The silence that followed Iris' declaration was tenser than the standoff with the Ursaring.
Seiko didn't lower his spear. Iris didn't avert her gaze.
Acies moved, a slow sidestep that placed him between Seiko and the woman, his arm blades low and ready. The Pawniard didn't need to understand the dialect to read the threat.
"My name is Seiko," he said, deciding that exchanging names was the first step in any negotiation.
"Seiko." She tested the name. It sounded strange in her tongue. "It means 'cold fire.' A fitting name for a defiler."
Seiko ignored the insult. His mind was working, analyzing. 'Earth People. Excadrill. Obsidian arrows. Technological level: Late Neolithic or Chalcolithic. But her clothing is flawlessly sewn. Division of labor. And she commands a powerful Pokémon. She's elite. A shaman or a chief's daughter.'
"I have defiled nothing," Seiko said, his voice calm. "I have transformed. Rock became metal. Beast became food. It is the cycle of creation."
He was testing his own theology on her.
Iris let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Cycle? You broke the cycle. The Blood of the Mountain," she pointed to the pile of hematite, "must not be taken. It must be requested. And the Guardian," her gaze settled on the Ursaring hide, "must not be killed. It must be honored."
"The Guardian attacked me first."
"Because your fire called it!" she replied, her anger returning. "The smoke from your… metal thing…" She pointed to the forge. "It screamed through the air. The Guardian came to silence it. And you killed it."
Seiko frowned. 'The smoke. The smell of metal. Did it attract the Ursaring? No. Not possible. The Ursaring attacked me before the forge… Ah. Wait.'
"It was here before the forge," Seiko said. "The Ursaring. I found it. It was injured."
Iris blinked, her certainty faltering for the first time. "Injured?"
"It had a knife in its eye," Seiko said. "One of iron."
He bent slowly, keeping his eyes on her, and picked up the first knife he had forged: the one he had retrieved from the beast's eye socket. It was stained and nicked, but unmistakable.
He tossed it to her. Not as a weapon, but for inspection. He threw it onto the ground between them.
Iris stepped back instinctively, but curiosity overcame caution. She looked at the object. She nudged it with the tip of her boot.
"Iron," she whispered. She recognized the material, though the design was crude. She saw the rawhide handle. She looked at Seiko. "Yours?"
"No," Seiko said. "I don't know. I found it this way. Injured and mad with pain. It would have died anyway. I just… ended its suffering. And I defended my home."
Iris remained silent for a long while, processing this new information. The Guardian had not been killed by this intruder. It had been wounded by someone else. Someone else with metal.
Her posture shifted. Pure anger was replaced by a cold assessment.
"Then," she said, "you have killed a dying beast. And you have occupied its cave."
"And I built this," Seiko said, sweeping his hand over his workshop.
"You owe us atonement," she repeated, but the demand had lost its edge. It sounded more like a formula.
"Atonement for what?" Seiko asked. "For surviving? For using rock that no one else was using?"
"For the smoke," she said, now her voice filled with a new urgency. "The Guardian has gone. And your smoke… the smell of cured meat and burned metal… travels far."
Seiko shivered. 'What the Ursaring kept at bay…'.
"What's out there?" he asked.
"The Sawtooths," Iris said. "Packs. They hunt with the wind. And you've been announcing a feast for a week."
'Sawtooths. Probably Krookodile. Or maybe Haxorus. Pack predators. Dangerous.'
"Let them come," Seiko said, striking the shaft of his spear against the stone ground. "I am ready."
Iris looked at him as if he were insane. "Your spear is one. They are twenty. Your metal thing," she pointed at Acies, "is strong. But it cannot fight twenty."
"My barricade will hold."
"Your barricade is wood," she mocked. "They will break it in minutes."
For the first time, Seiko felt real pressure. His fortress, which had seemed invulnerable an hour ago, suddenly felt fragile. He had solved one problem (the Ursaring) only to create a much greater one (attracting a pack).
"What do you want, Iris?" he asked bluntly.
She stepped forward. Her eyes were no longer on the forge but on the tools. She saw the axe leaning against the wall. She saw the spear in his hand. She saw the knife at his belt.
"The Earth People," she said, "respect strength. You killed the Guardian, even if it was wounded. You took its hide. That gives you… rights. But it also gives you duties."
"I owe nothing to your people."
"You owe us," she said, gesturing to the air. "To the balance. Your fire attracts the Sawtooths. They will come here first. But after… they will come to our village."
Here was the crux of the matter. She was not here for theology. She was here for geopolitics. His unchecked industry was a threat to her people's security.
"Then, what do you propose?" Seiko asked. "That I shut down my forge? That I starve?"
"No," Iris said. "You propose…" She paused, clearly struggling with an idea. "You help us fight them."
Seiko almost laughed. "Me? One man and a Pawniard? Against twenty? What kind of fool do you think I am?"
"You are not a fool," she said, her gaze sharp. "You are a maker. Like us. But your hands make… different things."
She extended her own hand. At her belt was a knife. Seiko could see it clearly now. A black obsidian blade, sharp as glass, tied to a bone handle. It was beautiful, and terribly fragile.
"Your metal," she said. "Cuts. Ours… breaks."
There it was. The need.
Seiko faced the first real decision of his new life. He could tell them to leave. He could entrench and hope to survive the siege.
Or he could make an ally. He could found a civilization.
He drew the iron knife from his belt. Not the original from the Ursaring, but the second one he had made: the well-tempered iron blade, with the rawhide handle. Balanced, solid, ugly. Perfect.
"One atonement," Seiko said, using her word.
He offered her the knife, handle first.
Iris stared at him. She did not take it immediately. She looked at Acies, who hissed softly.
"Acies. It's okay," Seiko said.
The Pawniard relaxed, but his eyes never left Iris.
Iris extended her hand and took the knife.
The weight almost surprised her. It was much heavier than her obsidian. She ran a finger carefully along the edge, just enough to feel its bite. Her eyes widened. She looked at Seiko, and the anger, fear, and suspicion were replaced by something completely new.
Awe.
This was not magic. This was… tangible.
"Sleeping rock will not feed you," Seiko said, his voice resonating with the conviction of his new faith. "But forged iron will defend you. It is a gift. My atonement. Take it. Teach your people."
Iris weighed the knife. She understood the power in her hand. This could skin ten beasts before needing to be sharpened. It could cut wood. It could… kill.
"This… is not free," she said, her political intelligence returning.
"No," Seiko agreed. "I attract the Sawtooths. I give you this to help fight them. And you… leave me in peace. My forge stays lit. My smokehouse keeps running. This is my land. My forge."
Iris stared at him. She saw his determination. She saw the steel soldier at his side. She saw the iron spear.
"Seiko 'Cold Fire,'" she said, tucking the knife into her own belt, a clear symbol of acceptance. "The Sawtooths will come with the new moon. In three days."
She turned, her task completed.
"Wait!" Seiko called. "I cannot fight twenty!"
Iris paused, glancing over her shoulder at him.
"Then," she said with a cruel smile that didn't reach her eyes, "better that your forge stays busy."
She turned and walked away. She did not run. She moved with the confidence of one who knew every rock and blade of grass. She disappeared among the rocky hills as silently as she had arrived.
Seiko was left alone.
He had just made first contact with a native tribe. And he had given them advanced military technology.
And he had just learned that an army of predators was coming for him in three days.
"Shit," Seiko whispered.
He turned to Acies. "We need more spears."
He looked at his pile of hematite.
"Many more spears."