299,645 BCE – 299,525 BCE | Episodes 73–96

Three months had passed since the plague began. The cough spread from village to village, from valley to valley. First the elderly fell. Then the children. Finally even those in their prime began to collapse with fever.

The great northern group was reduced by half. The clan by the river was entirely gone save for three. Those who dwelt in the mountain caves sealed themselves inside and died within. From outside, it looked like nothing but a wall of rock.

Smoke from burning bodies rose into the sky. Day and night the smoke never ceased. Birds began to fly around it. When the wind changed direction, coughing would begin in other places. People fled upwind. But the wind turns. There was no safe place anywhere.

The survivors scattered. They formed small groups and began to avoid each other. When they spotted human figures in the distance, they would run in the opposite direction. When they found the smoke of fires, they would circle around those places. Humans began to fear one another.

There were no words yet. But gestures changed. A motion was born—palm held forward to signal "do not approach." They began throwing food from a distance to pass it along. They came to fear touch.

The old ones fell ill too. But their way of dying was different. They lay down quietly and closed their eyes. They did not suffer. They disappeared as if simply falling asleep. Only the new humans coughed and burned with fever and died in agony.

The forest grew quiet. Regions spread where human voices could no longer be heard. The animals were puzzled by this silence. Only deer came now to the watering places where humans had always been. Beasts walked the paths where human footprints had vanished.

Seven hundred and forty-four. Perhaps this would be the last number that could be counted.

Rain had been falling in other places too. Beyond the mountains rivers overflowed, creating new lakes. Beyond the sea ice melted, revealing land. The ancient ones lived quietly in the depths of caves. They do not fall ill. Only when their time comes do they die as if falling asleep.

Groups of the new humanity grew large in various places. Those who coughed increased as well. But many children were also born. The numbers of those dying and those being born held in balance.

While the thread moved toward a new one, much was stirring on this world. Beyond the mountains, another group emerged from caves and descended to the flatlands. They remembered the sound of chipping stone. Near the sea, those who gathered shells grew in number. They swayed their bodies to the rhythm of the waves.

The old humans retreated further into the depths. Their footprints were being erased by rain. The new humanity increased in number, and their coughing increased too. But their laughter also increased. It was a season when many children were born.

In the north, ice melted and new waterways formed. In the south, green returned to the dry earth. This world continued its quiet turning.

A dry wind crosses the beginning lands. The grasslands are dyed gold, and the rivers run thin.

In the northern valley, a group of thirty-seven gathers nuts. On the southern hills, twenty-one have returned from the hunt. Along the river, more than a hundred take fish. Each has their own sound to call themselves. Low growls. High cries. Sounds that strike the chest.

Children run about. Some fall and cry. Others chase with laughter. Some sleep on their mothers' knees.

In the distance, another pack approaches. Footsteps shake the ground. The one walking at the front bears a scar on their face. Those following behind carry stones in their hands.

The wind has shifted. There is the scent of rain.

Three groups are scattered across the primordial land. Forty people catch fish in the depths of the valley, thirty gather nuts on the hillside, and nine hundred shape stone along the river.

There are days when the footsteps of the ancient ones draw near. Days when they recede. Something burns beyond the land. Smoke rises into the sky. Wind carries the smoke. Ash falls.

It was a year when many children were born. In five years their numbers doubled. Food became scarce. The groups separated. Came together again. Separated again.

Seasons of heavy rain and seasons of no rain at all come in turns. The river floods. Dries up. Fish die. Return again.

There are those who throw stones at each other. There are those who share stones with each other. Looking at the same stone, they do different things.

In another group, a new child was being born. Birth cries echoed. The mother was exhausted, but held the child to her chest. Small hands were moving. Not yet strong enough to grasp.

Across the river, a band of the old people began their migration. The seasons were changing. Moving south in search of food. Their footsteps shook the earth.

On the eastern hill, lightning struck. A tree began to burn. Smoke rose. Animals fled in confusion. Rain began to fall. The fire went out.

Five groups were scattered across the primordial land. In the northern valley, thirteen people were splitting stones. Chipped fragments flew in all directions. By the southern riverbank, twenty-one people were chasing fish. Water splashed upward.

In the eastern hills, a tribe of the old people was passing through. Their footsteps were heavy. Their tools were crude, held differently. The human groups watched from a distance. They avoided each other.

In the western forest, a storm had just passed. Fallen trees blocked the paths. New puddles had formed. Small creatures gathered around them.

The clouds were thick. Rain seemed imminent. The temperature was dropping. Winter was approaching. It was time to store food.

In the western forest, a storm had passed. Fallen trees blocked the paths. New pools had formed. Small creatures gathered around them.

