Tala Redhawk - Vision Quest
Prelude
For generations, the Wakasa people of the Navajo Nation have walked a careful path between tradition and progress.
While the world beyond their lands embraced advanced technology, interplanetary travel, and constant connection, the Wakasa chose a different approach. They welcomed innovation where it served their people, but never at the expense of the customs, beliefs, and ceremonies that had guided them for centuries.
Among their most sacred traditions for young adults is the vision quest.
Each year, a select number of young men and women who have reached the threshold of adulthood are chosen to enter the sacred canyon alone on a solo vision quest. For three days and three nights, they remain separated from family, community, and the distractions of daily life. With only the land around them and the thoughts they carry within, they are expected to listen, to endure, and to discover what the spirits may choose to reveal.
Some return with clarity.
Others return with more questions.
But none return unchanged.
For those chosen, the vision quest is more than a test of patience or survival. It is the first step toward understanding who they are, what they value, and the path they may one day follow.
For one young Navajo woman, that journey is about to begin.
This story occurs over ten years before she joins the Crimson Alliance in A Demon’s Rebellion.
Character Premise
Tala Redhawk had recently celebrated her fifteenth birthday, making her eligible for one of the most important traditions of the Wakasa people.
For years, she had listened to stories about the vision quest and watched older teens leave for the sacred canyon before returning changed in ways that were often difficult to explain. Among them was her ten-year older brother, Takoda, whose own journey eventually led him beyond the reservation and toward a life far different from the one they had shared as children.
Part of Tala looked forward to the possibility of being chosen. The vision quest was a great honor, and like many young people her age, she wanted the chance to discover what the spirits might reveal.
Yet another part of her carried a quiet uncertainty.
The canyon offered no guarantees. No one could say what she would experience, what the spirits might reveal, or how the journey might shape the path ahead.
As Tala stands on the threshold of adulthood, she finds herself caught between anticipation and apprehension, eager to begin the next stage of her life while wondering what waits for her beyond the canyon walls.
Chapter 1:
The Trial of Spirits
The Elders’ Council
The desert of northern Arizona stretched for miles in every direction, a vast expanse of red earth, sandstone cliffs, and wind-carved canyons that had stood unchanged for centuries.
The land belonged to the Wakasa people, a proud Native American tribe whose roots traced back to the Navajo Nation. Though the world beyond had advanced far beyond what their ancestors could have imagined, the Wakasa had chosen their own path forward.
Their homes stood along the edge of a wide plateau overlooking a sacred canyon. From a distance, they appeared traditional. Stone, wood, and earth shaped each structure in ways that honored generations past.
But closer inspection revealed subtle differences.
Solar arrays rested on the flat roofs, angled to follow the sun without disrupting the natural beauty of the land. Small energy nodes stood quietly between homes, providing power without sound or excess light. Advanced materials reinforced certain structures, protecting them from erosion and heat while blending seamlessly into their surroundings.
Technology exists here. But it never led their lives.
At the center of the village stood a large ceremonial lodge constructed from stone, cedar beams, and packed earth.
No visible technology seemed to touch it.
Smoke from burning sage drifted through a small opening in the roof, carrying with it the scent of tradition and prayer. The air inside was warm, grounded, and alive in a way no system could replicate.
Inside, nine elders of the Wakasa tribe sat in a near circle, broken only by a small opening at one end. They ranged in age from their late forties to their upper seventies, each having earned their place through years of service, wisdom, and leadership.
Each of them wore clothing that reflected both heritage and purpose. Some wore traditional woven garments decorated with beadwork and feathers. Others wore simpler robes, their faces weathered by decades of life in the harsh desert climate. All of them carried the quiet authority of those who had spent their lives guiding their people.
The desert of northern Arizona stretched for miles in every direction, a vast expanse of red earth, sandstone cliffs, and wind-carved canyons that had stood unchanged for centuries.
The land belonged to the Wakasa people, a proud Native American tribe whose roots traced back to the Navajo Nation. Though the world beyond had advanced far beyond what their ancestors could have imagined, the Wakasa had chosen their own path forward.
