ã€ŠLann Vandã€‹


 Narrowing roads

    ¡°We have no records of everything that came before. The Ones Above All are sure to be privy to the secrets of the universe, but all we are allowed to know is that the First Ages were not kind to anyone. Smoke and brimstone filled the void between worlds, seas larger than entire galaxies switched between scorching hot and freezing cold without apparent rhyme or reason, and godlike beings freely roamed the earth we are bound to.

    Some were great, some were terrible.¡°

    -Grand Archivist Venarion Soratis, vagrant rider of the First Flight.

    Foaming waves kept kissing the sturdy hull of the Maiden of Steel, a military-grade vessel built by the realm¡¯s best engineers to sustain long travel voyages, employed to transport only the most precious of cargos, by kings, queens, pirate lords, and shadow eminences.

    The ram adorning the keel kept cutting the sea with deadly efficiency, reinforcing a solid oaken frame that silently glided under the sun''s harsh rays, matched only by the metallic sheen in the ship¡¯s figurehead eyes, a stern woman holding a spear pointed towards the sky, beautiful in its austere grace.

    The crew above buzzed around in the thousand ways only bored mariners could, the repetitiveness of a routine refined over years of travel, expressed with the mindless precision of a well-oiled machine.

    And while everyone aboard was more than experienced in handling gems, jewels, weapons, spices, forbidden knowledge, and whatnot, the current shipment of goods stood out from the rest in multiple ways.

    For one, by being alive and currently sparring with the first mate, and for a second by being maybe more bored than the barrelmen looking out of the crow''s nest, to watch for a land that would not be seen for days yet.

    The few unoccupied sailors stood in a circle around the two fighters, hollering at the spectacle and betting on the winner of the bout. At the same time, two tall men silently towered over the rest on the quarterdeck, watching the match with keen eyes.

    ¡°Fuck me sideways, Aron, you gave me a few hot packages over the years we have known each other, but this one is a little monster¡±, said the man on the left, the sunburnt skin of his face splitting in a twitching smirk ¡° What the fuck did you do up in that godforsaken mountain to make him turn out like this?¡±

    ¡°What we had to, captain, simply what we had to¡± answered Warmaster Aron, high chaplain of the Amaranth Effigy, his glare never leaving the two fighters circling each other ¡°Truth be told, our usual curriculum proved insufficient for the boy, as he took to it like a fish to water. I had to personally supervise the majority of his training during the later years, and now he stands before you as a diamond cut out from the blackest coal¡±.

    The captain grunted in affirmation, noticing the subtle smile on the face of the always impassive older man. He never knew what made his dubious acquaintance tick, but watching his little experiment mow through the ranks of his men surely put him in a good mood.

    And even though the nature of their trade was not to be discussed, many years of fruitful collaboration had painted a clear picture in the shrewd skipper''s mind.

    The order dealt in lives, the ones of their charges, and the ones of the powerful, training and trading children molded to fit the role of a guardian, while being slaves in all but the name.

    ¡°It truly is strange to think that somebody so talented will have to babysit some rich bastard¡¯s bastards,¡±  he mused thoughtfully. ¡°Even though, perhaps this time, our client will be a bit higher on the ladder of the powers that be¡±.

    A meaty thud echoed over the sounds of the ship, bringing the captain''s attention back to the fight, his eyes pausing for a second on the form of the bigger combatant, now lying with his back on the Maiden¡¯s floorboard deck, a sheepish grin spreading on his face.

    ¡°Goddam kiddo this beating was even worse than the last, how do you hit so hard with those little twigs of yours?¡± said the first mate, chuckling out an embarrassed laugh.

    The officer took his opponent¡¯s offered hand, pulled himself up with a resonant crackle from the abused wooden floor, and laid an expectant look on the youngster standing in front of him.

    A nondescript figure met back his gaze, two piercing blue eyes almost out of place on a face yet to shed all its youthfulness, crowned by short golden hairs not going past the boy¡¯s broad shoulders, framing a nimble yet muscular body that betrayed gruesome hours of training.

    ¡°With ease,¡± Omri dispassionately thought while releasing his grip on the big man''s forearm. ¡° My teachers were very thorough in my education, and ¡®hit where it hurts most¡¯ is the first thing we had to properly learn, especially against a bigger opponent¡±.

    The recently defeated fighter stared back at him with a puzzled face. A small sigh escaped the youth''s lips, and as he began to try and explain what he meant, the Warmaster''s cold voice cut through the vessel''s noises like a well-oiled blade.

    ¡°You can train your muscles, you can train yourself to resist pain, and you can also train your bones to some extent, but you cannot do the same with your tendons, joints, and organs. It would be impossible for Omri to overcome you in a contest of strength, so all he needs to do is sap away at your weaknesses and take out your options before you can fold him like an actual twig¡±.

    A wry chuckle left the first mate, as he shifted to acknowledge the Warmaster''s imposing figure. The old monk looked much younger than his age, scarred hands crossed over a broad chest, the cloak on his shoulder trying and failing to hide the silhouette molded by uncountable battles, only the graying hairs betraying his years.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m more of a bash-your-head-in kinda guy, but I¡¯ll keep your words in mind, and if ever find myself against some bastard meaner than me I¡¯ll be sure to thank ye for the lessons".

    A soft, exasperated sigh escaped from Aron''s mouth ¡°Well, that¡¯s as much as I can help. I guess there is a reason they still need us¡±.

    The truth of the matter was that while fighting and wars were common everywhere in the world, an understanding of the art of combat came to be only from particular institutions.

    Dismissing the officer with a nod, he turned his attention toward the pupil, who was now standing at rest, looking at him and waiting for a command.

    A quick hand gesture sent the boy in motion, his slender form silently weaving his way towards the imposing figure, while the small crowd that had surrounded the fighters started to return to their tasks, with some still focused on Aron and oblivious to the silent communication between master and pupil.

    Omri reached his liege side glancing upon his face, waiting for the elder verdict ¡°he does not seem, happy¡­but he does not look too disappointed either¡±.

    The stony glowering in his eyes was neither warm nor cold, just a placid lake that left one to wonder at its depths. After another interminable second, a single word quietly filled the air.

    ¡°Decent¡±.

    ¡°Thank you sir¡± he muttered, ¡°and that¡¯s a top score from the old man,¡± he thought, quickly managing to smother the smile that was appearing on his face.

    He gruffily grunted once before turning his back, peering at the sea.

    ¡°You got a couple of hours before sunset, attend to your duties. Dismissed¡±.

    ¡°At once, sir¡±.

    Omri clacked his left heel in a small bow and made his way below deck, nodding at the shipmates he met on the way. The bowels of the Maiden were still a novelty to him, but for all its complexity, it paled in size when compared to the winding, twisting corridors of the monastery.

    In a couple of minutes, Omri got to his master¡¯s cabin, the dimly lit room showcasing little less than a bed, a chest, and a wardrobe, a luxury compared to the mariners'' living quarters.

    At the bed''s feet lay a sleeping bag with a few books scattered around it, representing half of the kid¡¯s possessions, the other half being the sword at his waist and the clothes that he was wearing.

    After tidying up his sleeping space and the studying supplies, he approached the armor stand holding the elder¡¯s equipment and began removing every piece, checking and oiling the leather straps before moving onto the reinforced joints.

    The boy''s efficient, almost mechanical movements, betrayed many hours spent on the task. As he shined the entire thing his mind started to wonder, at first about the recent match with the first officer, as he was told, the best moment to analyze a fight is after it, if you still can, but something was creeping in the back of his mind, preventing him from achieving the usual focus.

    ¡°Is it truly fair?"  wondered Omri, as he sat down on the hard floorboards, the thought slithering like a snake in every recess of his mind, in a chorus with his master visage speaking his ¡°wisdom¡± ¡°Life is often unfair, Boy, be grateful for what you have.¡±

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    And for many years, that has been enough. Omri grew up knowing that the only thing he had was himself, and maybe his mentor, for he had never been truly free in his life.

    Born a noble¡¯s bastard son, abandoned in a ¡°sacred¡±  order, anointed to battle and of battle, rising above his peers only to be recruited by the Warmaster himself, he never had a real choice.

    But still, it was enough for him.

    All the training, the education, the etiquette lessons, the boring mathematics, and even the poison trials were not enough to break him.

    The loss of his innocence in the arena of the Ordalia, the lashes endured without making a sound.

    The blood, the sweat.

    The tears.

    All for the promised light at the end of the tunnel, a position above his station, a seat at the table, or at least, the ability to stand guard before the room in which the table hosted the council.

    He was special, everyone said.

    The Warmaster favorite, the Warmaster pet, the Warmaster project.

    ¡°Why me? Why did they sell ME !?¡±

    The thoughts pressed harder, his memory seared with the temple grounds dueling arena, the insane regiment imposed by the order almost a bittersweet memory now that he was finally headed towards his ¡°destiny¡±.

    Omri saw betrayal and deceit, injustice and unfairness.

    ¡°Why didn''t Master Aron do anything about it? Doesn''t he want me to be his successor?¡±  Those two single questions kept crashing in his mind, like the Timekeeper swinging his mace to the Sunday bell, and without even realizing it, a knot-like lump formed in his throat, his vision fogged and then he could hold himself back no longer.