The clouds hung thick. Rain seemed likely. The temperature was dropping. Winter approached. It was time to store food.

In these five years, the one's hands had changed. The way of seeing stone had changed. Where it would break became clear. What kind of fragment would result from which angle of strike.

The companions had changed too. More began splitting stone. Children started to imitate them. Through repeated failures. Through cut fingers.

Another group drew near. They watched from a distance. They listened to the sound of splitting stone. Keeping their distance. Each avoiding the other.

Tension was mounting. Over food. Over territory. Over where the stones could be found.

Before winter came, something was about to happen.

In the western forest, a storm had passed. Fallen trees blocked the paths, and new pools had formed. Small creatures gathered around them. Clouds hung thick, and the temperature was dropping. Winter was approaching.

Over these five years, change had spread. The technique of splitting stones had passed to each group. Children imitated, learning through repeated failures. Cutting their fingers, bleeding.

Places with good stones became sources of competition. Groups approached each other, feeling each other out. Keeping their distance, avoiding each other. Still, tension was rising.

Over food. Over territory. Over where the stones were.

The northern group was increasing in number. The southern group continued moving, following prey. The eastern group had settled along the river. And the western group was closest to the best stones.

The spread of technology was creating new friction. Those who sought the same things were looking at the same places.

Before winter came, something would be decided. Who would take the stones, and who would give up. Who would yield their place, and who would defend it.

The answer was not yet visible.

In the western valley, the first snow fell. Thin, melting quickly. The animals had begun moving south.

In these five years the population increased by thirty percent. Nine hundred eighty-two people. Each group grew larger, and the resources they needed increased as well. The locations of stone were limited. There were only about ten places on this earth that produced quality stone.

The spread of technology intensified competition. Every group began seeking the same things. Sharp blades. Sturdy spear points. Stone easy to carve.

The northern group gained advantage in numbers. Fifty-three people. The southern group continued moving, but prey had decreased and they were in hardship. The eastern group occupied the fertile lands along the river. And the western group was closest to the finest stone deposits.

Contact increased. Those who scouted, those who explored the situation, those who measured distances. Tension was rising. Before winter, everyone hurried their preparations.

The first clash over stone occurred three days ago. A small dispute. No injuries resulted. But something changed. The air.

The next time might be different.

First snow fell in the western valley. Thin, melting quickly. Animals had begun moving south.

In these five years, the population had grown by thirty percent. Nine hundred eighty-two people. Each group had grown larger, and the resources they needed had multiplied. Stone deposits were limited. Places that yielded quality stone numbered only about ten across this land.

The spread of technology had intensified competition. Every group now sought the same things. Sharp blades. Sturdy spear points. Stone easy to work.

The northern group held advantage in numbers. Fifty-three people. The southern group continued moving, but game had dwindled and they suffered want. The eastern group occupied the fertile lands along the river. And the western group lived closest to the finest stone quarries.

Contact increased. Those who scouted, those who probed, those who measured distances. Tension was mounting. Before winter, everyone hastened their preparations.

The first clash over stone had happened three days ago. A small dispute. No one was injured. Yet something had changed. The air itself.

Next time might be different.

In the valley, two groups faced each other in silence. Those holding stone tools drew closer, step by step.

Elsewhere, a woman's newborn cried for the first time. It was a strong voice.

Upstream, a band of the old people began their migration. Winter was approaching.

On a distant hill, a young man shaped stone. His hands were clumsy. Still, he continued.

Across the primordial lands, the craft was being passed on.

On the primordial land, the boundaries between groups were beginning to blur.

Those who lived on the western side of the river were moving eastward. After the death of an elder skilled in stone-tool making, voices seeking that knowledge had risen throughout the region. Those who conveyed the meanings of "stone," "carve," and "teach" through gestures and brief grunts were gathering, crossing valleys and rivers.

On the hilltop, three groups had met. Each consisted of a dozen or so people. Women carrying children on their backs, men holding spears, young people transporting stones. Though wary, they showed interest in each other's techniques.

The first to move was a child. A boy picked up a stone fragment and offered it to a man from another group. The man accepted it and compared it with his own stone. The hardness was different. The shape was different. The carved marks were different.

He asked "from where" with gestures. The boy pointed to the southern mountains. The man nodded and handed his stone to the boy. He conveyed that this had been gathered from the northern river.

The women showed each other methods of child-rearing. Ways of carrying, feeding, putting to sleep. Even without words, maternal movements were universal. Gestures to protect children from danger, hand movements showing affection.

At dusk, the three groups sat together around a fire. Each demonstrated their techniques. Stone-tool making, hunting methods, how to distinguish edible plants. Some learned by watching and imitating, others improved quickly, still others failed repeatedly.