Their homes stood along the edge of a wide plateau overlooking a sacred canyon. From a distance, they appeared traditional. Stone, wood, and earth shaped each structure in ways that honored generations past.
But closer inspection revealed subtle differences.
Solar arrays rested on the flat roofs, angled to follow the sun without disrupting the natural beauty of the land. Small energy nodes stood quietly between homes, providing power without sound or excess light. Advanced materials reinforced certain structures, protecting them from erosion and heat while blending seamlessly into their surroundings.
Technology exists here. But it never led their lives.
At the center of the village stood a large ceremonial lodge constructed from stone, cedar beams, and packed earth.
No visible technology seemed to touch it.
Smoke from burning sage drifted through a small opening in the roof, carrying with it the scent of tradition and prayer. The air inside was warm, grounded, and alive in a way no system could replicate.
Inside, nine elders of the Wakasa tribe sat in a near circle, broken only by a small opening at one end. They ranged in age from their late forties to their upper seventies, each having earned their place through years of service, wisdom, and leadership.
Each of them wore clothing that reflected both heritage and purpose. Some wore traditional woven garments decorated with beadwork and feathers. Others wore simpler robes, their faces weathered by decades of life in the harsh desert climate. All of them carried the quiet authority of those who had spent their lives guiding their people.
Among those waiting outside stood a fifteen-year-old girl with long black hair tied into two thick braids that hung over her shoulders. A feather and small beads had been woven carefully into the braids, their colors shifting gently in the warm desert wind.
Her name was Tala Redhawk.
She stood slightly apart from the others; her dark eyes fixed on the ceremonial lodge.
Inside that building, the elders were deciding which of them would be chosen.
Her heartbeat remained steady, though she tried not to show it.
This was a moment every young Wakasa both hoped for and feared.
To be chosen meant honor.
It also meant walking alone into the sacred canyon, where the spirits might reveal truths that could change the course of a person’s life forever.
Tala took a slow breath and lifted her eyes toward the canyon cliffs in the distance.
The wind moved across the desert in a long whisper.
Somewhere high above the canyon walls, a hawk circled in the fading light of the evening sky, but Tala barely noticed.
The Chosen
Tala kept her eyes on the ceremonial lodge, though her focus had already begun to drift.
She had stood in this same place once before, not as one of the chosen and not even close.
She had been younger then, about five or six years old, barely tall enough to see over the shoulders of those gathered in the clearing, and everything had felt larger, heavier, and far more important than she could understand at the time.
She remembered when her brother’s name had been called.
“Takoda Redhawk.”
The memory returned in pieces, shaped more by feeling than by detail. She remembered the way the crowd had shifted to let him pass and the steady way he had stepped forward without hesitation and without looking back. At the time, it had not stood out to her, because he had always carried himself with that same quiet certainty.
What stayed with her was what came after.
When he returned, something had changed.
It was not something she could have explained then, and even now she could not fully put it into words.
He still spoke, still listened, and still followed the same routines, but he no longer settled into them in the same way.
He asked questions he had never asked before and pushed back in ways that were not loud or defiant but were clearly no longer accepting.
There had been a restlessness with him, something just beneath the surface, as if the life around him was no longer enough to hold him in place.
At first, no one spoke about it.
Then the arguments began, not loud and not constant, but steady enough to be noticed.
Before long, he was gone. He left the reservation to follow a different path.
Tala had been too young to understand it then, but she understood it now. The vision quest had somehow changed him.
Around her, the others waited, their voices low as they spoke in small groups, trying to ease the tension that had settled over the clearing.
Some of them repeated stories they had heard from older siblings or cousins who had already completed their quests, shaping those stories into something that sounded more certain than it truly was.
One spoke about never feeling the cold during the night, as if something unseen stood watch over them.
Another described shapes moving along the canyon walls, insisting they were more than shadows.
A third claimed that those who returned sometimes knew things no one had taught them.
Tala did not turn toward them.
She had heard those kinds of stories before, and she had also seen what those stories left out.
