning into doubt, and some even began to whisper:
“How can a mortal make fire?
Could it be sorcery?”
“Alex just returned from the brink of death; could he have been possessed by a Mountain Spirit?”
“Shh…
don’t speak nonsense.
If we anger the Mountain Spirit, we’ll all suffer!”
These whispers, though quiet, clearly reached Alex’s ears.
He wasn’t angry; instead, he understood—in this primitive era that believed in gods and Mountain Spirits,
Things beyond comprehension were easily attributed to “supernatural evil.”
He had to prove, in a way they could understand, that this was not sorcery but a “skill” that could be mastered.
Alex leaned on the rock wall and slowly stood up.
He walked to the fire pit, picked up a partially burned wooden stick, held it in his hand, and said to the Old Shaman and the Tribesmen:
“Old Shaman, everyone, look, this fire wasn’t given by a god, nor was it made by a possessed Mountain Spirit.
It was ‘rubbed’ out of wood.”
As he spoke, he pointed to the fire-starting device by the fire pit that hadn’t been put away—the grooved piece of wood.
And the thin wooden stick, whose tip was polished smooth from friction.
“I placed the thin stick in the groove of the thick piece of wood and rotated it forcefully.
The faster it spun, the hotter the wood became.
When it reached a certain temperature, sparks would appear.
If the sparks landed on dry leaves and were blown, a flame could ignite.”
To make them understand better, Alex picked up the thin wooden stick, placed it back in the groove, and gently rotated it a few times.
Although he didn’t drill with force again, the residual wood shavings in the groove still became slightly warm due to friction.
He handed the thin wooden stick to the Old Shaman:
“Old Shaman, feel it.
This wood gets hot when spun.
It’s this heat that can create fire.”
The Old Shaman hesitated, then extended his finger and touched the tip of the thin wooden stick.
Indeed, a trace of warmth emanated from his fingertip.
He then looked down at the thick piece of wood with the groove.
There were still black char marks in the groove—traces left from drilling for fire just now.
These details all told him that Alex was telling the truth; this fire hadn’t appeared out of nowhere.
But years of faith were not easily shaken.
The Old Shaman frowned, still somewhat skeptical:
“Even if it was rubbed out, no one in the Tribe has ever done it before…
How do you have this skill?”
Alex had anticipated this question.
He couldn’t say he was from the future, so he could only combine it with the original owner’s experience to concoct a plausible explanation:
“Last winter, I followed my father into the forest to find food and encountered a wildfire.
I hid behind a rock then and saw the wildfire start because branches rubbed against each other in the wind, and then it ignited.
I remembered it then, and yesterday, lying here,
I suddenly recalled this and tried to do it, and unexpectedly, it actually succeeded.”
This explanation was half-true, half-false, with both the basis of “personally witnessed”
And it fit the original owner’s identity as a Hunter, so it wouldn’t seem out of place.
The Tribesmen listened, and the doubt on their faces gradually faded—so Alex had seen the “natural fire” in the forest.
That’s how he learned the skill of making fire; this wasn’t sorcery, it was “remembering how nature worked.”
Just then, a young woman, holding her child, cautiously walked over.
The child was about three years old, with a sallow complexion and cracked lips, weakly whimpering.
The woman looked at the flames in the fire pit, her eyes full of anticipation:
“Alex, since the fire can burn, can you…
can you roast those few animal bones?
The child has been hungry for days and can’t chew raw food.”
Alex followed her gaze.
By the fire pit lay a few gnawed-clean animal bones—they were the Tribe’s last food before, and the meat had long been stripped off, leaving only a little fascia clinging to the bones.
Even if roasted, there wouldn’t be much meat, but at least it would be warm, and the child could chew it and warm their stomach.
“Of course.”
Alex nodded, picked up an animal bone, and placed it on the edge of the fire pit, letting the flames slowly bake it.
The tiny bit of grease remaining on the animal bone immediately met the flames, sending up small oil sparks and emitting a faint scent of meat.
The child, smelling the aroma, his eyes suddenly brightened, and he stopped whimpering, just staring with wide eyes.