    Hot tears began to streak his face, as he kept cleaning and stashing the armaments laid in front of him.

    A tear fell on a particularly serrated sword breaker and was quickly cleaned away, the oilcloth wiping the watermarks in a single swipe. He sheathed the blade and tried to do the same with his face to no avail, as his eyes would just not stop.

    Grimacing through the tangle of emotion, Omri thought of Aron discovering him in this state, and, wrecked by the sudden rush of¡­things he never before felt, he tried to regain a semblance of composure.

    For all the years he spent being trained to be a perfect artifact of war and violence, he was also a boy who had his already messed up life snatched by a single sentence from people he could never hope to reach, and his breaking point was finally reached.

    Omri took more than a moment to calm down, his rough breaths steadily slowing down as he kept working through the pain, and in the end, he managed to bring himself back together, for he had no choice.

    In a week or so he would disembark, and his new life would begin with a new unknown master and a new set of trials to shatter.

    And while those thoughts did not put him at ease, the long-lost curiosity of childhood awoke something for the youth and even helped settle him a little, as a new slew of doubts reached the forefront of his mind.

    "Who knows who my new owner will be? A righteous man? A spoiled little child? A harsh taskmaster ?¡± He could not know, only time would answer him, and fortunately or maybe unfortunately, his answer was coming closer by the day.

    Still lost in thought Omri''s hand reached the final piece of the Warmaster cuirass, and once he finished the master''s equipment he moved on to his sword, a straight blade with two edges that started with a no-frills handle composed of a simple T-guard, the one-and-a-half hand grip covered with a thin layer of leather to make it easier to grip leading to a larger than average sturdy forte that tapered in a razor-sharp, utilitarian foible.

    Once every sword, knife, and dagger was well oiled and sheathed, Omri moved onto his personal workout routine, followed by two sets of stretches, and once every chore was over, his gaze met with the languid last lights of the setting sun coming through the round window of the cabin.

    It had been a long day and sleep was beginning to set in. Having stowed his belongings, the kid lay down in his bed, intent on getting some rest.

    As he covered himself with the rough blanket, his mind tried once again to bring him back to the dark place he wandered into before, but for once his bone-deep fatigue was a relief, and the boy, aching all over, was finally greeted by the sweet touch of a dreamless night.

    It was the sailor''s screams that woke him up.

    In the weeks of travel, Omri had grown accustomed to the noises of the ship, but something was different this time.

    Something was wrong.

    The noises were more agitated, more frantic, and an undercover of terror laced every strangled word shouted by the mariners.

    A glance to his right was enough to remove the remaining doubts from the youth¡¯s mind. His master was not in his bed.

    Fully awakened as a spike of adrenaline shot through his mind, Omri got up from his bunk, his legs still uneasy from the bundled-up sleeping position.

    Wobbling a bit, he reached for his weapons, strapped them to the belt tied to his waist, and quickly made his way through the cabin doors.

    The vessel¡¯s interior was eerily quiet, with only the thumping of many feet quickly scurrying on wood as the melody that accompanied his rise to the top decks.

    As he got closer to the Maiden''s upper layers, the noise got higher, and the boy''s worry grew with each new sound reaching him.

    Reaching the main deck, Omri began to look around, confusion etched on his face.

    It was a moonless night, the sky and the sea were only distinguishable from each other due to the countless stars dotting the horizon. The cloudless firmament shone small lights on the inert sails, dimly illuminating the pandemonium happening on the main decks.

    Seeing all the crewmembers buzzing around carrying ropes, hammers and nails confused him. ¡°Was a storm coming to the ship?¡°

    There was not a burr of wind, and from what he could tell, the vessel was still in the sea like a rock at the bottom of a lake.

    This particular thought was nipped in the bud by the captain''s ringing voice that for a moment overpowered the noise of the busy crew.

    ¡°Secure everything not nailed to the deck, rope everything you can to something solid, and be prepared for the worst men!!!¡±

    Instinctively, Omri''s head moved in the direction the voice came from, and he saw the captain along with the first mate, both of whom had their hands on the rudder with terrified expressions on their faces, a mixture of complex emotions riveted in the lines of their eyes.

    It took him a second to locate his liege, perhaps the only person standing still in the commotion happening around them.

    The man was a towering figure looking out at the sea from the starboard side, both hands on the rail and his head tilted as if he did not understand what his eyes told him.

    Omri followed his mentor''s gaze, a startled expression on his face as the oily darkness of the sea seemed to devour the light of the sky above, but as his vision adjusted to the darkness, shyly lit by the lanterns on deck, a feeling of sheer terror came over him.

    Either the horizon was rising or they were descending.

    As the seawater churned in circles around them, understanding finally reached him: a whirlpool. They were trapped. The seemingly massive caravel was caught in the currents like a toy boat in a quickly emptying bathtub, and there was nothing they could do.

    Omri froze in front of the rage of the sea, and as the ship kept turning faster and faster, creaking noises started to come from the tortured wood of the Maiden.

    The kid''s thoughts went to the first few days of their trip when a storm had caught up with them, and the boisterous laughs of the captain assured him of their resilience.

    ¡°We are unsinkable lad, my beautiful lady is a steel jewel in a sea of flimsy garbage.¡±

    The words of the sun-bleached captain seemed a bit too hopeful, now that he was looking at him, shouting orders at the top of his lungs, a mixture of fear and awe warping his face in front of the element¡¯s fury.

    Shaking himself out of his stupor, the youngster finally started to move, each step made unsteady by the rocking of the Maiden, each second bringing the vessel down and up, the steep leaning to the right getting more pronounced, to the point that Omri found himself having to compensate to stay balanced.

    Reaching his master''s side seemed to be an ordeal, every step so seemingly slow that when he got to the imposing figure, he was almost sure the deck would simply collapse under his feet.

    But looking at the stoic man, methodically ripping off armor piece after armor piece from his body, tearing leather straps instead of bothering with the latches, Omri managed to almost calm down, a single line of thought cutting through everything else.

    ¡°Master, what¡­ What are we supposed to do?¡±

    The older warrior stared back at him with a weird glint in his eyes, and after an interminable second, gruffly answered, ¡°Take off your boots and shirt Boy, and strap your weapons better, your belt is sloppy¡±.

    Omri seemed dazed by that seemingly random order, and the Warmaster''s left brow started to rise in a questioning manner.

    Shaking himself from his stupor, he complied, and once done with the task, he focused on his mentor figure, now wearing little more than a loincloth, exposing the body of the old fighter.

    A mishmash of scars covered the entire left side of the man''s torso, with smaller nicks, pricks, and cuts all over his legs and arms.

    The youth felt weak facing the veritable wall of muscle and healed tissue that was his master, and just as he was about to speak out again, to ask what would they do, how would they live, Aron spoke again, in an almost gentle voice.

    ¡°You know, I think I would have not disliked fighting alongside you¡±.

    The boy''s eyes looked up, and he found himself staring at a sight more surprising than the whirlpool of death that was about to devour them all.

    His master was smiling, a sad, quiet thing accompanied by the faintest twinkle in his glare.

    ¡°What?¡± the kid said.

    ¡°And remember to break water with your feet or hands when you land¡±.

    ¡°What?¡± he repeated, just to find himself wrapped in the trunk-like arms of the warrior, who then hoisted him over his head.

    From this unusual vantage position, Omri''s attention was brought back the the maelstrom of events happening around them, from the mariners scurrying around, to the various vessel¡¯s implements breaking down and falling in the sea, to the captain of the Maiden, now standing still near the figurehead, no longer shouting nor trying to steer the ship.

    He looked down, and as the Warmaster adjusted his grip on him, he once again tried to say, ¡°Master, what are you doiiiiiiiing?!!¡°

    Just as he started to speak, the older man cocked his arms and with a loud grunt of effort threw him overboard toward the short side of the whirlpool.

    The massive strength of the throw left the boy without breath, and, as he was sailing in the air, the harsh gale of the sea at night cutting his face, he nonetheless managed to put both arms in front of him.

    The impact with the water felt like when he fell from the tall tree in the training courtyard when he was little, and once again in a matter of seconds he found the wind knocked out of his lungs, his vision threatening to fade, only the freezing cold embrace of the ocean to keep him awake.

    The youngster emerged from the shallow depths disoriented and confused after the throw, and quickly clearing his eyes from the saltwater, he saw the masts of the Steel Maiden a fair distance away.

    Still incredulous from what just happened, Omri felt the current tug at him towards the death spiral, and all feelings of confusion and doubt fled him, his training taking over in an instant.

    He turned his back to the sinking boat, dived underneath the surface, and started to cut through the treacherous waters like a torpedo, his whole body undulating against the whirlpool residual currents, surfacing only whenever the burn in his lungs got too strong to resist.

    Omri kept swimming without looking back for what felt like an eternity until the vortex call could no longer be felt in his strides.

    Finally feeling safe enough to break water completely, the boy almost got scared by a rhythmic rapping sound that kept following him, only to realize a few moments later that it came from his chattering teeth.

    Taking stock of the situation was a sobering moment for the young man, and the feelings of existential dread that he felt during his time in the cabin came stronger than ever, this time knowing that his future would most likely be an unjust death in the sea with no one to know his name or story.

