Nilo, the First Stewart, Tells About How Precious Fire Was to those Back in Very Ancient Times

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I was born into a time when fire was the center of every day. In the mornings, before the sun rose, the first thing I saw was the glow of the embers. My mother would stir them back to life, coaxing the flames so we could cook our food and keep the chill away. From the moment I was old enough to walk, I wanted to be the one tending that fire. It wasn’t just heat and light—it was survival. Without it, we couldn’t cook, stay warm, or protect ourselves from the dark.

When I was still young, my grandmother began teaching me the secrets of fire. She showed me which woods burned fast and which lasted through the night. She taught me how to shield the flames from the wind with stones, and how to feed them slowly so they wouldn’t roar out of control. I learned patience—how to wait, to watch, to feel when the fire needed me to act. That patience would serve me for the rest of my life.

Over time, I learned that the fire could do more than cook a meal. It could transform what we ate, turning hard grains into warm bread, tough meat into tender stew, fresh milk into rich, lasting curds. I experimented with herbs from the hills, adding them to soups and teas not just for flavor, but to heal the sick and soothe pain. The hearth became the heart of our home, the place where we gathered to eat, talk, and share the day’s work.

But fire could also be a tool for the future. I found ways to use it to preserve food—smoking meat so it would last through winter, drying fruits and vegetables, and boiling grain before storing it to keep away pests. Those skills meant that when the land gave less, we still had enough to eat. People began to see me not just as a cook, but as a keeper of life itself.

As our village grew, so did the responsibilities of the hearth. The fire was where hunters brought their catch, where farmers brought their grain, and where travelers came to share stories and trade. I made sure no flame ever went out. On the rare days when it did, I would carry embers from another hearth or make a spark from stone and steel, breathing it to life as if welcoming back an old friend.

Now, I am older, but the fire still burns in my care. I have taught the younger ones how to tend it, how to use it to feed, to heal, and to prepare for the hard times. I tell them that fire is more than wood and heat—it’s a bond between people. It holds the work of the farmers, the herders, the potters, and the cooks in one place. As long as the fire burns, we are not alone, and our community will endure.

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