Tribe

When the storm crossed the basalt plain, the tribe returned to the black monolith. No map marked its place, yet every member carried its signal beneath the skin. Corbix stood at the center as masked figures emerged through the rain, their armor marked with symbols older than the dead city beyond the ridge. One by one, they struck the ground with iron drums. The rhythm travelled through stone, waking a buried pulse far below the earth. Veins of blue fire opened across the monolith, answering each beat. No words were spoken. They did not need them. The signal moved through every body at once, binding separate shadows into one force. When lightning struck the monolith, the tribe did not scatter. They became the storm.