Her gaze remained fixed on the lodge, and her heartbeat stayed steady, though something else had begun to settle beneath that calm.
It was not fear of the canyon or of being alone.
It was something quieter and far more difficult to ignore.
She wondered what would happen if she did not come back the same, and whether she would even want to.
The wind moved across the clearing in a long, steady breath as she lifted her eyes toward the canyon cliffs in the distance.
High above them, something circled against the fading light, moving slowly and without effort.
She watched it for a moment before returning her attention to the lodge and waiting.
DING.
One boy tapped the screen of his datapad absentmindedly.
A girl beside him leaned closer. “Anything interesting?” she whispered.
“Just updates from the outer cities,” he murmured. “Nothing important.”
A male voice came from behind them. “Put that away.”
They turned.
An older teen of maybe seventeen stood a few steps back, his tone calm but firm. “This is not the place for that.”
The boy hesitated for a brief moment… then powered the datapad down. The soft glow vanished. He tucked it into a pouch at his side.
Others nearby followed without being told. One by one, their screens went dark.
Tala felt the shift without fully seeing it.
The moment had changed.
A girl near Tala leaned slightly closer. “I heard they might choose fewer this year,” she whispered.
“They always say that,” another replied.
A third teen glanced toward the lodge, then toward a tall boy standing off to the side.
“They didn’t choose Kele last year or the year before,” she said quietly. “And he is the son of one of the elders.”
Several of them looked in his direction.
Kele, who was about to celebrate his seventeenth birthday, stood apart from the others, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the lodge. His expression revealed deep concern.
“He’ll be chosen this time,” someone murmured.
“He has to be.”
No one answered.
The doors of the ceremonial lodge opened, and the elders stepped out slowly before taking their places in a semicircle. The movement alone was enough to silence what little remained of the whispers.
Chief Eshona stood among them, his presence steady and commanding. To Tala, he was her father, but here he carried something more, something that placed him beyond that role in the eyes of those gathered.
An elder stepped forward and spoke in a calm, measured voice. “Each generation must learn to walk with the spirits. For many years, the Wakasa have sent our young people into the sacred canyon so they may discover their path.”
The teens stood still as he continued.
“You will go alone. For three days, you will fast, remain still, and open yourself to what the land chooses to reveal.”
Tala felt her heartbeat rise slightly as she listened.
“This year…” the elder said, pausing as his eyes moved across the group, “…seventeen will be chosen.”
A ripple passed through the crowd as some shifted while others straightened in place.
From somewhere behind Tala, a quiet male voice muttered, “Seventeen? That is barely half of us who will go.”
No elder responded, and none needed to.
Tala kept her eyes forward as the number settled in her mind. Seventeen.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides as the thought pressed in. Am I one of them?
The elder looked at his datapad and began calling names.
The first name echoed across the clearing.
A boy stepped forward.
Then another.
And another.
Each name pulled someone from the group, leaving the rest behind.
Tala counted silently.
Four.
Five.
Six.
The wind moved across the plateau.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
Her chest tightened slightly.
The space around her seemed to grow quieter with each name.
Then…
“Tala… daughter of Eshona.”
For a moment, everything else faded.
Then she stepped forward.
A quiet surge moved through her, not excitement and not fear, but something steadier that settled deep in her chest.
She joined the others who had been chosen.
From the corner of her eye, she saw her father standing among the elders. He gave no sign, but she felt it.
The names continued.
Twelve.
Thirteen.
Fewer and fewer remained.
Tala glanced briefly toward the edge of the group, where Kele still stood, unmoving.
Fourteen.
Fifteen.
The tension in the clearing tightened as those who remained stood more rigid, waiting and hoping without speaking.
Sixteen.
Another name was called, and someone stepped forward.
Only one name remained.
Silence stretched across the clearing.
Then…
“Seventeen.”
The elder’s voice carried clearly. “Kele, son of Nodin.”
For the first time, Kele moved. He stepped forward, calm and steady, and took his place among the chosen. He did not smile, but something in his posture shifted.
