Episode 1 - Progress for Survival (4)

As soon as the fire burst into life, the first sounds were screams of terror from the group.

"Tree-eating monster!"

"Hot monster!"

"The chief brought a monster!!!"

It was a perfectly natural reaction. In this jungle—especially during the dry season—fire had always brought disaster.

"Wait! Calm down! This monster's my minion!"

At my shout, they immediately stopped screaming and turned to stare at me. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Being the alpha made moments like this convenient.

"Really? Chief, you tamed the monster?"

"Yeah, I tamed this fire!"

My words drew instant cheers.

"Ooh! Chief's amazing!"

"Chief's cool!"

"Chief! Chief! Chief!"

Hold on. It was a bit scary how quickly they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bought it. I broke into a cold sweat watching them cheer. Just moments ago, they'd been wailing like the world was ending; now their eyes sparkled as they circled the campfire like it was nothing.

"Can we get closer?"

"No."

"Can we touch it?"

"Even more no."

"Then what can we do?"

"...Only what I tell you."

A few looked crestfallen at my curt reply. But that gloom didn't last. These guys were the type to hurl themselves at anything new—throw it, poke it, bite it, sniff it, and finally grab it with their hands. Modern humans weren't all that different, but at least we didn't stick our tongues into roaring flames. Probably.

Handing them fire without precautions would've sparked a forest blaze before survival became an issue. So first, they needed to learn its dangers, not its uses.

"Listen up. This monster's dangerous."

"We know! Red monster eats trees and grows big!"

"Eats houses too!"

"Eats us too!"

The last one wasn't wrong. I nodded, circling the fire.

"Right. It eats wood and grass. So clear the grass and dry branches around it. Otherwise, it'll eat the nearby trees, grow huge, and we won't control it anymore."

I pointed at the ground around the fire, and they followed my gaze. I'd cleared the grass earlier, exposing the dirt; a few nodded slowly, getting it.

I gestured emphatically, laying down more rules: Don't touch with bare hands. Don't put in mouth. Don't run with it. Don't take near trees. Always watch it before sleep.

With our limited language, explanations stayed short and simple. The upside? Wild ones instinctively grasped "dangerous."

The downside? They had to test it themselves to fully get it.

"Hot! Monster bit me!"

"That's why I said don't touch!"

"Smoke! Eyes hurt!"

"You shoved green wood in!"

"Whoa, it's getting bigger!"

"Don't admire it growing—that's the scary part!"

Predictable as expected. One yanked his hand back with a yelp. Another stuffed in damp branches, got a faceful of smoke, and teared up. Yet another ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gawked at the flames, caught my glare, and slunk away.

Curiosity as humanity's driving force? For these proto-humans, it was more "Gonna try it once, even if warned."

Get scolded. Try again. Get hurt. Then learn caution.

Too primal a process.

"Ow! Hot!"

I sighed, smearing cool mud on the fingertip singed by the flames.

...How did humanity survive this?

===

As I reteach fire's dangers, a young male tentatively raised his hand. The one who'd just burned his finger. I dubbed him Ace. Not fire-fist, but half-roasted fist.

"Chief, then why make the monster?"

I grinned at Ace.

"Watch close."

I skewered a rabbit leg—still fresh—on a sharpened stick I'd prepped, then held it over the flames.

"Monster eats meat!"

"Waste!"

"Tomorrow's food!"

Screams erupted from the group. To them, it was feeding precious meat to the beast's maw.

"Quiet. Watch."

Soon, a scent filled the air. Faint at first. Then, as the lean wild rabbit heated, it intensified—warm, rich, sticky. Nothing like blood's tang. It flooded the fire, instinctively salivating us all.

"...Hungry smell."

"Not fruit."

"Better than honey."

The cowering ones edged closer, noses twitching like starved pups.

I pulled off the perfectly cooked leg, split it. Crispy brown outside, faintly red within. No bled-out neatness, but the aroma was killer.

I bit first. Fibers tore along the grain, melting with softness and depth no raw meat offered. Chewing barely needed—the tenderness unraveled under my teeth.

The group's eyes locked on my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mouth.

I chuckled, offering chunks to Ace and others.

"Try it."

They sniffed cautiously, popped it in—and exploded in cheers.

"Tasty!"

"Melts in mouth!"

"Never tasted anything this good!"

I nodded. After fruits, bugs, raw meat, roasted was a revelation.

"Bring meat to this monster—it gets tastier, easier to eat."

"Ooh!"

"Chief, again?"

"Yes. But follow rules."

I made more skewers, handed them out. Clumsy starts: charring too close, fleeing smoke, mid-cook nibbles.

But they adapted fast. Ace angled his for even roast. Another sensed side heat cooked uniform. One griped over-tough meat.

I stared, dumbfounded.

...Adaptability's insane.

Red monster screamers now grilled seriously, eyeing flame strength and distance. Competition brewed—who roasted best.

"Chief! This to monster?"

"What's that?"

"Bug!"

"What bug?"

"Big bug!"

Lazy explanation. Ace's palm held a fat, wriggling larva—two finger-lengths, pale and unappetizing visually, but protein-packed.

"...Go ahead."

He skewered and roasted it. It shriveled, crisped golden.

"Ooh!"

They swarmed with more foods, innovating wildly. I'd taught meat; they ran with it masterfully.

***

Fire's best gift: warmth and light. Even humid jungle cools at night. Dry season beats misty rains, but still chills. Crystal skies amplify moon and stars—bright for predators too. Night meant terror.

Fire banished cold and dark best.

"Bright, warm."

"I like monster."

"Me too."

The two watchmen I'd assigned chatted, tossing dry sticks in. Warmth drew more group members, huddling.

Flames breathed red, shadows danced. Distant bugs and beasts cried, but tonight felt less frightening. Within this glow, at least.

Back to a tree, I watched the sleepers opposite. Mouths agape, blissful—beside the "red monster" they'd feared.

A chuckle escaped.

Then—rustle.

Dry leaves crunched beyond bushes. Unslept tensed, gripping stones, raising bolas, glaring into dark.

Languid air thickened with tension.

A spotted hyena emerged. Faint stripes, low head, gleaming eyes—Crocuta kin. It paused, assessing us, fire, smoke—keeping distance.

Ihihihihi.

Its laugh echoed eerily. Some flinched, scrambling up trees reflexively.

But the hyena hesitated too. Unfamiliar blaze, heat, smoke—and our numbers. Instinctive wariness of red glows made sense; wildfires weren't rare here.

Silently, I plucked half-burnt log—perfect torch. Roared, advanced, swinging wildly.

"Waaah! Waak!"

Ears back, it retreated. One more step—gone into brush.

Breaths resumed. Tree-dwellers descended.

"Chief wins again."

"No, monster won."

"Chief holds monster."

"Right! Chief's greater!"

I waved off praise.

"Quiet. Sleep."

Giggling, they crowded closer—even backs to flames for warmth, dozing by watchmen. More than before.

I fed logs, leaned back.

Crackle. Crackle-crackle.

Fire burned steady. I scanned the snug sleepers.

To them, fire was home-devouring disaster. Teach uses and benefits—they overcame fear, embraced it.

Crude humans yet, but humanity stepped forward.

=====