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Cold. My first thing I remember clearly is the cold. Snow and ice caking a blood-soaked hand. My hand. Then pain. Looking down at my body, draped in blood soaked hides, I see a crude spear impaled in my stomach. It is so cold. I feel the blackness closing in. Then warmth. A figure stands above me bathed in white light. He, I some how know it is a he, reaches out a hand, a strange hand, not like mine. He touches the spear and it disappears. My wound closes. The pain is gone.
Words. I hear words in my head. He is speaking in my head.
"You have courage and you know sacrifice. These traits are desirable."
I don't understand what me means. I remember taking up my club to protect my people. The Others attacked. The others hurt them with their fire and their tools made of the smooth shiny stone. My mate and my child. They ran to the safety of the caves. I stayed. I fought so they could live.
"Yes. You understand what it is to be a hero."
Hero? What is a hero? I don't know this word.
"You will in time. Do you want to see your tribe safe? Do you want to see them safe for all time?"
Time? What is time? This being that makes the hurt stop speaks words I do not know. The medicine man might know. He is wise. He knows the herbs to stop pain. Maybe this one is like the medicine man.
"Yes, you could call me that if it helps you understand."
But I am a hunter, I do not have the wisdom.
"You will in time."
I do not understand. I am afraid. What should I do?
"Do you want to protect them?"
Yes! I want to protect my people! Without them I am alone!
"The pact is made. Go now. Protect your people. Become a Warden to them."
He is gone. My hurts are gone. I feel refreshed. My mind is clear. I see clearly, I smell scents I have never know. Every sense is sharp....I am changed...my thoughts...my senses...greater than before....
That was long ago. Before the written word. Before most cultures the modern world is aware of. I was a simple hunter and some being chose me to walk among the line of my people. To be a silent witness and protector. In those years I have been a warrior, a poet, a sinner, a saint, faithful, and apostate. All in the name of the pact, to see the line of my people continue.
Fifty thousand years. That is how long I reckon I have walked the Earth. By now my people encompass the globe. I have met a few other similar to me, the Savage, the Ghoul, the Immortal man. All seemingly cheating time in different ways.
I do not know how it will end. I can be hurt, I bear many scars. Perhaps I can be killed. I know not. I do know since that day, the day Brainiac came and his exobytes infused my being I am changing. I am stronger, tougher, and faster than ever. I have shrugged off blows that may have ended me. All I know is what despair I was feeling at my powerlessness in this age of super beings is ending.
I am The Warden. I am here to defend the Tribe of the Earth. That is the Pact.