At the slowly warming animal bone.
The surrounding Tribesmen also looked at that animal bone, swallowing—they too had been hungry for too long.
Even just the scent of a little grease could evoke a strong appetite.
Soon, the animal bone was roasted piping hot.
Alex used a wooden stick to pick out the animal bone, blew off the sparks, and handed it to the woman:
“Be careful, it’s hot.
Let the child gnaw on it slowly.”
The woman took the animal bone, her eyes reddening with excitement, and thanked him repeatedly.
She blew on the animal bone for a while before carefully handing it to the child.
The child immediately grabbed the animal bone and slowly gnawed on it with his toothless gums, a smile appearing on his face for the first time in days.
This scene was more convincing than any explanation.
The Tribesmen looked at the child’s smile and then at the warm flames in the fire pit, and their last trace of doubt vanished.
If this fire were sorcery, how could it give the child warm food and bring a smile to his face?
The Old Shaman watched all this, silent for a long time.
He leaned on his wooden staff and slowly walked in front of Alex, then suddenly bent down, performing a bow that was only given to a “Shaman” in the Tribe.
“Alex,”
His voice no longer trembled; instead, it carried a solemn tone.
“The Old Shaman was muddled and mistakenly took your skill for sorcery.
Your ability to’summon’ fire is a blessing to the Tribe; it means the Sun God has not abandoned our Flame Stone Tribe.”
Seeing the Old Shaman bow to Alex, the Tribesmen also bowed, murmuring, “A blessing to the Tribe.”
Although they didn’t fully understand the principle of “friction creating fire” yet,
They knew that Alex could create fire with wood, could give the child warm food.
And could make the cave warm again—that was enough.
Alex quickly helped the Old Shaman up:
“Old Shaman, please don’t do this.
I just did what I could.
This fire isn’t just mine; it belongs to everyone in the Tribe.
As long as everyone learns how to make it,
We won’t be afraid even if the fire source goes out in the future.”
His words made the Tribesmen’s eyes light up.
Yes, if everyone learned this skill, they would never have to fear the fire source extinguishing again!
“Alex, can you teach us?”
Yuna immediately asked, her eyes full of anticipation.
Other Tribesmen also chimed in, expressing their desire to learn.
Alex nodded:
“Of course.
But everyone is weak now.
When tomorrow dawns,
We’ll find some drier wood, and I’ll teach everyone how to drill for fire.
Tonight, let’s gather more dry firewood and guard the fire pit well.
So the cave stays warm, and Chief John and the others, when they return from finding food, can feel the warmth.”
He almost used the modern word “warmth” but quickly corrected himself, using the Tribe’s common term “warm” instead.
The Tribesmen didn’t pay attention to this small slip and immediately took action.
The young Tribesmen went outside the cave to collect dry firewood; although it was snowing outside, there were still some dry branches near the cave.
The older Tribesmen guarded the fire pit, adding wood and poking the flames, afraid the fire would extinguish again.
The atmosphere in the cave completely changed.
The previous numbness and despair vanished, replaced by a long-lost vitality.
Everyone no longer huddled in corners but gathered around the fire pit.
Softly discussing learning to drill for fire tomorrow, discussing whether Chief John and the others could find food, and their eyes once again held light.
Alex leaned against the rock wall, looking at the scene before him, and quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
He knew this was just the first step.
Although making fire solved the immediate problem of warmth,
The Tribe’s fundamental predicament—food shortage—had not yet been resolved.
However, at least for now, he had gained the initial trust of the Tribesmen and had a foundation to lead them to survive.
The flames in the fire pit still danced, reflecting on everyone’s faces, like tiny, burning clusters of hope.
Alex looked at the flames and remembered the sunset he had seen before his transmigration.
He remembered the laboratory at the agricultural university and the starry sky he had seen during outdoor adventures.
“Don’t worry,”
He said to himself in his heart.
“I will lead the Flame Stone Tribe to survive and make this ‘Rage of Civilization’
Burn even brighter in this barren land.”