"Agriculture? Good."
Exile rose from his throne and began pacing, his fingers tapping lightly against the wooden armrest as he walked. His attention had drifted from the tribe these past days. Too many odd things were happening around the forest, pulling him in every direction.
Still, even if not everything went according to plan, progress was being made. That was enough for now.
He knew nothing about being a god. Not truly. But one thing was clear: his followers had to establish themselves as quickly as possible. A strong beginning would shape everything that came after.
He settled back into his seat and allowed himself a moment to reflect.
The tribe had moved further south, just as he instructed. They had not travelled as far as he hoped. Another hundred kilometres would have been ideal. But this would have to work.
Umbra's fight went better than expected. The thought almost made him laugh. The bird was essentially borrowing the power of a god, and yet Umbra already wielded it with more instinct than Exile himself. A bird and a god, and somehow the bird was ahead.
The battle with the Manorpis turned out to be crucial. Exile still knew very little of this world, and Umbra's growth would become one of his most important sources of information. The crow needed to grow stronger. He needed to explore farther. Every discovery counted.
As for the breeders… Exile rubbed his forehead.
"Damn parrots. Tsk."
Two of his aerial soldiers had successfully mated with a local subspecies of parrot. It was not a union born from affection. The crows were commanded to breed, and they obeyed.
The parrots, however, reacted in a way Exile had not anticipated. Once the eggs were laid, both mothers killed their unborn offspring. They were separated by kilometres, yet they acted at the same hour, in the same manner, with the same eerie certainty.
It was as if they understood that something about this crossbreeding was inherently wrong. As if instinct itself rejected it.
Exile leaned back, silent and unsettled. For once, he had no words.
This idea of his. This tactic of forcing his crows to mate with other species to create something new, something loyal, something powerful. He would not abandon it.
A quiet certainty stirred inside him, a whisper that this plan would one day become one of his greatest weapons. He could already see it in his mind.
An army of flying chimeras, creatures born from countless bird species, each one deadlier than the last. And perhaps even Kramlin hybrids. Humanoid forms capable of immense strength, sharp minds, and unwavering obedience. An army shaped by his will alone.
The image was glorious. Exile refused to let one failure stain the path forward. This was only the first step.
"Yes… trial and error. That is the way. Yes… hahaha!"
Laughter rippled from his throat as he sat on his throne. It carried no joy. Even he could not fully explain the feeling behind it.
With a gesture, a thick book materialised in his hand, roughly three hundred pages bound together by faint threads of light. Its weight felt familiar, comfortable.
He flipped through its contents until he reached a page bearing the sketch of the parrot subspecies.
His personal catalog of this world's flora and fauna.
Exile took a moment, then wrote beside the image.
"Mating: failure."
He continued turning pages. After a few moments, he stopped at a drawing of another bird. Its head resembled that of a shoebill from Earth, though its wings were broader and its talons more pronounced.
"You are the next experiment. Rejoice, Larone. You are about to become part of something greater."
The book dissolved into motes of light.
Exile closed his eyes, letting his consciousness seep into his tether with Jermal. The world shifted into view through that distant pair of eyes.
"Still asleep, huh?"
Satisfied, he departed. His awareness lifted higher and higher, until he hovered above the land itself. From this altitude, the river carved a silver line across the terrain, stretching from one horizon to the other.
Far below, he could just make out the faint glow of the tribe's campfires. Tiny sparks in the darkness.
His gaze drifted southward, following the river toward the place he originally intended for his people to settle.
Something caught his eye. A flicker of orange far beyond the river's southern bend. Another campfire.
Another settlement.
This one burned brighter and wider than anything his own tribe could produce. The glow stretched across the darkness, revealing silhouettes of structures and dozens of figures moving around them.
"Another tribe..?"
Exile's beak curved upward in a slow, predatory smile.
"Finally. The first real challenge."