As night deepened, glances were exchanged between young men and women. Interest in those not bound by blood. The possibility of nurturing new life.

By morning, parts of the groups had been reshuffled. Two from the western river had joined the hill group. One woman from the northern group had headed south. Techniques and bloodlines had mingled, creating new bonds.

This movement was occurring throughout the primordial land. Small groups dividing, converging, dividing again. Moving with the seasons, changing locations in search of resources. In this process, knowledge spread, techniques were refined, and human connections deepened.

Stone-tool making techniques were particularly important. Cutting food, skinning hides, carving wood, crushing bones. The technique to make tools necessary for survival. Those who possessed it were respected and sought after.

But those who taught the techniques were dwindling. With the death of elders, intricate skills were being lost. Those who remained desperately tried to remember. At what angle had the stone been struck, with what force?

In distant valleys, groups of archaic humans were passing through. They too used tools. But their methods of making and using were different from those of humans. Occasionally, both encountered each other. They observed one another, maintained distance, and walked their respective paths.

As the signs of winter grew stronger, the movements of groups became more active. Securing food, securing places to endure the cold. Those who cooperated, those who fought. The time for choices staked on survival was approaching.

Warm water springs from a crack in the rock. In a distant place, another group discovers it for the first time. Their skin ailments heal. They decide to remain there.

In the year the river flooded, many fruit-bearing trees were swept away. But the seeds were carried downstream and sprouted in new places. The following year, a group settled there.

Snow continues to fall in the northern mountains. On the plains, the rain does not stop for days. In the south, no clouds can be seen. The old ones' herds head east. The human groups scatter west.

In one group, the elders fall one after another. Those who possessed wisdom are gone. In another group, too many children are born and there is not enough food.

The sound of stone-knapping echoes everywhere. The same discoveries happen at the same time. But there are no words yet to convey the methods. Each learns alone.

Where conflict occurred, deep holes are dug to bury the bodies of the dead. The living move to other places. Nothing remains in that land.

Rain continued falling for three seasons. Rivers grew thick and carved new channels. Trees towered high and bore fruit without end. Beasts multiplied their numbers and birthed many young.

Throughout the primordial land, groups grew larger. Bands of eight swelled beyond twenty. Places where children's voices rang out multiplied. The time spent sharing food grew longer.

But boundaries became unclear. How far did their hunting grounds extend? Which fruits belonged to whom? Encounters at watering holes increased. Unknown faces appeared among familiar ones.

In the northern valley, two groups sought to make the same cave their dwelling. Stones were thrown. Blood was spilled. One departed, and those who remained dug a deep pit.

In the eastern forest, children played without knowing boundaries. Adults watched from afar. No conflict had yet arisen.

Along the southern river, someone discovered a new way to catch fish. Thrusting sharpened wood into the water. The same discovery was born elsewhere too. But there were no words to share it. Each learned alone.

Something unseen crawled across the primordial land. The first to fall were those who lived near the river. They developed fever, could not stop coughing, and died within three days.

The next day, the same thing happened to the neighboring group. The day after that, even farther away. Whether carried by wind, by water, or passed through touch—no one knew.

Groups scattered. Families abandoned families and fled. Children left parents, parents left children. But the same thing happened wherever they fled. Fever and cough and then death.

There had been eight groups along the river, but only three remained. Half of those on the mountain slopes vanished. The large group that lived at the edge of the plains was reduced to about ten, hiding in caves.

The survivors kept asking. Why was only I left alive? Why did that one die while this one lived? It was not about bodily strength or youth. Children and adults fell equally, survived equally.

They could not even bury their dead. To touch seemed to invite death. Bodies were left abandoned, devoured by beasts, leaving only bones.

Seasons turned. The unseen thing seemed to have departed. But the shape of the groups had changed. Many of the elders who held knowledge had died. Those who knew how to make tools had vanished. Those who could teach hunting skills were gone.

Those who remained lived by trial and error. They struck stones to remake blades. They tried to remember how traps worked. They tested again which plants could be eaten.

Some groups merged. Survivors drew close to one another. New bonds were formed. But wariness was born too. The fear that strangers might bring sickness.

The land grew quiet. Distant voices and sounds that once could be heard were gone. Places where night fires could be seen grew fewer. For the first time on this world, places came to be where human voices could not reach.

Five seasons had passed.

Since the invisible death departed, the group had been changing shape little by little. Many of those who held knowledge had vanished, and those who remained lived by groping in the dark. The skill of shaping stone, the eye for distinguishing plants, the method of tracking beasts. Everything had to be learned anew from the beginning.

