The old man stood up, his shadow stretching long against the hide walls. He spoke of the , the three functions that defined their society:

Elian sat by the hearth, watching the flames lick the bottom of a bronze cauldron. He had come to the old man’s hut seeking "the old ways"—not as a scholar, but as someone who felt a hollow space where his roots should be.

He looked Elian in the eyes. "You don't need a temple, boy. You need a fire, a guest at your table, and the courage to tell the truth. That is the base of the old path."

"The first base," the old man said, "is the . Imagine a world divided into three: the roots in the dark waters, the trunk where we breathe, and the branches where the Shining Ones—the deiwos —dwell. They are not 'gods' in the way you think. They are the 'Bright Ones' of the daylight sky."

Elian watched the smoke rise. "But how did they live together? If everyone had their own fire, what kept them from war?"