Twa Milhoms

The morning sun spilled over Ikanbi, golden light slipping through the thick canopy and illuminating the dew on the river's edge. Mist clung to the water like it was reluctant to leave. Near the bend, Ben stood with Laye, examining the fish traps—simple, crude spears wedged between rocks, half-submerged baskets tied with vine.

Boji stood silently beside them, squinting at the way the water curved around a broken log.

"Can I change them?" he asked suddenly.

Ben glanced down. "Change what?"

"The traps," Boji said, pointing. "They're working… but not working well."

Laye raised a brow. "You have better ones?"

Boji didn't answer. He just knelt and began gathering materials: stripped bark, flexible branches, flat stones. Ben said nothing. He only watched as the quiet boy, who barely spoke more than five words a day, began weaving ideas into reality.

By midday, Boji had created something entirely new—an angled funnel system that guided fish with the flow of water, trapping them in a stone basin with a netted cover. Another trap used hollow reeds filled with live insects to lure carnivorous fish into snare lines. Where the others had struggled to catch anything larger than a forearm, Boji's setup overflowed. Laye hauled up a basket and gaped.

"This is… this is full."

Ben smiled. "He rewrote the river."

Boji didn't smile back. He just studied the traps again, already thinking of ways to improve them.

Atop the slope, Kael adjusted the satchel strapped across his chest. Sema stood beside him, a carved stone talisman in her hand, and a bundle of dried roots tied with vine in the other.

"You think he'll come?" she asked.

Kael nodded once. "He always watches."

Together, they knelt just outside the entrance to the stone dwelling—where Twa Milhom was known to sit. They placed their offerings carefully on the ground.

Kael raised his voice, steady and clear. "Twa Milhom. We come not to beg. We come to honor you."

The jungle held its breath.

Then the shadows deepened.

He appeared between one blink and the next, rope slung across his shoulder, arms crossed, face unreadable. Twa Milhom stepped forward until the roots and leaves beneath his bare feet began to blacken, not from fire—but from knowing better than to remain unchanged in his presence.

Kael lowered his head. "You saved us. We wanted to—"

"Don't." The word dropped like a blade.

Kael stopped.

Sema spoke next, softly. "If not to honor you, then to understand you. We would follow you, if you allowed it."

Twa Milhom's eyes narrowed.

"I am not here to be followed," he said, voice low and steady. "I am not here to be sung to, bowed before, or burdened by blind mouths. I am not your god. I care not for worship."

They said nothing. He stepped closer, voice like the growl of the deep places beneath the world.

"You want to kneel? Kneel to the one I walk beside. Your loyalty belongs to him. Not me."

He turned and walked back into the mountain's shadow, leaving the offerings untouched.

The wind didn't return until he was gone.

Back by the river, Boji's traps had begun to redefine the rhythm of the camp. People now took turns tending them. Boji had even built a floating container that allowed fish to stay alive in the cold current until ready to be eaten.

At dusk, Ben sat beside Boji, watching him tie thin threads of sinew across a bent frame.

"What's that?" Ben asked.

"A net," Boji said without looking up. "I want to try throwing it."

Ben tilted his head. "Who taught you all this?"

Boji shrugged. "No one. I just think."

Ben smiled. "Then keep thinking."

Boji hesitated, then asked, "Can I build a dam someday?"

Ben chuckled. "Let's finish the net first."

That night, the branded gathered around the fire. Kael and Sema sat in silence, eyes flicking occasionally toward the slope.

Laye asked, "Did he speak?"

Kael nodded. "He said he doesn't want our worship."

Mala leaned forward. "So who does he want?"

Sema looked at Ben. "Only him."

Everyone turned.

Ben didn't speak. He only stared into the flames, hands clasped together, the light catching in his eyes like memory.

"He's not here for us," Kael added. "He's here to see what Ben becomes."

The fire crackled, quiet but fierce.

High above, Twa Milhom stood beside the river's edge, watching the water twist and obey the patterns Boji had drawn into it. The traps reflected silver in the moonlight.

He crouched, reached into the water, and let it run through his fingers.

Then he smiled—a rare thing.

Not for Ben.

Not even for the people.

But for the river.

"Even gods like surprises."

Then he stood, turned into the dark, and was gone.

Twa Milhom turned from the river, his bare feet gliding silently over root and stone. The jungle parted before him, knowing him by weight, not by sound. The moonlight shimmered behind him, chasing the last glint of his grin as he vanished into the thickets—no longer watching, no longer near.

Down below, the fire still burned low in Ikanbi.

Boji sat nearest the edge, tracing patterns into the dirt beside his woven net. The others had gone quiet again. Sleep crept into the corners of their shelters, but Boji's mind was still moving—too fast for dreams.

He stared at his fingers.

The knots he'd tied. The traps he'd crafted. The river had bent to them. Obeyed them.

His thoughts broke when he felt it—a warmth, like coals nestled under skin.

He blinked and looked down.

On the back of his hand, a faint red light pulsed.

He gasped and held his hand closer to the fire—but it wasn't the flame. It was inside him.

The others stirred.

"Boji?" Mala's voice cracked through the stillness.

He held his hand up.

There, glowing gently on the back of his hand, a mark formed—not burned or carved, but branded with light and purpose. It resembled a swirling spiral, ringed by thorn-like lines—the same spiral Ben bore on his chest, now etched into Boji's flesh, smaller but no less sacred.

Ben stood, instantly alert.

He crossed to Boji and knelt before him, gently taking the small hand in his.

Boji looked up, wide-eyed. "What… what did I do?"

Ben shook his head. "You thought. You tried. You changed something. That's enough."

Kael and Sema came forward. Mala, too.

The branded stared, not with envy—but wonder.

They knew what the mark meant.

It was not Twa Milhom's approval.

It was Ben's bond.

Twa Milhom had said it once already: Only those who follow Ben may carry his protection.

And now, Boji was one of them.

Ben didn't speak to the god. Didn't look to the mountain.

He only turned to Boji and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You're one of mine now," he said. "And whatever that means… I'll make sure it's something worth being."

Boji smiled, barely, then nodded.

The fire cracked louder, as if the land itself had acknowledged the vow.

And somewhere deep within the jungle, though no one saw it, a single vine bloomed in midnight red—its petals shaped like spirals, swaying once, then folding closed again.

The forest had listened. The god had watched.

But Ben had chosen.

And his people were growing.