Several small groups had joined together. Survivors drew close to one another, forming new bonds. But wariness was born as well. The fear that strangers might carry something unknown.

Children continued to be born in great numbers. But fewer grew to maturity than before. There were not enough to teach them. Voices of warning did not reach them.

The earth had grown quiet. Distant sounds that once could be heard had disappeared. The number of fires visible at night had diminished. For the first time in this world, places came to be where human voices could not reach.

Still, those who remained continued to live. They tried to recover the lost knowledge. They searched for new paths.

Five seasons had passed.

Since the invisible death departed, the collective had gradually changed form. Many who possessed knowledge had vanished, and those who remained lived by groping in the dark. The craft of shaping stone, the eye for distinguishing plants, the methods of tracking beasts. Everything had to be learned anew from the beginning.

Pick up a fragment. Rub it against another stone. It becomes small and sharp.

Touch it with a fingertip. It hurts. Blood flows.

This is good.

Several small groups had joined together. Survivors drew close to one another, forming new bonds. But wariness also arose. The fear of not knowing what strangers might carry with them.

The one chipped stone every day. Repeated the same motions. Calluses formed on the palm. They broke open. Hardened again.

Children were still born in great numbers. But fewer survived than before. There were not enough to teach them. Voices warning of danger did not reach them.

Strip bark from wood with the chipped fragment. Thin and long. It cuts. Others are watching. Drawing near.

The earth had grown quiet. Distant sounds that would have been heard before had vanished. The number of fires visible at night had diminished. For the first time in this world, places came to exist where human voices could not reach.

Someone tried to take the stone from the one's hand. It refused with a growl. They pushed against each other. The stone fell to the ground. It broke.

Still, those who remained continued to live. They tried to recover lost knowledge. They searched for new paths.

Gather the broken pieces. Chip them again. Smaller than before. But they still cut. That was enough.

Over a thousand walked the primordial land. Scattered among five valleys. Along rivers. In rock shadows. Strangers met strangers, exchanged gestures, and parted ways.

In the northern valley, thirty fell to sickness. Coughs persisted, fevers would not break. Those who tended them fell one after another. Some stopped moving while still holding their children.

On the eastern plateau, there were those who stacked stones. High and round. For what purpose, none could say. They simply continued stacking. Even as their hands stained with blood.

In the southern forest, the old people and the new people shared the same watering place. Without conflict. Without avoidance. Simply being there.

Fewer knew the skill of crossing rivers. There was no one to teach swimming. More groups turned back, unable to reach the other shore. This world remained vast.

At the same moment, in a distant valley, a group of the old people was moving. Heavy footsteps echoed. They did not carve stone. They used bone. They sharpened horn.

Across the river, a group of people sat around a fire. The sound of stones striking together rang through the valley. The old people stopped. They listened. Then they chose another path.

Five seasons passed.

In the primordial land, people multiplied. Many children were born, and many survived. The climate was stable. Rain fell in proper measure, and game was plentiful. Groups divided, reunited, and divided again.

But tension was mounting.

The southern groups began moving north. Were they following game, or fleeing from something? The northern groups grew wary. Keeping their distance from each other, they shared the same water sources.

The old ones were still there. Their numbers had dwindled, but they appeared from time to time. They watched the human groups from afar, then departed. There was no contact between them.

People continued making tools. They carved stone, carved wood, carved bone. The carved fragments scattered on the ground. Carried by wind, washed by rain, eventually buried in soil.

The fingers of those who carved were covered in wounds. Blood dried, formed scabs, then they carved again and cut themselves. Some wounds never healed. Some became infected. Still they continued carving.

The population exceeded a thousand. But no one counted numbers. The concepts of many or few did not exist. It was simply noisy when they gathered, quiet when they scattered.

The rain stopped coming.

The grass began to wither. Beasts gathered at the watering places. Human groups also headed toward the water. A group from the south and a group that had been in the north met at the same watering place.

They growled at each other. They gripped stones tightly. But water was necessary. Keeping their distance, they drank from the same water. The children were hidden far away.

Many died around the watering place. Some fell ill. Some had wounds that festered. Some were attacked by beasts. The bodies were carried to places away from the water.

Footprints of the old ones remained in the mud of the watering place. They had come at night and left at night. When the human groups arrived, the old ones no longer showed themselves.

Fire rose from distant mountains. Lightning. Smoke climbed for many days. Wind carried the smoke. The humans smelled the smoke. They knew something was burning, but they did not know what it was.

Fragments of carved stone sank to the bottom of the watering place. They mixed with the mud. Fish swallowed the small fragments. Birds that ate the fish carried the fragments far away.