No matter how many eons pass, how many countless times this transit is made, one never quite becomes entirely accustomed to the peculiar sensation of consciousness re-aligning. My own awareness detaches from the turbulent actualities of Doomhaven, focusing now on the System-selected locus for Subject Z-Alpha's primary formative experience, sequence 1 of 25. The shift itself is an instantaneous re-orientation across non-linear temporal pathways, a familiar process. Yet, the immersion, after all this time, remains jarring. One moment, the raw, unfiltered input of the present, the next, complete submersion into the recorded past.
The target locale materializes as a sub-Saharan African village, pre-industrial, estimated to be from the 17th Terran century. Olfactory sensors register a complex blend of volatile organic compounds, including woodsmoke from the pyrolysis of lignocellulosic biomass, roasting bovine tissues seasoned with local flora, specifically, pungent seed pods and aromatic grains I classify under System Designations S-P34 and S-G89 respectively, correlating to previously encountered Terran spices. Adding to the mix are fermenting sugars from an elongated yellow fruit, System Designation F-M7 being the closest analogue to a Terran variety. There is also geosmin from sun-baked laterite soil, and the ubiquitous baseline of human metabolic byproducts. The auditory sphere is equally dense, with rhythmic percussive strikes from stretched animal hide drums registering between 60 to 120 hertz, human vocalizations in a complex Bantu linguistic family ranging from 80 to 350 hertz in conversational patterns, overlaid with the higher frequencies of juvenile play. I quantify the ambient solar radiation at approximately 950 watts per square meter, a level consistent with a near-equatorial latitude nearing local zenith.
My consciousness calibrates. Atmospheric composition registers. Standard for supporting carbon-based life of this class. Having cataloged numerous iterations of Homo sapiens across various developmental stages and timelines, their physiological parameters and societal constructs present familiar patterns, though individual deviations always warrant specific notation. For the purpose of this record, all quantitative assessments are referenced against System-standard correlatives, derived from an extensive database including Terran baselines for ease of cross-cycle comparison.
My focus narrows to the central open area in the village center that has become an arena of sorts for a display of social friction. Young Zuberi, the subject, estimated 7.32 Terran years, stands at the periphery. Next to him, stands Amara, the subject's younger sibling, one female unit, 4.87 local years. The subject's optical input is fixated on two adult males. One Bomani, designated Disputant Alpha, and one Jelani, designated Disputant Beta, are engaged in a high-volume verbal dispute. Their physiologies exhibit classic stress indicators, such as elevated heart rates, Bomani's is at 128 beats per minute and Jelani's at 133, increased respiration, and aggressive posturing. The contention, as parsed from their vocalizations and projected emotional states, concerns the ownership of several caprine livestock units.
From the assembled crowd, a figure of authority emerges. This is Zuberi's paternal unit, the Chieftain, whom the subject addresses as 'Baba'. Advanced age is evident in his locomotion and reduced muscle mass, yet his presence elicits a quantifiable shift in the crowd's collective emotional frequency, a dip in anxiety markers, a rise in expectant attention. Young Zuberi's internal state registers a perceptible shift. Amara's grip on his arm, I note, decreases in applied force to approximately 5.2 Newtons as her own respiration rate slows, her juvenile fear response beginning to attenuate in response to the Chieftain's modulated vocalizations. He does not immediately address the disputants, instead establishing a neutral point and allowing the ambient tension to reach a peak before intervening. This is a common, often effective, de-escalation tactic, one I recognize from 67.3% of similar pre-industrial societal structures detailed in my catalog across numerous timelines.
Baba's methodology is one of meticulous, patient inquiry, a pattern of conflict resolution I recognize from observations of varying degrees of sophistication in countless emergent civilizations. He acknowledges each man's stated grievance, then widens the scope, referencing shared communal history, periods of drought where resource-sharing was paramount for collective survival, and the interconnectedness of their lineages. These are not appeals to sentiment, I analyze, but strategic introductions of data points designed to reframe the immediate conflict within a larger context of mutual benefit. I note the physiological responses in Bomani and Jelani. Nearby, the female juvenile, Amara, now less physically tense, observes her father with rapt attention, her cognitive state processing the scene primarily through emotional resonance rather than logical deconstruction. He employs not only precisely modulated vocal tones, averaging 100 hertz, with deliberate shifts in cadence and volume to underscore key concepts—but also specific gestural language and calculated periods of silence to guide the disputants toward a re-evaluation of their positions.