    He almost gave up, here and there.

    But he didn¡¯t endure everything the order threw at him and more just to give up, he didn¡¯t fight the entirety of his short life just not to fight the day of his death.

    And so, fight he would.

    Gathering his remaining strength, Omri began swimming in the same direction as before, this time with slow, purposeful strokes, trying to manage his stamina the best he could, making each swing of his arms count.

    With every stroke, the cold bit deeper, and the hotter his chest and head felt.

    After what felt like hours amid this delirious swim, the boy''s mind started wavering, but he refused to stop, he refused to die.

    Somewhere, somewhen during his maddening marathon, Omri felt a tug at the center of his being. A pull towards his soul, almost a voice that kept saying ¡°You are almost there, you are almost done¡±.

    And it was the last thing he felt before darkness claimed him, as the cold embrace of the sea wrapped his arms around his shaking body.

 The three golden rules

    ¡°Aye I¡¯ll fekin tell ya, it all went to shit when that metal tub shipwreck started showing on the arbor. Suddenly there are fakers bigger than ma grandpa boat eating folks and shitting bones left and right, or at least that¡¯s what they tell ya. I ain¡¯t seein anything of the sort lads, or else I would not be there, but the tuna we got yesterday had three rows of teeth, so who the fuck knows.¡±

    Interview with Captain Old Nail McGillis, of the Wet Dreamer.

    The first thing Omri felt was sand, raw in his mouth. Gritty, coarse sand tasting of salt and rotten fishiness. He coughed, his throat raw as fire, and rolled onto his side. Sunlight stabbed at his eyes, blinding, relentless, and he threw an arm over his face, waiting for the world to stop spinning, his head to stop hurting.

    He spent a few interminable seconds just basking in all his pains, a single thought cutting through the haze of his mind.

    ¡°I¡¯m alive¡±.

    A primal sound, a mixture of a choked laugh and a strangled cry left his lips, alongside a mouthful of the sand that was still coating his face, and, taking a couple of minutes to let his eyes adjust, he moved the arm away from his face, his gaze wandering alongside the alien landscape.

    He saw a crescent white beach curving away in both directions, flanked by jagged black rocks that clawed at the deep blue sea. Beyond the shoreline, a lush stretch of jungle rose like a fortress, its canopy a wall of emerald, browns, blues, and yellows, the cawing of birds an omnipresent song in his ears.

    His body screamed as he sat up. Every muscle felt flayed, the skin on his back burned from both sun and salt.

    His¡­minimalist attire, courtesy of his master''s last orders, consisted of a single pair of training pants, and the comfortable weight of his sword and knife still hung at his waist, the shining metal implements miraculously surviving the trip while still attached to him.

    He unsheathed both, relieved to find the blades unrusted, his mind thinking of the man who raised him just to sell him and then save him, all in a trip that should have decided his destiny. And it certainly did, at least for the foreseeable future.

    Shelving off the bittersweet memories for a time in which they could matter, the youngster took better stock of his surroundings, and this time, with an actual groan of pain, he got up from his seated position.

    The tide had spit him onto the island¡¯s western edge. To the north, he spotted a few land masses dotting the horizon, green stains on a deep blue canvas, some smaller, some bigger.

    ¡±An Archipelago,¡±  the boy thought, ¡° No smoke, no reflections from steel or glass, probably untamed land¡±  his gaze fell to his vicinity, on the beach and the not-so-far shore sprawled in front of him ¡°No wreckage, no bodies¡­ nothing to salvage for me¡±  a sigh escaped his lips, ¡°Just ocean in the front and forest in the back¡±.

    Omri looked up at the sky, a bit lost in his musings. No particular recognizable landscapes, nothing to distinguish between each island, and nothing that would let him know how far from any human outpost he was.

    He still tried to dig into his memories a bit more, but as far as he was able to tell, this cluster of islands had not been mentioned in any of his lessons before, and, without an actual vantage point, he could not know if he saw any map in which they were displayed.

    His current location notwithstanding, he however had other problems, ¡°Wondering where I am will certainly not find anything to drink,¡± he dryly thought as he massaged his parched throat.

    Master Aron''s words came to his mind, clear as the lessons he imparted. He could almost hear him speak in that gruff voice of his ¡°A man dies in three days without water. By day two, you start to hallucinate, and the bile in your body turns toxic. By the third day, you may no longer be able to move to find any. Water, shelter, food, those are the things you need in the wilds.¡±

    Omri had lost track of how long he''d floated in the sea, but the sun''s position told him it was midmorning. Considering the heat, the sun, and the weather, he didn¡¯t have long until his situation turned from seriously concerning to lethal.

    He staggered towards the greenery, scanning for more practical signs of life than the omnipresent cacophony of the lush forest wildlife.

    The jungle loomed ahead, its shadows cool and inviting, but the tree line bristled with vines as thick as his wrist, fruits the colors of death and a general¡­ maliciousness.

    He drew his sturdy knife hacking a path in the undergrowth. The air thickened with the stench of rotting vegetation and something sweet, almost cloying¡­ flowers? The fruits he saw earlier?

    A couple hundred yards in, he suddenly froze. A low gurgle cut amid the buzz of insects and the calls of birds. He followed the sound, knees buckling as he pushed through a curtain of ferns.

    There, in a mossy clearing, a stream carved a silver thread across the polished rocks.

    Omri rushed to the small river, falling to his hands and knees, and he plunged his head into the current, letting the cold embrace of the creek wash away his tiredness alongside his sweat.

    He was about to greedily gulp down this new lifeline before his training took over, and cupping his hands, he carefully sipped at the azure spring.

    The water tasted of minerals and moss, but it was cold, glorious, and alive just like him.

    Clearing his thirst, Meal found himself thinking more clearly.

    He chastised himself, as driven by a desire to appease his inflamed throat, he had been careless.

    ¡°Whatever inhabits these woods is sure to make use of such streams, be they prey or predator¡±.

    He looked around, quickly analyzing the surrounding jungle, instinctively lowering his body, almost flush with the ground to limit the size of his figure.

    He stayed like this for a handful of minutes until he was sure he was alone.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    The creek, or at least the area he had chosen for watering, seemed devoid of animal passage.

    ¡°I''m lucky it seems,¡± he mused, considering the situation he was in, and then sighed, ¡±But I won''t always be. I cannot afford to make more mistakes¡±.

    With renewed determination, Omri returned to his current tasks ¡°Water is no longer a problem, now before it gets dark I need to find shelter for the night, a secure place that I can easily defend or ditch¡±.

    And right on cue, as she wanted to add herself to the conversation, his belly also made herself heard with a dull groan.

    ¡°And yes, of course, something to put under my teeth wouldn''t be bad either¡±.

    With this last thought, the boy cautiously set off again, not too close to the waterway to run into unwanted encounters, thinking about the gleaming fruits he saw dotting the trees of the forest.

    The creek¡¯s banks narrowed into a ravine upstream, the walls steep and slick with the same deeply green-colored moss. Omri climbed, fingers digging into crevices, until he found what he was looking for:  a recess in the rocks, half-hidden by a circle of ferns.

    A cave, barely tall enough to crouch in, but dry and shielded from the wind. He crawled inside, assessing the place. No animal bones, no rank odor of rotting meat or carcasses, just the faint drip of water echoing from deeper in the stone.

    It was good enough for the youth''s current needs, and so, he started to gather materials for a bed: palm fronds, some stubborn dried moss that took entirely too much time to pry from the rocks, and dry sticks to make a provisionary door for the entrance of his refuge.

    He then piled the materials near the alcove¡¯s entrance, before heading out into the wilds.

    He followed the stream back, studying the forest floor with methodical attention. The trees here were giants, their trunks studded with parasitic orchids, the sunlight coming from above almost losing itself before reaching the ground, illuminating colorful rotting fruits and some bushes of red berries.

    Omri gave a small thought about eating the fruits, before shaking his head. Poison was a quieter killer than thirst, but it was a killer nonetheless.

    A shrill chittering erupted overhead, and he looked up just as a creature leaped between branches, a furry, cat-sized thing with a banded tail.

    It paused, sniffing the air, then scurried higher, lost in the sprawling branches of the intertwining giants, completely ignoring the fallen fruits and the red berries. ¡°A tree dweller, probably harmless judging from the size¡±.

    His gaze fell on the crops.

    ¡°Definitely not eating those though¡±.

    He moved on, following the stream inland. The jungle grew denser, the light fading to a murky green. He was about to turn back when he spotted something known, something edible: a cluster of palm trees, standing in the middle of a rare clearing in the surrounding greenery.

    The coconuts making up their crown almost too heavy for the slender trunks to bear, bending their top and promising a rich bounty to any primate smart enough to reach the top of the canopy.

    ¡°Well, let¡¯s see if this particular primate is the one that will get them,¡° he thought.

    His first instinct was to rush towards the trees, but once again, his master''s words went off in his mind like an ever-watchful presence.

    ¡°The phrase animal cunning exists for a reason, my Boy. They may not be as intelligent as you or me, but remember, a hunter is a hunter, whatever its species may be.¡°

    Omri decided to take a more careful approach and started to circle the clearing, before stopping himself near a particularly gnarly tree, with a grunt of effort, he started to hoist himself towards the top, his hands and feet easily finding purchase in the many vines, branches, and knots of the woods.

