Mesopotamia, 8000 BC.

The morning light shone on the surface of the Euphrates River, creating golden ripples.

The mountains in the distance were shrouded in mist, and dewdrops hung on the green grass, sparkling in the sunlight.

The boy was barefoot, stepping on the moist soil, and he could feel the warmth of the earth with his soles.

He was dressed in rough linen, with a straw rope tied around his waist and a simple wooden staff on his shoulder.

His hair was dark brown, slightly shiny from the sun, and was casually tied behind his head, with a few scattered strands blown by the morning breeze.

He was Neos—although at that time, he didn't have this name.

He was just a shepherd in the tribe.

The flock of sheep walked slowly beside him, occasionally lowering their heads to nibble on the grass, making satisfied chewing sounds.

Neos gently waved his stick, guiding them to move to the place with lush grass and water. His movements were skillful and natural, as if he had merged with the land.

"Hey! Be careful of that black sheep!" A companion's voice came from a distance.

Neos turned around and saw a naughty black goat trying to sneak out of the team and run towards the bushes by the river.

He smiled, quickly chased after it, and gently stopped it with his wooden stick. The black goat turned around obediently and bleated in dissatisfaction.

"Always restless." He rubbed the black goat's head, his tone full of pampering.

In the distant village, smoke rose from the chimneys; the women had begun to prepare breakfast, and the aroma of baking bread and stewing grains wafted through the air.

Neos took a deep breath, feeling this ordinary yet warm breath.

"Neos! It's time to come back!" shouted the elder of the tribe standing on the slope.

He waved his hand and drove the flock back.

At that time, he was just an ordinary teenager.

........................

In the morning mist, the Neolithic village of round mud-brick huts was scattered along the riverbank. The fourteen-year-old squatted by the river, sharpening an oak stick with a stone knife.

His fingers were long and strong, with calluses on his knuckles from hard work.

The golden morning light was reflected on the surface of the river, and a few wild ducks flapped their wings and skimmed across the water.

"Nyos!" said Ashima's sister from behind. "Father is looking for you."

The boy raised his head, the sunlight dancing in his dark brown eyes.

His face still had the immaturity of a teenager, but his brows revealed a calmness beyond his age.

This was his fourteenth year living in the tribe, and the year he first realized that he was different.

Next to the fire pit in the center of the village, Father Urhan was discussing with several elders.

As he approached, he noticed his uncle Cam staring at his father's back with a sinister look.

That look made the boy instinctively tense his muscles, just like his reaction when he noticed a pack of wolves approaching while herding.

"Nios..." His father turned around and put his rough hands on his shoulders. "Tomorrow you will lead the sheep to the northern pastures alone."

The boy nodded, but noticed the new scar on his father's neck.

Those were the marks left by the stone knife, and the wound was still fresh. "Father, your wound..."

Wuerhan waved his hand and lowered his voice: "Someone broke into the barn last night. Remember, no matter what happens, you must protect your sister."

Late that night, Neos had a dream, or rather a prophecy.

He groped his way out of the hut and saw a strange flame flickering in the direction of the barn.

When he arrived, the sight before him was seared into his memory forever.

Uncle Kam's stone axe was deeply embedded in the back of my father's head, and the blood spread into strange patterns on the compacted mud.

What was even more creepy was that several other elders stood nearby with eerily calm looks on their faces.

"For the continuation of the tribe." Kam pulled out the stone axe, blood splattered on his wrinkled face, "Ulhan's kindness will kill us all."

………………

Neos woke up from the prophetic dream and rushed to his father's funeral without stopping.

The funeral pyre had been built, and Urhan's body was placed on the top, surrounded by cornflowers and wild wheat.

Fifteen-year-old Neos stood in front of the altar, a flint dagger in his hand.

According to tribal tradition, the eldest son must cut a lock of his hair and throw it into the fire during the funeral.

Halfway through the funeral, Cam suddenly pushed through the crowd and walked forward.

Hanging on his waist was the obsidian dagger that killed Urhan, with dried blood still on the handle.

“I propose a change in the funeral rites.” Kam’s voice was particularly harsh in the silence. “Ulhan’s weak ideas nearly caused the tribe to starve to death. His body should be fed to the wolves instead of receiving a hero’s funeral.”

Neos raised his head, and his pupils suddenly flashed with golden light in the morning light.

He saw the rhythm of Cam's heart, the rate at which his lungs contracted, the flow of blood through the arteries in his neck—all these signs of life became strings that could be plucked at will.

“Uncle.” The boy’s voice was terrifyingly calm. “You admit to killing my father?”

Kam laughed and slapped the dagger at his waist: "I saved the tribe! Those foreigners..."

Neos raised his right hand and made a light fist.

Cam's voice suddenly stopped, his expression frozen between arrogance and fear, and his hands instinctively grabbed his throat.

The tribesmen watched in horror as Kam opened his mouth and struggled desperately like a fish that had been landed. His face turned from red to purple, and finally he fell straight down in front of the altar.

"A murderer is not fit for a funeral." Enlil bent down and closed Kam's wide-open eyes, as gently as if he was coaxing his sister to sleep.

When he turned around to face his tribesmen, the golden light in his eyes had faded, but everyone subconsciously took half a step back.

The other elders looked at this scene in horror. Some began to kneel down and pray, while others turned and ran.

"stop."

Neos' voice was eerily calm. The escapee froze in place, as if bound by invisible ropes.

The boy walked to his uncle's body, leaned over and closed his uncle's eyes.

"What did you see?" he asked the surviving elders.

"A miracle..." the oldest elder replied tremblingly.

Neos shook his head: "No, this is order."

He pointed to his father's body. "That's the result of the chaos."

The boy's young face showed a dignity that was inconsistent with his age.

"From today on, the tribe will have laws. Anyone who kills will be killed, and anyone who steals will be punished. This is the first rule."

"Peace needs strength to protect it, and plunder will eventually lead to destruction." Neos raised his father's blood-stained stone axe.

"From this day forward, we must sharpen our weapons as well as our disciplines. I will lay down the laws, and everyone must obey them."

………………

“That was the first time I knew my power, and I knew my responsibility.”

The scene returns to the Golden Throne, with Neos's soft voice echoing in the throne room.

"I will guide humanity forward, no matter the cost."