I observe the cognitive and emotional shifts in Bomani and Jelani. Their initial high-amplitude anger frequencies, characterized by dominant alpha and beta brainwave activity, gradually transition to include theta patterns indicative of introspection in humanoids, then shame as their individual claims are weighed against communal well-being. The solution, when it emerges, which is for Bomani to allow Jelani's herd limited grazing on an eastern portion of his land during the dry season, with Jelani reciprocating by sharing milk yields, testifies to Baba's diplomatic qualities. During this guided negotiation, he has convinced both men that each came with the proposal and was thus responsible, through their magnanimity, for strengthening reciprocal bonds rather than merely resolving a property dispute. I have observed similar outcomes during my aeons compiling observational archives. Never has one been this smooth and uninvolved. A handshake, clumsy but binding, seals the restored peace. The collective sigh of the assembled villagers is almost a measurable drop in ambient psychic tension. Amara even offers a small, hesitant smile. The juvenile does not realize what happened, but she recognizes it nonetheless. The System's own conflict resolution protocols, often involving more, let's say, direct adjudication, appear less optimized for long-term faction stability in comparison. This observation is logged for potential System efficacy review.
The image freezes, then shifts, along with my consciousness, as the observation shifts from mid-day to twilight. As the local star descends, atmospheric density increases light scattering, favoring longer wavelengths of light, the crimson hues the humanoids of this world will come to eventually classify under Rayleigh scattering, after one of their inquirers, among others. Subject Z-Alpha has been thinking about the encounter for most of the day, refusing even when one of his favorite play mates, one male unit, Bakari, proposed they go steal guavas from the grumpy old man at the edges of the village.
Subject Z-Alpha's cognitive processing, as inferred from behavioral indicators and extrapolated internal states, reveals a significant paradigm shift. Prior to this event, his understanding of social hierarchy and conflict resolution was heavily weighted towards physical dominance, a common juvenile interpretation reinforced by prevalent oral traditions. These narratives typically feature protagonists exhibiting superior physical strength, overcoming adversaries, such as mutated hyenas or ferocious leonides, to achieve heroic goals, including mate acquisition. The day's observation has introduced a cognitive dissonance. The subject now perceives his paternal unit, Baba, as having diminished physical capacity, incapable of enforcing edicts through force. Simultaneously, he has seen the efficacy of a non-coercive approach. This incongruity contrasts with cultural narratives emphasizing physical might, and creates an unresolved intellectual query. Unable to reconcile these data points independently, the subject initiates a direct approach to the individual he identifies as the primary source of reliable information—Baba.
The query from his male offspring triggers a discernible shift in Baba's demeanor. As is the case for all humans and most living creatures on their home world, chemical reactions drive their behaviors. Baba is no different. After listening with intent to the subject's dilemma, a significant neurochemical cascade ensues. First, a surge in oxytocin and vasopressin, quantifiable markers consistent with profound affiliative bonding, concepts humans will reduce to the more obscure love or pride. In a staggered release, there is a spike of serotonin levels, indicating a satisfaction derived from the perceived successful impartation of wisdom, particularly poignant given Baba's advanced age and awareness of his limited remaining lifespan. He modulates his posture and vocal tone, adopting an air of heightened gravitas, a calculated display intended to maximize the pedagogical impact of his impending response.
"Leadership," Baba explains, his tone placid, clear, even, "is not having all the answers, but asking the right questions and truly listening. It is not, my son, wielding the power to judge, but shutting your mouth long enough so that someone might speak the truth. That keeps a tribe whole."
Memory sequence terminates. The subject now carries a leadership model prioritizing inquiry, empathy, and communal integrity over autocratic control. While direct application to Doomhaven's brutal realities remains statistically uncertain, the underlying capacity for nuanced problem-solving and group cohesion represents significant positive markers. The System's curation of this specific memory, leveraging extensive behavioral datasets, demonstrates efficient predictive modeling. A minor analytical anomaly registers—something resembling approval. The term lacks precision. Before examining what computational efficiency might have displaced, I recalibrate. Mark sequence complete. Resume primary observation protocols.