    He hadn¡¯t managed to climb even half the length of the tree when he sensed them, a tugging instinct before the sound reached him.

    A low growl, more vibration than sound, hummed amid the undergrowth. Omri embraced the trunk, trying to shrink and camouflage himself as best as he could.

    Six shadows slunk into the clearing, their practiced, predatory pace almost lazy in its grace, and a shudder went through the boy¡¯s body at the strange sight in front of him as the wolf-sized creatures made themselves seen.

    Built like otters, with sleek, muscular bodies covered in oily black fur, their snouts tapered and lined with needle-like teeth as their webbed paws gave way to sharp claws digging into the soft earth. The one in the middle gave a short rasp, and they fanned out in a semicircle.

    Omri held his breath ¡°Pack hunters, seemingly intelligent or at least capable of following an internal hierarchy. Fuck¡°.

    The creatures hadn¡¯t spotted him yet, the cover of the tree enough to shield him from the sights of the predators, and as they got closer to the coconut grove, the centerpiece of the pack, a scarred male with one milky eye, sniffed the air as its ears twitched toward the hard-shelled fruits.

    ¡°They¡¯re tracking them,¡± Omri realized. ¡°Either that or the thing that ate it ¡°.

    The pack moved with eerie grace, their synchronized steps circling the clearing without making a single sound.

    One of the smaller ones, probably a juvenile, strayed too close to Omri¡¯s hiding spot, its muzzle brushing the undergrowth where he¡¯d stood minutes earlier. He tightened his grip on his knife, wondering if they could climb, hoping they would not.

    His adrenaline-filled brain started to formulate a plan of action in case of discovery.

    ¡°I¡¯d need to take down the alpha first. Their fur seems dense and thick, and if they truly are some sort of freak mustelid it will also probably be oily and sleek. I¡¯ll need to aim for their weak points. Joints, eyes, snout, ears¡­probably anus¡±.

    As the youth''s mind wandered to the best killing methods available to him, his eyes scanned the canopy around him for an escape route, in case things truly turned dire.

    The juvenile beast below sneezed, shook its head, and trotted back to the group, to the relief of its unwitting prey hidden above. The alpha yipped once, this time the sound like a whip of cracking bone, and the pack melted into the trees.

    Omri waited until the jungle fell silent again, then exhaled. His hands trembled not from fear, but from the rush of instincts he had not employed to the fullest since his Ordalia.

    ¡°This is what you were trained for,¡± he taught. ¡°The thrill. The rush. To survive, live, and then thrive no matter what or where, no matter what I¡¯m up against¡±.

    The boy understood his situation.

    He was in untamed lands, with probably not a single human in range of a hundred miles, with no way to escape his situation, surrounded by hostile creatures he had never seen before, nor heard of.

    He had no immediate supplies, his living situation was a hole in a cliff, and the only edible thing he knew for sure of was guarded by said creatures.

    He was, in a single word, fucked.

    And yet¡­ and yet the kid smiled. Compared to the shipwreck, to the certainty of death he felt when he was in the deep blue sea, this was nothing. This was manageable. This was easy.

    ¡° Well, maybe not easy, but at least I have resources, and my opponents are a quantifiable danger¡±.

    With those thoughts in mind, the boy¡¯s smile turned into a feral grin, and, much like the predators that appeared before him, he slank back into the shadows of the forest, a new hunter unleashed on the unknowing island.

 Oh ye, drink of the water

    ¡°For The Glory of the Ancients is Nigh!

    Drink brothers! Drink sisters!

    Drink of the blood of the infidels, for they come to disturb the sleep of our Lords, and in doing so, they herald the destruction of all that we hold dear!

    Repeat with me!

    Oh, Blood Lords of the Dark Monolith, pardon them for their insolence, pardon them with death.

    Like Stillwater, accept our placid offerings, and accept our presence at your feet, as the servant of your new order.

    Give unto us what you have given to your best, and let us feast on the flesh of the meeks, for they are unworthy of your greatness!

    And Strike STRIKE down the heathens, the heretics that approach your doors, looking to steal from you and your lambs.

    Defend us from the reviled, for they don¡¯t know better.¡±

    Snippet from the ¡°Words of the All-Powerful ¡± of Grand Cultist Maher Ar Stahl, leader of the Black Monolith covenant.

    A few hours had passed since his encounter with the weird predators, and Omri''s idle island-conquering dreams had to be set aside to focus on his more immediate needs, mainly, spotting something to actually eat, since his hopes of an easy and quick fruit-picking trip were dashed.

    Thinking about the few implements he would need to be fairly confident in a fight against the beast, the boy cut down a second bamboo stalk and started to sharpen its point in a rough v shape, strong enough to pierce a fish, and not brittle enough to instantly break against something meaner.

    Finding the green patch had not been very hard, but finding good stalks that could be used both to hunt and defend himself had proved more of a challenge, and as the sun kept moving in the sky, Omri¡¯s feet quickly carried him towards the next task.

    The trek back to the beach was a tense affair, his steps slow and calculated as he was taking care not to be spotted by anything bigger than the tiny monkeys that kept dancing in the tangle of branches above him, while every so often, he etched some marks in the trunks surrounding him.

    The forest fell silent multiple times, and he had quite a few chance encounters with the big-eyed primates, the curious creatures'' gaze following him on the quick climbs he used to put some space between himself and the unidentified dangers of the grove.

    As the horizon started to peek more and more between the now-scarce trees, Omri''s stomach grumbled a bit, a small reminder of his current situation, but the boy ignored it, already used to the uncomfortable feeling.

    His thoughts went back to his ¡°camping trips¡± in the Velmerswoods, each outing a new lesson on survivalism by master Belltram, the jovial man facade hiding one of the meanest streaks in the entire monastery.

    A weary sigh shook Omri¡¯s shoulders.

    ¡°Well, at least I¡¯m not tied up this time¡­ though, I¡¯ve got to give him credit, the mad bastard knew his stuff¡±.

    His first encounter with the island wildlife was not a catastrophe, mainly due to man¡¯s teaching. Even now, as he made his way towards the sandy beach, the youth¡¯s gaze was darting around, categorizing his surroundings, checking for danger and useful materials.

    He mentally noted the position of a sickly looking tree for later use, and once he reached a far enough spot on the white grainy ground, he planted one of his bamboo spears, and with the other started to scrape a wide, shallow depression in the sand.

    After breezing through the task, he backtracked to the forest edges and started to hack at the dead plant.

    The rotten trunk quickly gave way, and the boy checked the top for dry branches, cutting off some smaller pieces, and, in a couple of short trips, he stacked the wood in two piles near what was hopefully becoming his campfire.

    Taking a bit of time to find some dry leaves, which filled his makeshift hole, he scraped a handful of shavings in the middle of the campfire, and after a small grunt of appreciation, stood up to pick up his spear, glancing at the sun, still moving relentlessly in the blue expanse of the sky.

    A slick sheen of sweat covered the youngster from head to toe, and the sea appeal got stronger, both as a source of food and a cool reprieve from the afternoon¡¯s heat.

    Omri knew he was on a timeline, but felt comfortable with the hours he had left, making a quick pace to reach the shallow waters to then locate a bend in the sandy reef that would work as a good hunting spot.

    A twinge in his brow rose, as the memory of his first time fishing with a spear came.

    A small child, no older than ten, stood on the side of the Ers river, stubbornly stabbing one of its many ponds like that particular one owed him money, while dodging a slew of little stones that were thrown at him by a shabbily dressed man, boisterously laughing at his attempts.

    ¡°Panic is the enemy, Twig. You hunt as you fight! Still your heart, and do what you have to to survive. And when resources are scarce, remember that slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.¡±

    Another rock left his hands, hitting the kid on his left buttocks, and a small yelp left his lips.

    The man''s expression hardened.

    ¡°Doing the same thing twice because you fucked up is always, always slower, than taking your time and doing it right. Now, that yell scared the fish, so you¡¯ll need to stand very still until they calm down.¡±

    The rocks didn¡¯t stop coming.

    Still thoughtlessly eyeing the plump fishes lazily swimming in the coral reef, Omri''s shoulders shook, a twinge of sadness on his lips  ¡°It¡¯s a shame he ended up not boarding the Maiden¡­ hopefully he¡¯ll get a stroke when they have to return the money from my sale. A man can always dream ¡°.

    Hoisting his weapon in a practiced movement, his body positioned towards the sun so no shadow would alert the prey of his presence, he struck true, a fluid, almost bored motion.

    Looking at the fat, multicolored catch currently flopping on the tip of his glorified stick, a smile rose on the young face.

    ¡°Well, that was easy¡±. As fast as it came, the smile left ¡°Hopefully, the fire won¡¯t be too much trouble¡±.

    The fire was, in fact, quite a bit of trouble. Not too much, but enough that when the first threads of smoke rose from the stick he was spinning, and the shavings finally caught fire, relief flooded him, as he finally looked at the skies darkening overhead, their omen of danger beaten by the quickly rising flame in front of him.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    His work done, he skewered the fish on one of the smaller sticks as the bonfire¡¯s blaze spat and crackled, its light pushing back the jungle¡¯s gaze.

