Aging

After his wife died.

He could not say what day it had been.

Richie suddenly realized that he had begun to age.

Sometimes, while chewing food, he found blood seeping from his teeth.

Then, a tooth slowly fell out.

Sometimes, when he followed everyone up the mountain to inspect the growth of the herbs, he would suddenly feel a tightness in his chest for no reason.

He could only ask Barlow, who always walked ahead without even breathing hard, to wait for him before continuing up the mountain.

Today was a rainy day.

For some reason, his injured waist had begun to ache intermittently.

The waves of pain often startled him awake in his dreams, as though quietly reminding him that for an old man like him, death was already shadowing his every step.

These trivial things together shaped his understanding of aging.

"Have I grown old? It feels as though my young self was only here yesterday."

With his eyes closed, Richie listened to the patter of rain outside. He turned over on his mat and sat up, then moved to the stone seat, pressing his spine against its cold surface as he quietly recalled something.

Even after all these years, he often thought of his younger self.

That time when, though covered in blood, he still raised his arm and shouted, held a torch high, and led everyone charging into the cave.

Back then, he had believed he would remain vigorous forever, holding high the torch bestowed by the gods, leading his people to light up the darkness and carve out one new path after another.

Until one day.

After accomplishing his mission from the gods, he would retire with honor and set off alone to explore the mysterious splendor of the sea.

Just as he had once promised Naen.

But that wish seemed to have become a bubble upon the sea, drifting farther and farther away.

The current him, let alone the mountains beyond the sea.

Could barely climb even an ordinary mountain without difficulty.

"I should be fifty years old now, already older than my parents were back then, yet I can no longer remember what year my young parents died."

Richie recalled the past.

Although he could no longer remember his own age clearly.

He knew that he had already lived beyond the age his parents had reached.

It made him feel somewhat wistful.

Yet he did not feel sorrow over his own aging.

Compared to those clansmen in the Tribe who had died young or prematurely, he was already extraordinarily fortunate.

Aging itself was a luxury.

What aging Richie regretted was only the passing time that could never be held back.

He had too many things he wanted to do.

And too many things he had to do.

But no one could possess endless time.

He often walked alone along the shore, watching some of the Tribe's young children carry timber back and forth along the beach, arranging it into all sorts of strange shapes according to Blair's instructions.

Under Richie's organization.

Blair began leading the people to build boats according to the images recorded on Hemp Paper and the murals.

When people heard that Blair was building a miraculous tool that could float upon the sea, many came to help.

That included the children.

Some children would rather risk being scolded by their parents and neglect the household chores than come help Blair, or secretly peek at the progress of the boat's construction.

When they had free time, the children played in the water by the shore, their laughter carried over with the waves.

"How wonderful. They have so much time."

Watching the carefree children on the shore, Richie sighed.

When he had been that young, he had never even seen the sea.

But these children had already seen it.

Perhaps they really would have the chance to wait until the boats were finished and see what lay beyond the sea.

They seemed to be the hope of the Tribe.

And Richie's hope as well.

However, these children who carried the Tribe's hopes often gave their elders headaches too.

The elders often came to him to air their grievances—

Grievances about the troubles the children caused them.

The elders complained that children nowadays could not endure even the slightest hardship.

They laughed and played all day, unwilling to do hard labor, caring only about hunting for fun.

They even sometimes wasted precious food.

In short, what the elders wanted to say was simple:

Times had changed.

These descendants, raised in peaceful times, had never experienced those difficult years.

It was hard for the children to understand cherishing what they had, and just as hard for them to understand reverence.

"Because they have known no hardship, the children do not know how to cherish."

"Hardship teaches people reverence."

"Yes. Those who have never been troubled by calamity will never know reverence."

"How wonderful it would be if they could return to the past and temper their hearts."

Listening to their discussion, Richie frowned and silently raised a hand.

He stopped their voices.

Only after everyone had fallen silent did he, after a long pause, finally speak.

"We indeed gradually learned to walk through those difficult years, and that is how we came this far."

"But it was the guidance of the merciful gods that taught us how to stand, while what allowed us to keep moving forward was our own legs—not the cold stumbling stones on the ground, nor the sorrowful pain."

"What you should revere is not hardship, but the gods. And what you should thank is your own hardworking hands and feet."

Richie slowly stepped down from the stone seat.

Though his back had already begun to stoop, his tone still allowed no doubt.

"Do not blame and complain about this happy time, or those children who know nothing. Spend more time patiently guiding them, and they will understand."

After prostrating themselves and praising the chieftain's wisdom, everyone slowly withdrew from the cave.

After everyone had left.

Richie stared at his cane, lost in thought for a moment.

His heart had wavered before as well.

He too had feared that his children would gradually forget their reverence for the gods beneath this peaceful sunlight.

He too had feared that, one day in the near future, those dark days of brothers killing brothers would return and repeat themselves.

Then divine punishment would descend upon this island once again, upon his children.

"I originally thought it was still too early, but the time has come."

Richie looked at his two young children and sighed.

If he did not want such things to happen, he had to prepare.

His mission was not yet over.

Before that moment arrived, he had to tell the children of the heavy responsibilities they would bear and guide them onto the right path.

From that day onward, Richie kept his two children by his side.

He began sparing no effort in teaching them every principle, great and small. He told them of all that had happened in the past, making them remember the gods' gifts, as well as the divine punishments and disasters that had once descended.

When the time was right, he told them of their identities as heirs.

Barlow and Blair each became the teacher of one child, imparting all kinds of survival knowledge and teaching them to live independently.

Before long, the two children grew up.

They became examples for children their age, taking the place of the aging Richie and leading by example as they guided more younger generations onto the right path.