The air in the cave changed when Root vanished, going from charged anticipation to hollow aftershock. Her commanding presence had vanished. Only emptiness and the faint scent of ionized air remained. Root had offered answers, yes, but each one seemed to splinter into a dozen more questions, leaving them with a net deficit of understanding. They had fragments, glimpses, but the whole picture remained infuriatingly out of reach, obscured by the new, urgent task she'd thrust upon them.
Hanz stared at the vacant space Root had occupied, his jaw tight. He slammed his fist into the cave wall, a dull, fleshy crack echoing. No one flinched. The sound was a fitting punctuation, a physical release for the dense frustration permeating the air.
"Fucking typical," he said in a snarl, shaking his already swelling knuckles. "Dump world-ending revelations on us, then poof—gone. No straight answers. Just cryptic bullshit and another suicide mission." He whirled, eyes burning, a shadowy aura flickering at his fingertips. "Fire Gems. Serpent's Path. Great. More monsters, more riddles, more chances for a horrible death."
Lisa moved toward her brother, then paused, an unreadable expression crossing her face. She withdrew, her features composed in a neutral mask. "We should move," she said. "Before nightfall. The entrance Root showed us won't stay hidden from other… things."
Eli clutched Shifty, the reptile's scales flickering a worried amber. The boy's eyes, too wide and knowing for his age, reflected deep unease. "It's going to be bad there," he whispered. "I feel it. Like before. With… with… the Dreadwraith."
Zuberi rose, a strange lightness in his healed body. Decision formed, sharp and clear, cutting through doubt like a spear through mist.
"Let's move," he stated, his voice carrying an authority that surprised even himself. "We have little choice in the matter," he added, under Hanz's glare. "But Lisa's been right every time so far." He inhaled, held his breath, and let it out slowly. "I too would like sit and refuse to move out of spite. But we all know who will be hurt by this."
He knew they all knew this. Sometimes, things just have to be stated. For the second time that day, the dosed the fire and left the cave, stepping into Doomhaven's harsh, grayish light of the lone blue star. An ashen landscape stretched before them, a panorama of desolation under a sky with mottled clouds the color of a dying bruise. They headed east instead of west, this time, but even here, twisted and skeletal trees clawed the horizon. The ground, soil brittle and fragile, crunched underfoot. Far off, jagged mountains marked the direction Root had indicated. The Serpent's Path. The vista was grim, uninviting, promising hardship and unknown dangers.
Zuberi took the lead and Hanz soon fell in beside him. Lisa walked paces behind, her gaze sweeping the terrain, a hand occasionally touching her temple. Eli and Shifty brought up the rear, the boy's small hand on the reptile's scaled back in a silent comfort.
The journey, though uneventful, proved arduous. Uneven terrain, littered with sharp rocks and treacherous scree, slowed their pace. Thin, cold air carried the faint, metallic tang of this blighted world. The dreadwraith was no more, but unlike enemy corpses, it seemed the atrocities done to the land would no vanish as if by magic. They spoke little, conserving energy, each lost in thought, the weight of Root's revelations and the task ahead pressing heavily.
After they walked in silence for a stretch, Hanz broke it, his voice a low growl that didn't quite mask an undercurrent of agitation. "All right, Zuberi, what gives? That Chosen of the Sun bullshit. What's that about?"
Zuberi glanced at him, sideways, then arched an eyebrow to show his surprise. "What do you mean?"
Hanz held his gaze for a moment, then had to look forward to avoid stumbling on a piece of rock that jutted out of the ground. "First, you're muttering it back in that creepy valley with the little shadow-bastards, sounding like some crazed prophet." He waved a hand half to dismiss, half to preempt Zuberi's response. "Yeah, yeah. It was a joke." Hanz let his dead span stare linger on Zuberi for a good ten seconds. "Then fancy-pants Root throws the exact same words at you in the cave. You think I don't notice that kind of weird shit? What is it?" Hanz's eyes narrowed, pinning Zuberi with a suspicious stare.
Zuberi met his gaze evenly, considering his response. He had indeed felt a jolt when Root used those specific words."It is… an old saying," Zuberi said, choosing his words with care. "From my people. A legend. About a figure who would… well, it doesn't matter what it said." He paused, looking out at the desolate landscape. "It was a story from a long time ago, one I never put much stock in myself. Just a phrase that came to mind in." He didn't elaborate further, instead meeting Hanz's eye, and holding it, not as long as Hanz, only long enough to make a point. "I thought it as amusing back then than I did after the wraithlings." He added a smile, though a wave of sadness washed over him. "I guess I was wrong."