    Holding his prize over the live flame, he looked at the skin blistering, fat dripping into the cinders below. The smell was nothing special, the lack of spices and salt resulting in what usually would be a lackluster meal, and yet, to Omri, it was divine.

    The first prey he caught, the first step towards his goals taken.

    Of course, survival wouldn¡¯t always be so easy, but the white meat beneath his teeth went a long way to assuage his worries.

    He now knew that he could get by without too much risk, as long as he was slow and careful, and nothing too surprising happened to disrupt what was likely to be a daily routine for the foreseeable future.

    But thriving was a whole different beast. The presence of pack hunters meant danger and the fact that said pack hunters were creatures he never even knew existed made things even worse.

    If those things prowled the island, what more could hide in its depths? From what he managed to see, the landmass size was not to be underestimated, and exploring it would take many months of carefully laid steps.

    Devouring his meal, Omri threw down the remains of the fish, grabbed a stick from the smoldering fire, and covered the pit, not leaving the carcass to attract unwanted company.

    He then turned to the forest, and, makeshift torch in one hand, spear in the other, he made his way towards his new home.

    Taking the first steps in the greenery, the last lights of the sunset left behind, darkness fell like a shroud''s cold embrace, driven away only by the dancing light he held.

    Nonetheless, the boy had to be quick, his urgency rising together with the surrounding sounds, and so he was, darting from tree to tree, looking for the marks he left during the day.

    After a tense half hour, that felt more like an eternity, Omri finally got back to his hiding place, and barricaded the cave entrance with his pile of driftwood and moss, leaving only a slit to let the lights from the stars shine true.

    The jungle¡¯s chorus swelled, quickly reaching a swift crescendo of screeches and howls, a rustle of unseen things moving in the black of the night acting as an omnipresent background for the forest.

    Then, suddenly, silence.

    .

    A guttural roar split the night, loud like a thunderclap, deep and resonant, vibrating his chest as the main tower''s Big Bell did.

    It came from the depths of the island, where the vegetation thickened into primordial darkness.

    A second later, an answering snarl followed, higher-pitched but no less intimidating than the first, contesting the primal challenge.

    Terrible crashing sounds broke into the cliff walls, the groans of tortured wood suddenly splitting, evoking pure, unadulterated animal fear in the boy¡¯s bones.

    ¡°Those were definitely not the fucking otters¡±.

    The battle raged on for what felt like hours, and after a final symphony of titanic brutality, silence rushed in, heavier than before, thick with the loser¡¯s blood, only broken by the beast''s thin whimpers.

    He would remember this moment, wedged into the cave¡¯s deepest recess, trying to relax his taut muscles, for many years to come, not as one of his proudest, but as the one that truly woke him up to his new reality.

    The jungle¡¯s noises once again came online, waxing and waning, the scuttling of insects mixed with the mournful cry of a night bird, the thousands of sounds of wildlife trying to survive the night clashing with each other in a welcome cacophony of life, a stark contrast to the silence that came before.

    Omri¡¯s thoughts were a tangle, his earlier confidence shaken. Forcing himself to breathe deeply, he fell into a cycle, inhaling and exhaling slowly, forcing his beating heart to calm down.

    Adrenaline, terror, and fatigue battled inside him, but only one could come on top, and thus, the boy quickly fell into a troubled sleep.

    He woke up with the first lights of the new day, the rusty taste of fear again present in his parched throat, while the cave¡¯s chill had seeped into his bones.

    He unsteadily got up, balancing on the balls of his feet, his muscles screaming in protest as he unfurled from the balled position he adopted to preserve heat through the night.

    Outside, the jungle exhaled its morning cry, a chorus of prey and predators hiding from each other, chasing each other, a blanket of indifference covering the territorial carnage that had unfolded hours earlier between what he assumed were two of the apex predators of the island.

    Or at least hoping they were the apex predators, and hoping that the night silence had somehow enhanced what he heard.

    Because what he heard was fucking massive.

    He crawled to the cave entrance. Dislodging the barricade of dry wood, and still somewhat charged by the previous day''s ¡°feast,¡± he made his way to the nearby stream, plunging his head in the cold water to fully wake up, drinking greedily from the rivulet.

    Omri knew that the previous day had gone as well as it could, but be it luck or skill, he needed to be prepared for everything the forest threw at him, and for that, he needed more information.

    Deciding on a course for his morning, he went back to his cliffside hideout, looking for the tallest tree he could find.

    He found his mark near the thick edge above him, a gnarled giant with titanic roots wider than Omri¡¯s outstretched arms, its canopy piercing the sky, a crown of branches heavy with countless intertwined vines.

    Looking at the trunk''s size, the boy let out a sharp whistle.

    ¡°That¡¯s it¡±.

    He started his methodical climb trying to find the best angle to get up the rocky cliff, his fingertips finding purchase in the small, sharp crevices still wet from the morning dew.

    Halfway up the rock wall, he glanced below, eying the verdant groves composing the forest canopy from above, a myriad of colorful critters flying around the treetops, uncaring in their pursuit of food, for them or their offspring.

    Almost mesmerized by the view, the youngster took a moment for himself, lodging his leg and elbow in a larger-than-average scaffold, before resuming his climb.

    After a grueling few minutes, he managed to reach the king''s gnarled roots and, taking a deep breath before reaching for the trunk, started to hoist himself up.

    The higher he ascended, the colder the air grew, the cutting wind buffeting the tree thick with the reek of decaying plant matter, the myriad vines flowering and dying in fast-paced cycles.

    At last, he breached the canopy.

    The island sprawled beneath him like a living emerald, thriving with life.

    To the north, or right in front of him, the rocky cliff kept going up, the moss growing scarcer, massive natural formations previously hidden from his view by the vegetation dotting its sides, all smaller brothers of his current nest.

    Eastward, a crescent lagoon glinted, separated from the open sea by a sandbar long, sleek, and promising a rich bounty to whoever braved its waters.

    South, the verdant maze thickened into a primordial tangle, broken only by the scarred remains of a landslide, dislodged trees and rocks dotting the upturned hearth.

    And to the west, the horizon boiled, thick with storm clouds the size of mountains.

    Omri committed it all to memory, and his gaze fell nearer, scouting for recognizable landscapes in the vicinity of his hideout.

    From his vantage point, he could see everything: the predator¡¯s clearing, the stream¡¯s serpentine path, and the far shores of the beach where he had his campfire the day before.

    And looking at the idyllic sights before him, a fire lit inside him. This place was a treacherous paradise, as beautiful as it was dangerous, and much of the danger was still unknown.

    And yet¡­the freedom of it all, the sights displayed before him,  the primal forces in play everywhere around him.

    It was exhilarating. It made him feel alive in a way he never felt before, in a way that he sure had stopped feeling once the news of his sale was announced to him.

    The twinge of sadness at the memory shook him out of his reverie, and with a last glance at the thundering clouds in the distance, the boy prepared to make his climb back to the forest floor.

    A busy day was awaiting him.

 A workman day

    ¡°01000001 00100000 01100111 01110101 01111001 00100000 01110111 01100001 01101100 01101011 01110011 00100000 01101001 01101110 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100010 01100001 01110010 00101100 00100000 01101111 01110101 01100011 01101000.¡±

    Best and last joke told in the GH78-ALPHA confederacy cyberspace. The Gleaming Duke was not pleased.

    ¡°The charcoal will do just fine,¡± Omri thought, as the cinder held in his fingers moved quickly, tracing his soon-to-be map in rough, black lines.

    Staring at his work, the kid grimaced a bit.

    ¡°Well, let¡¯s hope the next shipwrecks won¡¯t be art critics¡±.

    A flat rock near the cave entrance was his chosen canvas, the map outline crude but precise, first, he drew the perimeter of the island, then he moved on to the landmarks: a long corrugated line served to mark the stream near his hideout, a big cross represented the predator¡¯s clearing, with triangles and a circle for the jagged northern cliffs and the lagoon respectively.

    At last, he drew a skull, to mark the forest depths and the dangers lurking inside, its position a rough approximation based on the direction of the sounds he heard the night before.

    The final result was a particularly nasty-looking potato with two bones sticking out from the sides.

    Looking at his creation, the boy chuckled.

    ¡°As long as it works I guess¡±.

    Satisfied with his work, he moved on to the next task.

    ¡±The spear is a good start, but a bow will be even more useful, especially if those flying sacks of meat have yet to encounter a predator with ranged capabilities,¡± he thought, a devious smile creeping on his face.

    ¡°I wonder how those fat birds will taste like¡±.

    His thoughts on the matter settled, he started gathering firewood, tree barks, thin straight sticks, and long leaves coming from the stretchy ferns that dotted the jungle grounds.

    Once he got back to his hideout, he arranged his campfire, took out the bark he gathered, and started separating the wet inner side from the rest of the wooden husk.

    He then arranged a makeshift drying rack, placing it at the right distance from the crackling embers, to then start whittling down the thinner sticks into arrows, before putting them on the implement to harden the tips.

    Taking stock of his surroundings, the boy idly thought about possible fletchings before moving on to the next step.

