~~[1,490 Words]~~
Yuren clung to the vine, every muscle burning—and it let out a loud groan every time he shifted his weight. Heat built up in his palms, his grip tight as he hauled himself upwards, hand over hand.
He was still ten meters from the top when he suddenly let go, swinging off.
Just like that. Like it was no big deal. His landing—nothing short of perfect. Not a single shaky step, not even a hint of hesitation. In less than fifteen minutes, Yuren had dropped all the way down the ravine. Not a scratch.
Honestly, it was absurd.
Wherever he walked, the grass flattened under his feet. Quiet, somehow respectful, the plants leaned aside as if a king were passing through.
He blew out a breath. "Hoo! Fifteen minutes of pure misery, but hey, finally made it. No detours."
"Next."
He didn't stop to rest; he just broke into a run.
The grass was thick and sharp, stabbing at his feet, slipping between his sandals like a comb through snarled hair. Skinny weeds twined around his ankles, sticky and stubborn, wrapping themselves tight and slowing him down.
"What are these things?" he grumbled.
He tore through anyway, as if they'd done something personal to him. Jaw clenched, teeth grinding—he moved as if his life actually depended on it.
Snap.
He broke free.
Up ahead, the fat line of a thicket waited—fifty meters out. Less than a minute if he pushed. He could totally make it.
And he did, skidding to a stop in front of a tree so huge he'd need thirteen people—with their arms stretched out—to circle the trunk. The bark was thick, gnarled, and rough with scars. This tree wasn't just old—it was ancient.
Centuries. Maybe even thousands of years.
He craned his neck back, shading his eyes. Adam's apple bobbing as he searched the green ceiling.
"Whoa." The word hung in the air. "That's insane. Never seen one like this. Taller than the towers back in Maridaenia. Can't even see the bandana up there—or the nest." He lowered his hand, still staring up. "Amaya, check the bandana, will you?"
"Tweet—tweet—tweet."
Amaya took off.
Right away, he could tell something was off. Instead of heading for the top, she drifted lazily to a vine, swinging back and forth without a care, trilling some happy little song.
"Grrrh," his lip curled. "You lazy little shit."
"Fine. I'll do it myself."
He tried scrambling up. Fingers searching for grooves in the bark, feet looking for cracks, but the branches were just too far apart. He dug in, pulled—
And slipped right off. Flat onto his back.
"Ow." Reaching back, he scratched at his spine, scowling.
Then—thwack.
Something dropped straight onto his head. Sticky, reeking, smearing everywhere when he tried to wipe it off. He didn't even bother.
He heard a sound. Something weird.
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Looked up—Amaya was still sitting pretty, not helping, totally unfazed.
"Are you laughing at me?"
Her chirps got louder.
He fussed with his hair, dropped his head, and took a long, steady breath.
"Stop it." His voice was sharp.
The other birds freaked and scattered. Not Amaya. She was unbothered, queen of her vine.
He rolled his sore shoulders and tried again. Slower this time. Careful, feeling for every ridge of bark, jamming his fingers deep to keep himself steady. Nearing the first branch, twelve meters up. Just five more—
Crack.
The bark split off, and he lost his grip.
Seven meters down.
Thud.
Back to earth, landing hard. The grass helped, but it still knocked the wind out of him, pain spiking right up his back. He curled up, breath stuck in his chest.
Amaya finally looked concerned, fluttering over in a panic.
He tried to stand and failed. So he propped himself up, breathing through the pain, staring at the huge tree.
One deep inhale.
Then he started punching.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
The seventh punch—he threw in everything he had.
The tree shook all the way up.
He looked up, gasping for air—and then everything caught up with him.
"OW—OW—OW! Son of a—!"
He waggled his hand, shaking out the bruises, hoping the pain would just vanish. Spoiler: it didn't. Who the hell punches a tree that's as tough as stone and expects to walk away fine?
Still, just a kid at heart. Like, come on, he should know better by now.