They walked on, dust puffing with each step, hanging in the still air.
Zuberi decided to change the subject. He had witnessed the young man's paranoia. Given the odds of he and Root uttering the same phrase, word for word, he couldn't ask more from Hanz. "Root said we all interface with the System differently—but that yours is distinct." He grunted in frustration. "She called it a 'herd'?" He offered Hanz a slight, joking smile. The young man didn't need to know how much truth lay in the jest.
A bitter laugh escaped Hanz. "One way to put it." He flexed his fingers, his eyes unreadable. "And she called it a HUD, by the way. Not a herd, tribal king," he added with a smirk. "The place it took me when that fucking thing choked me…" Hanz trailed off. When he did speak again, he started, as if he had gone somewhere far away. "Good place. Bad memories." Then he flashed a brilliant grin at Zuberi, one so convincing he might have bought it, had he not spent days with the young man. "Anyway. I didn't want to go back there for a while. I think that's why I get a portable version."
Zuberi frowned, trying to parse Hanz's words. "Portable version? You mean you can access it anywhere?"
"Yeah. But also, it's… clearer for me. More direct." He peered at his sister, walking steps behind, her head down, lost in thought. "It's not always clear what's what with you guys?" Hanz glanced sidelong. "But me?" His mouth twisted. "I get the fine print and all. Doesn't mean I understand half the shit that's on my console, but it's there."
Silence fell as the path narrowed, forcing them single file. Ahead, the canyon took a sharp turn. When they rounded the turn, it was as if someone had taken a blindfold off his eyes. Though illuminated by the same pale blue light of the sole distant star, the expanse of canyons and caves that lay ahead had none of the gray, sickly discoloration they had grown accustomed to. Instead, it was a riot of colors, vibrant and alive, even as the blue sun forced a monochromatic washed out quality on everything. As they moved further into the cayon system that looked like a labyrinth from higher up, they started encountering thin spider webs that grew thicker the deeper they went. The webbing formed translucent curtains they had to brush aside to continue.
When the path widened and Hanz moved in again so they walked abreast, Zuberi asked his third pressing question. "You and Lisa," he began, his tone careful. "There's something there, something that's—"
Hanz stiffened. "Not your concern."
Zuberi glanced at his companion and studied him for a few moments. Hanz did not look back at him, but Zuberi did not think it was because the young man was intimidated or shy.
For a heartbeat, he considered shelving the subject for later. "It matters when our lives depend on each other," Zuberi countered. "I don't need the story. I need to know how big of a problem it's going to be."
Behind, Lisa's head snapped up, head tilted as if listening, then eased back, giving them space.
Hanz watched her, a complex of emotions rolling on his face. "It's complicated, tribal king," he said, his voice rough and gentle at once. "Old history. Older wounds." Hanz combed his long, now dirty long locks with his fingers. "I would die before I let anything happen to her," he said at last, turning to lock eyes with Zuberi. The glint—no, the blaze was there. "That's all you need to know now."
Zuberi gave him a nod, narrowing his eyes, hoping to convey he did get it, but before he could say anything, out of the corner of his vision, he saw Lisa freeze. He stopped at once and when she moved again, waited for her to catch up to them. Ahead canyon opened into a wider space, walls receding into darkness, a multitude of caves, like the holes of a honeycomb, in all the rock faces anywhere Zuberi looked. Dense webbing formed an overhead canopy, blocking the meager light. The sweet smell in the air, like old nectar, like overripe fruits, like wine left in the open too long, intensified, now with an acrid undertone.
"Something's wrong," Lisa whispered as she approached.
Zuberi took a deep breath, a slight burn registering in his lungs. The smell, growing with every second, was like a living entity, one that wanted to settle on his skin like an invisible, unwelcome dew. Before them, a dark, narrow fissure split the rock face. If one tilted one's head and engaged their imagination, the crack in the rock did look like a slithering snake. The Serpent's Path. Dense, iridescent webs, thicker and more numerous than any on their journey, draped the opening like a macabre curtain. Manticore territory.
Hanz looked first to Lisa, then to Zuberi. "Why is it that we always go towards shit that obviously screams at us how much it wants to tear us apart?"