    He searched around until he found what he was looking for, a flexible, mostly straight young tree, similar to hickory, and cut off one of its longer offshoots, producing a long wooden rod that would become the stave of his bow.

    He patiently set to work, idly thinking how much easier a simple axe would make the job while working the length of the beam into a flat shape with his knife.

    He tapered the endings of the stave before carving two notches on each side, deep enough that a string would sit comfortably in the cuts, but not so deep they would compromise his bow integrity.

    The inlaying process was almost meditative, and sitting at the mouth of his cave he lost himself in his work, the sharp blade gliding over the wood, the only pauses to turn his arrows over the fire ensuring the stalk was dry and the point was hard enough to pierce deep into the flesh of his preys.

    It was almost noon when he was satisfied with the work, the wooden rod now actually resembling the beginnings of a weapon, the tapering ends still glistening with the stalk-wet resin.

    The rope was the most delicate part of the bow, and selecting the most promising leaves, he started to separate them into fibers, before weaving them together a strand of fibers clockwise and the other counterclockwise, before twisting them with each other, ensuring they had no way to break free.

    A tedious and lengthy process, not made any more enjoyable by his lackluster materials, but the promise of a safe ranged option in his arsenal kept spurring the youngster forward, his repetitive movements efficient and sure.

    The sun was now high in the sky when the various parts of the bow were ready, and he bundled his arrows together before placing his stave on his drying rack, stoking the embers below with some wood splinters to revive the flame a bit.

    Leaving the stave green would cut a lot of time from the process, but it would also make the bow less robust than what he needed, and properly drying it would take weeks, a definitive no for the situation he was in.

    And thus, he would try to cheat a bit, hoping the resulting weapon would not be too brittle.

    Satisfied with his work, Omri left the hideout, spear in his left hand and knife in the other, looking for the final piece of this carpentry puzzle.

    He recalled seeing quite a few birds circling the treetops near his hideout, in a specific grove with a higher concentration of the sharply colored avian fauna.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see if I can find some proper fletchings¡±.

    A throaty rumble left his stomach.

    ¡°And maybe also something to eat while I¡¯m at it¡±.

    A trip to the beach wouldn¡¯t be too troublesome, but it would set his plans back by hours, hours that he would rather spend trying to find something useful while also exploring the vicinities of his temporary home.

    ¡°I wonder how many of the otters it would take to kill one of the things I heard yesterday¡­ I¡¯ve yet to see any large tracks, but the ground is full of claw marks, and there is a clear lack of prey animals on the ground¡±.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    An idle thought caught his mind.

    ¡°Have I seen any boar tracks or offal? The damn things are everywhere usually¡­ has everything not on the trees been hunted to extinction or what?¡±

    It was with those musings that the boy¡¯s winding path came to an end, the chirping of birds intensifying in the canopy above him.

    The light of a small clearing cut through the jungle''s damp shadows, and a single large wooden giant stood out from the rest hoarding the sun, driving away his green competitors.

    The forest chorus reached its peak on the crown of the tree, a whirlwind of colorful sound as the flying figures chased each other in a strange, hypnotical dance.

    Every few minutes, the leading bird would let out a dissonant cry, and the ones chasing him would stop, letting him fly towards the tree, on which he would choose a branch to rest.

    The first that stopped would then become the one flying around, with the rest following him closely.

    Omri shook himself out from his stupor, the mesmerizing sight swiftly forgotten as he spotted something hanging from the branches of the giant.

    ¡°Is that thing a damn fig tree?¡°

    Rapidly approaching the wooden trunk, the youngster took out his knife and made an incision on the dark bark, the wound quickly leaking resinous amber blood.

    Carefully, Omri dipped the back of his knuckles in the sap, waiting a few seconds before cleaning himself on the short ferns trying to live in the shadows of the giant fruit tree.

    The sap didn¡¯t burn, so the boy was still unsure about the nature of his bounty, but seeing one of the bigger birds greedily gulp down one of the dark grey fruits, his hopes were still not dashed.

    Preparing himself for a climb, he strapped the spear to his back, wrapped his legs around what he could of the tree trunk, and started to hoist himself up, aiding himself with his knife, the arhythmical thump of steel a discordant note in the forest symphony.

    After a few gruesome minutes, he reached the first branches, precariously sheathed his knife, and, with a grunt of effort, stretched out his right arm, aiming for the scaffold.

    A good grip secured, he took a deep breath, and with a pump of his legs, he pushed, hooking the second arm over the tree¡¯s offshoot.

    With a final strangled cry, he lifted himself, securing his position among the birds, which were now looking at him in a mixture of what a discerning ornithologist would say was pity and sadness.

    Feeling the deluge of judgmental feathered gazes, the boy took a minute to steady his breathing.

    The solitude was taking a bigger toll on his sanity than expected, he considered, before addressing his audience, some of whom were lazing around in the branches a few dozen feet above him.

    Those were big birds, he idly thought.

    ¡°Tough looks for something that resembles flying pigs, you fat fucks¡±.

    A single day alone in the jungle, and he was talking to the wildlife already.

    Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

    After being ignored by the wrongfully anthropomorphized avian creatures, the boy glanced up at his prize, the fruits looking plump and juicy even from a distance, as Omri noted that the higher his gaze went, the bigger the birds and the tentatively named figs got.

    And hiding between the middle branches, a new presence made itself known.

    Small brown primates scurried around in groups of four, sometimes five individuals, snatching fruits and disturbing the bigger birds while bullying the smaller ones away from what seemed to be their literal place in the pecking order.

    Witnessing one of the huge volatiles suddenly pecking and braining a monkey, too prideful or too stupid to retreat after getting his bounty, he realized that he was also intruding in this natural order, and, sizing up both primates and avians, he quickly decided not to disturb the peace of the mostly passive birds.

    Enough of his breath recovered, he resumed his climb, promptly reaching toward the tree''s middle branches, getting more of the simian''s attention the closer he got to their nest.

    The majority of the beasts were now looking at him, making his way towards one of the figs, and as he got his left hand on the fruit, a cacophony of screams and screeches erupted.

    One particularly big specimen started to approach him, flanked by four smaller goons cautiously trailing just a bit behind their leader.

    Omri looked at the incoming danger and puffed out his chest, hoisting up both arms, before releasing a thunderous yell, stopping the creatures in their steps.

    Still staring at the beast, he brought his knife to the fruit and opened it, exposing the ripe flesh within, the cloying smell of sweetness exuding from the red flesh of what he was now definitely sure was some sort of fig the size of a melon.

    The primate''s leader roared in outrage, and with a jump betraying a lot of strength for its size, launched itself towards the intruder, all thoughts leaving his gaze as rage at the theft overwhelmed his caution.

    The boy threw the fig at the beast, catching it mid-jump, stopping his momentum and watching on as it plummeted towards the forest floor, a surprised expression on its face as it fell, still clutching the fruit between two hairy paws.

    The rest of the group stood still in the silence that ensued, only broken by a faint crash at the foot of the roots.

    They looked at him as he grabbed another ripe pome before starting to skin it, this time undisturbed in the endeavor.

    The normal sounds of the forest came back as the monkeys got back to do what monkeys do, still wary of the intruder but willing to leave him be, as long as he let them be, having sized him up only to realize he was at least as dangerous as the big birds. Maybe more. Probably not.

    And so, he was left to his lunch, and to his musings, which were now all centered around the sweet, sweet fruit he was eating, its juices dripping from his chin, a tinge of sourness as the buttery aftertaste of the fig lit up his tastebuds in a way he rarely experienced before.

    Those things were good.

    ¡°I need to find a way to harvest and preserve them. I¡¯ll add weaving some nets to my to-do list, just below not dying and staying in the cave during the nights I guess¡±.

    ¡°Preserving them is a whole other problem¡­ are the cliffs high enough for some ice to form? I¡¯ll be damned if I salt them, and drying them is such a waste of time and water¡­¡±

    A sudden cry, low and resonant shook the sky, and he almost jumped off his branch as he got up, right when the biggest bird he had ever seen took flight from the crown of the tree, each of its wings as long as the youth¡¯s height.

    He realized then, that the only sound present in the forest was his breathing, the cacophony of a thousand beings living their life in the wilds overcome by deafening silence.

    He scanned the treetops and saw it.

    His blood froze as his gaze locked on a leopard-like creature the size of a small bear that was moving towards him like oil between the branches, its fluid strut stopping for an instant as it realized it had been spotted.

    The beast''s muscles coiled in tension as the boy''s hand frantically reached toward the spear on his back, and then it was upon him, a single leap clearing the remaining space between them, the quarter-ton of muscles, claws, and teeth reaching to take his life.

 Earning your lunch

    ¡°We¡¯ve seen a lot of weird beasts since we disembarked on the expedition. Some very large and dangerous boars, who seemingly ate pretty much everything they could find, but proved no competition for our hires. Interesting bone structure, but nothing to write about really.

    The birds, the birds are totally different beasts.

    I¡¯ve counted more than 55 different genera in those seven days alone, and each one of them shows some unique characteristics, a wondrous spectacle, and a puzzling dilemma for any student of the arts if I may say so.

    They also all seem to have evolved a complex communication system based on gestures, and my efforts have recently started to bear fruit as I¡¯ve successfully managed contact with the bird population residing in the cliffs!¡±

    Excerpt from the diary of an anonymous ecologist, page 7 of 15.