Those who had not been chosen stepped back slowly. Some lowered their eyes, while others nodded quietly, accepting what had not yet come. Their time would be another year.
The seventeen who remained stood together now. A few exchanged glances.
One girl whispered, “We actually did it.”
Tala said nothing.
Her eyes drifted back toward the canyon.
Tomorrow, she would walk into it alone.
Words at Home
By the time Tala reached her family’s home, the last light of the sun had already begun slipping behind the canyon walls. The desert sky above the Wakasa village was turning a deep shade of purple and orange, the kind of evening that made the land feel calm and endless all at once.
The excitement from the gathering still echoed in her mind.
Seventeen were chosen. She was one of them.
The modest home she shared with her parents stood near the edge of the village, built from weathered wood and stone that had endured many desert seasons. From the outside, it looked no different than it had been for generations.
But as she approached, a soft line of embedded lighting traced along the doorway, adjusting gently with the fading daylight.
The scent of cooking drifted out into the evening air.
She stepped inside.
The interior blended old and new in quiet harmony. Stone walls and wooden beams framed the space, but soft ambient lighting adjusted automatically along the ceiling. A small wall display near the entrance flickered with muted information, energy levels, and distant communications from beyond the Wakasa lands.
Her mother, Marika, stood near the cooking area.
A blue gas flame burned beneath a large black pot, where a broth of meat, rice, and other staples simmered gently, its rich and familiar scent filling the room.
Beside it, a compact cooking unit hummed softly, its surface glowing faintly as it prepared a second dish with precise heat control. A thin panel displayed temperature readings and timing sequences, adjusting automatically as Marika worked.
She moved easily between both.
One hand stirring the pot above the gas flame.
The other tapping a control on the modern unit.
Marika looked up and smiled softly.
“So,” she said, already knowing the answer before Tala spoke, “you were chosen.”
Tala nodded. “Yes.”
For a moment, the two simply looked at each other.
Pride filled Marika’s eyes.
But there was something else there too.
Understanding.
“You must be hungry,” Marika said, returning her attention briefly to the food.
Tala sat down near the small wooden table. Her legs suddenly felt heavier than they had earlier in the clearing.
“I think everyone in the village already knows,” Tala said.
Marika chuckled quietly. “That tends to happen.”
The door opened again a few moments later.
Chief Eshona stepped inside, brushing dust from his hands. Though the village saw him as their leader, inside the home he carried himself with the quiet ease of a husband and a father returning home from a long day.
The lighting shifted slightly as he entered, responding to movement.
He glanced toward his daughter. “You were chosen.”
Tala smiled faintly. “Yes.”
Eshona removed his outer garment and sat across from her at the table. For a moment he studied his daughter with the same calm expression he had worn during the gathering.
“You were still,” he said.
“I tried to be.”
Eshona nodded once. “That is a good start.”
Tala leaned forward slightly. “What will it be like?”
Her father did not answer immediately. Instead, he looked toward the doorway for a moment, as if remembering something from long ago.
“Your brother asked the same question,” he said finally.
Tala tilted her head. “Takoda?”
Marika smiled at the mention of his name.
“Yes,” she said. “He asked many questions.”
Tala glanced toward a small wooden shelf near the wall. Resting there was a carved salamander figurine Takoda had made years earlier when he was younger. It had remained in the house even after he left.
“Did he have a vision?” Tala asked.
Eshona folded his hands together.
“He did,” he said quietly. “Though at the time he did not fully understand it.”
Tala looked curious. “What did he see?”
Her father shook his head slightly. “That was his vision to carry, not mine to share.”
Tala nodded slowly.
Takoda had left the reservation several years earlier. His path had taken him beyond the canyon, beyond the reservation, and eventually to the stars.
She had always known her brother’s path was different.
Still, the thought of him walking this same path before her made the journey ahead feel more real.
Tala looked back at her father. “But what should I expect?” she asked.
Eshona leaned back slightly. “You will expect many things,” he said calmly. “Most of them will not happen.”
Tala frowned slightly. “That doesn’t help much.”
Her mother laughed softly. “That is exactly what Takoda said.”