He dropped back to the ground and just sat there, knuckles throbbing, the pain settling into a dull ache.
He pressed his palms to the grass. A thousand tiny blades poked at him—sharp, almost ticklish. It actually helped. Somehow, lying there, he felt lighter than he had in ages.
He stared up at the impossible height of the tree.
Sunlight filtered down in broken stripes, patches of warmth splashing across his face.
He lifted his right hand, letting the light play across his fingers—little golden bits flickering like the air was glittering.
Then, his arm flopped back down.
Heavy—like it didn't even belong to him.
His eyes drifted shut.
*******
Mmmph—rumph.
Some weird noise.
Yuren's eyes snapped open.
Three seconds and he was on his feet, spinning left at the sound—crying?
"What was that?"
"Amaya, you hear it too? Something's crying!"
Amaya hovered above him, trilling high and sharp.
He took off again, darting through the biting grass, feet bare, sandals forgotten. Fixed on the noise, no hesitation, every muscle pushing forward—he didn't even think about stopping.
Amaya flitted after him—she wasn't about to miss anything.
With every stride, the sound got louder, more urgent. Heavy in his chest, almost magnetic.
Until—
Woooosh!
Two creatures crashed out of the brush, nearly on top of him. On his right—a wild beast, fur a blaze of mixed color, eyes swirling pools of light, with two tails that flicked like live wires. On his left—a ball of fur a little bigger than his own head, fluffy all over, tail rounded like a baby chick's, four pairs of ears, a weird mix of rabbit and something impossible.
Yuren's eyes went wide.
His heart slammed hard enough to hurt. These things had come out of nowhere—no warning, just there.
He hit the ground.
Elbows dug into the mud—cold and wet, but nothing compared to the icy spike of fear. The savage beast's mouth was packed with teeth—so many teeth—and they'd sunk clean into its prey. The thing dwarfed him, at least double, probably triple, his weight. Pure apex predator.
Its eyes cut to him.
Locked.
He scrambled back, slipping through mud and dead leaves, then bolted. Even as he put distance between them, the cry was still ringing in his ears. He kept tripping, legs tangled in roots.
"That was way too close," he gasped, chest heaving. "For a second there, I thought I was the next meal. That thing came out of nowhere—"
His voice shook, but he forced it to be steady.
"Amaya, stay tight. Right beside me. Don't go flying off. I'm not letting anything touch you."
She chirped, softer this time. Just a gentle little note.
"Amaya. Here."
He cut left and ducked behind a huge-leafed plant.
Of course, she darted ahead anyway.
He caught up a minute later.
Amaya was already hovering in a circle, chirping like mad.
Down in a tangled mass of roots—thicker than Yuren's arms—the crying was louder. Something huge was wedged in there, nearly as large as the Wargroat they'd run into earlier. Caked in mud, alone, crying—but look closely: something peculiar on its face. A snout, long and strange, like an elephant's but far more so. He'd never seen anything like it.
Predators were working at the cage, ripping roots away—four of them, massive, heavy, hungry, and unstoppable. Their growls were so deep it felt like the earth itself was shaking. Markings wild, their eyes practically glowing—five colors swirling together in every gaze. Behind each predator, two thick tails lashed, restless, never still.
Yuren acted without thinking. Already moving, sprinting in with something clenched in each hand.
He leapt. Landed hard, slid in the mud next to Amaya and the trapped animal. He swept his wooden sticks wide, swinging at the predators, driving them back from the roots.
Then he stabbed one of the sticks deep into the mud.
The predators retreated—but not far. Still circling, still hungry, keeping their eyes on everything.
He grabbed the sticks back up, one holding some cottony fluff, and slammed them together. Fast, rough, desperate for a spark. Sparks, friction, no stopping, not even thinking about the danger.
Worked his arms until they burned—faster, faster, no slowing down.
Time was running out. Any second, the predators would rush him. He'd be the first they hit.
Rub. Rub. Rub. Rub. Rub. Rub. Rub. Then—
Fwoomph.