    Every unnecessary thought fled Omri¡¯s head, years of training, rote repetition, and lethal efficiency answering his call in an instant.

    His hands reached for his weapon, and as he steadied the spear on the large tree trunk below him, adrenaline flooded the youth''s veins, a raging river boiling with purpose.

    In the few heartbeats that the animal¡¯s leap took to reach him, every muscle in his body tensed, an instrument perfectly tuned to the battle, an orchestra playing a lethal melody.

    His eyes locked with the beast¡¯s, and then, it was upon him.

    The force behind the panther was massive, and as feline and spear collided, time seemed to stop. The creature¡¯s bronze eyes went wide with shock, and his deadly claws, curved daggers of razor-sharp keratin, cut the air inches short of the target.

    The ¡°pointy bamboo stick¡±, unable to withstand the force of the clash, instantly started to bend.

    The shaft snapped in a cloud of wooden shrapnels, a whip lashing into still air, loud in the forest¡¯s silence.

    And then the moment was over, the wooden tip lodging into the beast''s left collarbone, the sudden release of tension bowling the massive form over the edge of the branch, a primal roar of fear and confusion leaving it, as it released its first cry since the start of their encounter.

    Omri¡¯s situation was not rosy either, as the impact with the creature knocked him back all the way to the tree trunk, his breath leaving him when he crashed his spine into the hardwood, the hit also enough to topple him over.

    Thus, gravity claimed them both.

    Branches tore at Omri¡¯s flesh as they plummeted, each scathing whip of plant matter a bittersweet wound, as they slowed his fall enough that he managed to slam his knife into the meaty bark of the tree.

    The blade shrieked as it carved a jagged scar, and Omri screamed with it, his shoulder crying in pain as the tendons of his back strained like frayed ropes.

    Twisting towards the tree, the boy managed to pin his legs to the trunk, until a knot in his way decided to explosively interrupt his drop, almost shattering his tailbone in the process.

    A near thud on the ground below let him know the panther wasn¡¯t as lucky.

    The animal struck the earth like a sack of wet gravel, its feline instinct not preparing it enough for a 60-foot freefall.

    A hint of bloodlust boiled inside him as he glanced above his shoulder, trying to get a good look at the fallen creature.

    It was clearly hurt, the right hind leg bent at a nauseating angle with a bone protruding through the blood-soaked fur, the tip of his spear still firmly stuck into the left shoulder collarbone. A low, broken growl rumbled from its throat.

    The sight steeled the youth¡¯s determination.

    Now, he was the predator.

    Man and beast got up on their feet, ready for the confrontation.

    Both got back down, one howling in pain as it tried and failed to support itself on a broken leg, and one yelling imprecations, as the simple act of rising sent a sharp jolt of pain through his lower back.

    It seemed they were at a standstill.

    They spent a couple of minutes just staring at each other, a surreal scene happening in the middle of the forest, and as the pain dulled more and more, he tried once again to finish his descent, reaching the ground at the same time the panther managed to stand.

    Seeing the beast so near in all its ragged glory should have struck fear in the heart of the kid, the massive cat''s dark brown fur sleek with blood, its top-heavy body still ready to pounce, only held back by the shattered hind paw trailing uselessly on the ground.

    Slitted pupils stared at him from the triangular head of the animal, a low, intimidating growl escaping its gnarled lips, each tooth a dagger maliciously shown to the world in challenge.

    And yet, Omri felt cold. As cold as that night in the sea.

    And in that coldness, a burning ember of purpose.

    The boy cautiously approached the beast and, throwing his knife into his left hand, circled the unsteady form like a cunning bipedal wolf.

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you. I¡¯ll kill you, skin you, and use you. I¡¯ll probably eat you, sneaky bastard of an overgrown litter runt¡±, murmured the young warrior.

    It snarled at him, responding to the challenge, and started to move counterclockwise, matching his approach, before its front paws suddenly tensed, gripping the heart in a shockingly fast sprint.

    The youth¡¯s litany was cut short as he threw himself to the ground in a springing somersault, the beast''s body clearing the air above him.

    As he got up and turned, he saw the panther bite deep into the soil with its claws, those slitted eyes still tracking him.

    He was dodging even before the panther leaped, the second jump also missing him by inches, and this time, Omri''s arm flashed to score a shallow cut on the still-recovering creature, which yelped before roaring its rage, chasing him with its three-legged gait.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    The next few minutes were spent in a lethal dance, in which the feline kept almost killing the weird primate, who was always outside the range of its claws, always just a few hairbreadths away from certain death.

    But the dance could not go on forever, so the sound of claws scraping the ground, the grunts of effort and pain, quickly ended, giving way to labored breath and tired growling.

    At this moment, looking into the strange monkey''s glinting eyes, the beast realized something.

    Omri smiled, a vicious, predatorial snarl mimicking the one on the panther''s maws.

    ¡°You¡¯re fucked, pretty kitty¡±.

    He resumed his walk, now a vulture circling a carcass.

    ¡°You¡¯re just dead, and you know it¡±.

    The animal¡¯s snake-like eyes never left the boy¡¯s figure, an unsettling gaze that still beamed with rage and hatred, but a new tint was making way in the hunter, as a trickle of fear showed in its hesitant movement, knowing that it went too far, bled too much.

    Still, the panther almost seemed surprised when Omri stepped into its range, and answered the intrusion with a fast swipe of its right claw.

    The left one now hung, with just enough strength to support its massive weight, as the spear shard had kept ravaging the limb in their previous mad chase.

    Fast, but not the quicksilver it was at the beginning of the fight, and so the youngster¡¯s answer was ready, the steely glint of his blade leaving a cut on the still-moving paw.

    A new dance began, with the animal trying to reach the boy, who was now always feinting a strike from the left side, and the youngster answering each swipe with a new cut on his opponent''s limbs.

    This time, the crescendo was even shorter, as Omri saw tension gather in the exhausted feline limbs.

    When it forced itself to make a last desperate leap, to at least kill this hateful prey, the diminutive hunter was prepared: he ducked and slashed over his head, scoring a deep cut directly on the belly of the beast, before diving on the ground in a final narrow dodge.

    The young warrior did not even try to keep his grip on the weapon, the image of being stuck under the animal¡¯s weight briefly appearing in his mind, and with a single fluid motion, he got up from his somersault, turning towards the fallen beast.

    The result of the brief exchanges was a gruesome spectacle painting the ground, a verdant clearing covered in crimson-red brush strokes forming a pattern of death, and at its center, the canvas centerpiece laid, torn and broken, parts of his innards hanging from its stomach, knife still stuck in the freely bleeding wound.

    He approached as the animal''s last labored breaths quickly left its mouth, foul-smelling ichor spilling on the ground from the gash on its stomach with each new death rattle.

    Omri fell on his knees, all tension leaving his muscles, the sweat and blood on his body mixing with tears, as his mind flashed with images of the perilous encounter.

    As the adrenaline from the battle faded away, the thousand pains he was in flared up, his shoulder screaming in protest, the entirety of his lower back almost numb from the dull, deep agony spreading from his tailbone, his inner tights, carved beyond belief by the tree fall.

    All started to pulse together in an indistinct haze, all but a single sharp thought, centering the youngster while he dry heaved, too stubborn to waste his energies on something as stupid as throwing up.

    He laid on his back, hopeful that nothing would come to finish what the panther tried to start while he was catching his breath.

    ¡°I won¡­ I fucking won!¡± he half exhaled, half yelled.

    And, sprawled on the ground, his eyes closed, his right hand shielding him from the sun''s rays, a memory came, unbidden, of a long past day¡¯s brutal training, one so rarely followed by what you could almost call a caring thought from his master.

    The towering figure of the Warmaster looked at him from above, one hand tensed in invitation.

    Omri''s small hand rose, taking up the offer, and after standing up, he offered a small, pouty line, ¡°Thank you for the lesson, master¡±.

    An imperceptible glint appeared in the man''s gaze, and his harsh voice rose just a heartbeat later.

    ¡°A warrior instinct cannot be taught, Boy. It can only be in there, hiding under layers of overthinking, flailing, and failings.¡± A small sigh escaped his lips.¡°It can just be unearthed and then forged, beaten into you by pain and experience. But even then, is a shallow thing, not born in the fires of battle, where you dance with death on the razor-thin edge of a blade¡­we can try to prepare you, Boy.¡± His gaze almost seemed¡­sad. ¡°But one day, you will have to dance, and only then will you know if you are a warrior or a dead man.¡±

    Silence fell.

    In a small clearing on an unknown island, that same child, now almost a man, opened his eyes and looked at the sky.

    Aching and shaking, he got up and approached the cadaver sprawled out between the messy green ferns of the clearing.

    He began his work, and the knife¡¯s blade parted fur from flesh in careful, practiced strokes, the teaching of Beltram¡¯s ¡°field butchery¡± escapades still as vivid as the day he had to camp inside an elk. An old, wounded elk he also had to kill and¡­prepare.

    The memory still haunted him, a shiver going up his spine, and he buried the thought in the task at hand.