Eshona’s eyes softened. “The canyon will be quiet,” he continued. “Quieter than you are used to. At first, your thoughts will fill that silence. You will think about the village, your friends, the things you are leaving behind.”
Tala listened closely.
“But eventually,” he said, “those thoughts will fade.”
“And then?” Tala asked.
“Then you will begin to hear what was always there.”
“To what?”
“To the land. To the wind. To yourself.”
Marika stepped closer, placing a small plate of food in front of Tala. The warmth of it rose gently into the air.
“The spirits do not always speak loudly,” she added. “Sometimes they whisper.”
Tala looked down at the plate before taking a small bite.
“What if nothing happens?” she asked.
Marika sat beside her. “Something always happens,” she said. “But it may not be what you expect.”
Eshona nodded. “The vision quest is not about forcing a vision,” he said. “It is about allowing one to appear.”
Tala absorbed their words quietly.
Her father continued. “You may feel fear when the night comes. The canyon becomes very dark after the sun sets.”
“I am not afraid of the dark,” Tala said quickly.
Eshona raised an eyebrow. “You will be.”
Marika placed a hand on Tala’s shoulder. “That is normal,” she said gently. “Fear is part of the journey.”
Tala finished the last bite of her food and leaned back slightly. “I think I am more excited than afraid,” she admitted.
Her father gave a faint smile. “That will change.”
Tala rolled her eyes. “You two are not very encouraging.”
Marika laughed softly. “Oh, we are,” she said. “We simply want you to understand that this journey belongs to you.”
Eshona stood and walked toward the doorway, looking out into the deepening night.
“You will walk into the canyon at sunrise,” he said. “From that moment on, the path is yours alone.”
Tala followed his gaze.
The canyon lay beyond the village, silent beneath the growing darkness.
Tomorrow she will walk there alone. The weight of that settled more clearly now.
Marika began preparing a small bundle for her, placing water and a blanket.
Nearby, the wall display dimmed automatically as night fully set in.
“Get some rest tonight,” she said.
Tala nodded. “Yes, Mother.”
Later that evening, after the lighting had softened and the house had grown quiet, Tala lay on her bed staring at the ceiling.
After a moment, she reached beside her and picked up a thin datapad.
The screen flickered softly to life.
Messages from beyond the Wakasa lands filled the display. Updates from distant cities. Signals from orbit. Fragments of a much larger world that stretched far beyond the canyon.
For a few moments, she scrolled.
Then she stopped.
Tomorrow, none of it would matter.
No signals. No systems. No connection to anything beyond the land itself.
Tala powered the datapad down.
The room dimmed with it.
Her mind replayed the words of the elders.
Three days and nights. No food. Only silence.
Tala closed her eyes and tried to imagine what the canyon would feel like when she stepped into it alone.
Eventually she fell into a deep slumber.
Into the Canyon
The first light of morning crept slowly over the sandstone cliffs surrounding Wakasa.
A faint silver glow touched the tops of the canyon walls before the sun itself rose high enough to warm the village. Long shadows stretched across the dusty ground, and the air still carried the cool breath of the night.
One by one, doors opened.
Families stepped quietly into the morning.
The seventeen chosen teens gathered near the edge of the village, where the land began to slope downward toward the wide canyon beyond. No one spoke loudly. Even the younger children who had come to watch seemed to sense the importance of the moment.
Tala stood among the others.
Her small pack rested across her shoulders. Inside were only the few things the elders had permitted: water and a small blanket.
Nothing more.
A vision quest was not meant to be comfortable.
It was meant to test the spirit.
Tala glanced toward the gathered families.
Her mother, Marika, stood near the front, hands clasped together as if holding a prayer between them. When Tala’s eyes met hers, Marika smiled gently, though Tala could see the worry behind it.
Chief Eshona stood beside her.
As leader of the Wakasa, he wore the calm presence expected of him. Yet Tala knew her father well enough to recognize the pride in his eyes. He gave her a slow nod.
It was not a command. It was trust.
Nearby, several elders had formed a small circle around a low fire that burned with pale smoke. One of them scattered herbs into the flames, and the scent drifted across the gathering.
Chief Eshona stepped forward.
The quiet crowd shifted slightly as he faced the seventeen teens.
“You were chosen because the elders believe your spirits are strong,” he said, his deep voice carrying across the open ground. “But strength is not what the canyon will test.”
He looked toward the towering cliffs in the distance.
“The canyon will test patience. It will test humility. And it will test whether you can be still.”
Several of the teens shifted nervously.
Tala felt her heartbeat quicken, but she remained steady.
Chief Eshona continued. “For three days and three nights you will remain in the canyon alone. You will feel the wind. You will hear the earth. And if the spirits wish to speak, you must be ready to receive them.”
He paused.
“Return in three days and nights. When the fourth sunrise touches the cliffs, you shall return.”
The elder beside him raised a small wooden staff. “This journey is yours alone,” the elder said quietly. “From this point forward, each of you walks your own path.”
Chief Eshona faced the teens. “If you are injured or face true danger, return. The spirits ask for honesty, not sacrifice. But do not leave simply because the path becomes difficult.”
One by one, the teens stepped forward.
A narrow trail led down toward the canyon floor, but beyond that the land opened into dozens of winding paths through rock formations, dry washes, and hidden ledges.
Each participant had already been assigned a direction and destination.
No two would remain together.
The elders believed solitude allowed the spirits to speak clearly.
The first teen began walking.
Soon another followed.
Then another.
No cheering came from the crowd. No loud farewells.
Only quiet respect.
Tala watched as the line slowly thinned.
Some of the teens walked confidently.
Others hesitated before stepping forward, glancing back at their families one last time.
When Tala’s turn came, she stepped past the elders.
Chief Eshona stood directly beside the path.
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
“My daughter,” he said softly, meant only for her. “Be still.”
She nodded.
Then she stepped onto the trail.
The ground sloped downward through scattered juniper and desert grass. Small stones shifted beneath her boots as she descended.
By the time she reached the canyon floor, the voices were gone completely.
Tala stopped for a moment and looked around.
The canyon stretched endlessly in many directions.
Towering red walls rose high above her, carved by centuries of water and wind. Narrow passages twisted between stone pillars, and dry creek beds wound through the landscape like forgotten roads.
Somewhere among these cliffs, the other sixteen teens were already out of view.
She turned toward the direction the elders had given her.
A narrow trail wound deeper into the canyon, weaving between towering walls of red sandstone that seemed to rise higher with every step. The sounds of the gathering behind her faded quickly until only the wind remained.
She walked alone.
The path twisted through scattered boulders and dry washes carved by seasonal rains. Small desert plants clung stubbornly to cracks in the stone, their roots reaching deep beneath the surface in search of water. Occasionally she passed animal tracks pressed into the dust, reminders that life existed here even when it could not be seen.
For a time, the walls closed in around her, turning the passage into a corridor of stone where sunlight touched only the highest ledges. Her footsteps echoed softly beneath the cliffs.
She paused once and glanced back.
The village was gone.
Hidden now beyond the twists and turns of the canyon.
For the first time since leaving, she felt truly separated from home.
She continued forward.
The narrow passage eventually opened between two towering rock formations. Beyond it, the canyon widened into a broad basin scattered with boulders, low desert brush, and a lone cactus standing near the center of the open ground.
That was her area.
For the next three days, this place would be her world.
She walked forward slowly.
Somewhere overhead, a raven cawed, the sound echoing between the canyon walls before fading into silence.
The air felt different here.
It was quieter, with a sense of age that settled into the stone.
She moved deeper into the basin until the entrance passage disappeared behind her. She found a small flat area near a cluster of large rocks and set her pack down.
This would be her place to meditate and sleep.
For a moment she stood still, looking out across the empty canyon.
Three days and nights. In complete solitude.
Her father’s words returned to her. Be still.
There is More to Read with the CAU
The Crimson Alliance Universe is constantly expanding with new characters, worlds, and stories. Explore more and continue your journey.