    His well-maintained knife cut through the dense leather of the beast¡¯s hide like scissors through paper, exposing the twisted fibers of the muscle below, already looking too tough to chew.

    He would still try.

    He opened the pelt, dripping wet with the beast''s blood, before starting to meticulously take apart the rest of the panther, roughly dividing the tendons, claws, teeth, and the less tough-looking cuts of meat in different piles, before bundling everything into the glossy hide.

    Omri didn¡¯t miss the weird coloring of the beast, its fur a mix of dark and brawns that still somehow looked on the blackish side, both in the sun and in the shadows of the treetops.

    Nor the larger upper body, the almost prehensile claws, and the knifelike teeth.

    It seemed that up to this point, everything on the island was some kind of freak apex of its species, apart maybe from those relatively fucked up monkeys, which were still some kind of weird he had yet to pinpoint.

    Still thinking about the weird creatures of the island, the primal landscapes, and the strange fruits, he looked at the tree, now starting to come back with life.

    Both primates and birds looked at him, a sort of fearful awe in the eyes of the small furry creatures and respectful approval in the volatiles.

    Omri¡¯s gaze took everything in before turning his back to the tree, and almost limping, he started the return trip to his oh-so-comfortable hole.

    The night came quickly, and it found him comfortably sitting around a newly built campfire near a small bend he discovered in the river, just a few minutes of brisk walk from his cave.

    The crackling of embers filled the air as large cuts of panther meat sizzled on a large, flat stone he used in place of one of the grills he saw in the monastery mess hall.

    His body was a web of pain: the scraped tights spurting a pinkish liquid, his bruised ribs whispering in low notes of pain, as his shoulder sang and his tailbone screamed.

    He¡¯d won.

    But as night crept in, Omri stared into the flames and wondered:

    ¡°How many predators are still waiting for me in the forest depths?¡±

    Biting into the scalding hot meat strip, he started to chew. It went on for a while.

    ¡°How many of those beasts will I have to kill before I can be safe?¡°

    He then gulped down, looking at the meat, considering the effort he needed to chow down a single piece.

    He bit down again.

    ¡°And why does everything look so goddamn smart?¡±

 Broken Routines

    ¡° <<I swear to god Lucas, they are just trying to feed me! That¡¯s what they do, that¡¯s how they hunt hard-shelled prey!>>

    <<For the love of all that is holy Herman, they are dropping fucking boulders on you! It¡¯s not damn turtles! You had to dodge three of them just in the time we were on lookout, and our resources are starting to thin out! We can¡¯t just sit here babysitting you while you play with your murder birds all day!>>

    <<Fine then, you ignorant oaf, get back to camp and leave me to my science! I¡¯m near a breakthrough anyway, and what you call murder birds are just worried darlings trying to feed a new member of their flock!

    I¡¯ll tell you what, I¡¯m almost done with the suit, tomorrow I¡¯ll go find the main nest, and you¡¯ll finally behold my genius!>>¡±

    Last known words of Herbert Norwall, head ornithologist of the Rinnean Ducal Academy.

    A dreamless sleep came quickly, the previous day''s fatigue heavily pressing down on his battered body.

    He woke up the next morning, a cacophony of pain and aches, bruises, and half-healed wounds protesting with each of his movements.

    Forcing himself, he stood, reached for his weapons, and prepared for the new day.

    His thoughts were crystal clear as he walked towards the newly built campfire, and the boy once again chastised himself.

    ¡°Assuming the treetops were safer than the ground level was a mistake, a dumb one, and lowering my guard was even dumber, especially because I know practically nothing about this godforsaken place¡°.

    His darting eyes were again scanning every nook and cranny of the greenery, while he firmly held on his weapons, ready to answer any peril coming from the wood''s shadows.

    ¡°I can fashion some tools from the beast bones, but learning what the fuck is going on around the island is another priority¡­ food shouldn¡¯t be a concern anymore, but I also need to find a better hideout¡±.

    Mulling over a new plan of action, he reached his destination, dunked his head in the cold, rejuvenating stream, and dug out his bounty from its shallow burial place, noting how the earth around it wasn¡¯t even touched.

    ¡°Mmh, no sign of scavengers either¡­ what¡¯s the deal with this weird ecosystem ?¡±

    The fur, once a majestic tapestry of greens and browns, was marred with mud and blood, but it showed no sign of breakage, attesting to its strength and elasticity, and both bones and tendons were as he left them, wetly glimmering in the day¡¯s light.

    He gathered some dry kindling, lit his fire, and started the pelt-drying process, hoping it would be enough to preserve the hide, lacking the tools needed to cure and tan the panther''s skin.

    He wanted to fashion some useful utensils out of the bones, claws, and tendons of the beast, so, he grabbed his knife and started to carve up the sturdy materials.

    The rest of his morning was spent this way, chipping away at the various tasks he set up for himself, stoking the fire when it needed tending, looking out for peril coming from the depth of the jungle, and cutting up the limbs of the panther that attempted to take his life.

    Once the sun reached its peak in the sky, he approached the pelt, dried over the lazy flame of his campfire, remade his bundle, and brought everything back to his cave, now reasonably sure that the cleaned remains would no longer attract other predators.

    Setting everything down in the recesses of his hideout, Omri¡¯s next steps were clear, and he ventured to grab something to eat, his stride quick and purposeful as he reached the fig clearing.

    The birds and the monkeys looked at his new climb with respect, his victory over the predator still fresh in their minds, even as his battered body fought him each step of his ascent.

    Properly sated, he reached for the higher branches, trying to get a good vantage point from which to check out the nearby forest, but the tree¡¯s canopy surrounding the clearing was too thick, and the boy grumbled his displeasure during his descent, annoyed from the waste of time.

    The rest of the week blended in a monotonous haze as his routine solidified in a balance of cautious exploration, primitive crafting, hunting, and gathering.

    In his travels, he found more resources, new species of unknown fruits, some of which smelled so foul he wondered how any being could possibly eat them, and, as he started to dive deeper into the jungle recesses, the signs of various animal¡¯s skirmishes

    On the seventh day, he pulled back on this kind of explorations, after finding a scratch mark the length of his body on one of the giant trees that dotted the forest floors.

    He woke up the same night with a strangled scream, dreaming of a massive beast ravaging his body, a giant with no form, all teeth, fur, and claws.

    The youngster spent a few days simply gathering more resources, finishing his bow and arrows, and stockpiling for food, which he hid in some caving deadwood near his home, reminding himself of the squirrels back home.

    Hopefully, unlike them, he would remember the location of all his stashes.

    With a new dawn ahead of him, and the various aches in his body having subsided suspiciously fast during the last week, Omri returned to his everyday grind.

    He tested his bow with a few of the wood-tipped arrows, nodding satisfied as the bolts went straight, each one piercing through the body of one of those rotten fruits that dotted the vicinity of his safe house.

    Donning his new attire, a cut-open poncho that left both arms free to move, the boy gathered his weapons and fastened them to various buckles he had made with the beast¡¯s tendon.

    One of the panther¡¯s upper canines now adorned his spear tip, a grisly upgrade to his arsenal, while the other fangs ended up on the arrows held in his quiver.

    Almost ready to begin his expedition, he wiggled the sturdy knife at his hips, strapped a satchel holding in a few tools to his belt, and nodded satisfied as both held strong at his waist.

    Staring at his map, now updated after the last few days of exploration, he carefully planned his next moves.

    ¡°Going south past the otter¡¯s grove is too risky, whatever makes that place his home is far worse than the panther¡±, he thought, mulling over the first night spent on the island, and the giant tracks he found on the trees coasting the beast¡¯s territory.

    ¡°That leaves me with two equally unpleasant choices: miles of roving in the jungle up north or miles of trekking down the foothills to the east¡±.

    Omri ended up choosing the latter.

    ¡°If I want to get a full view of this place my best bet is probably the peaks of those rocky formations¡­ And I¡¯m tired of jumping at every shadow hiding in the greenery¡±.

    The resulting plan was rather simple: take the trail that reached the fig tree clearing, make a quick stop to pick some fruits for the trip, and then push deeper into the uncharted jungle, to hopefully find something useful, or at least not harmful.

    A path through the verdant maze now clearly defined, Omri walked into the thick tangle, the weight of the panther¡¯s tabard and his new weapons a reassuring sensation over his shoulders.

    It made him bold.

    His steps faster and steadier than ever before, he made his way to the known gathering spot.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Quickly climbing his now favorite tree, he grabbed his meal, waving a hand to the forest wildlife as they looked at his now spiderlike climb, before moving to the next destination.

    The past weeks spent carefully exploring the vicinity of his shelter had taught him a lot about the deeper woods.

    Each sound had its place in the jungle symphony: the rustling of bushes, the meaning behind a seemingly casual pattern in the bird chants, their silence, and the forest silence itself, were all pieces of a puzzle he was starting to grasp.

    The first few hours of travel were blessedly uneventful.

    He rapidly approached the landmass center, where the vegetation had become sparser, grey cliffs and barren soil gradually taking over towering ancient trees and verdant ferns.

    The underbrush, no longer a thick, suffocating tangle, offered a better view, and thanks to the improved line of sight, it was now possible to get a better idea of where he was moving.

    Just before noon, Omri managed to reach his destination: a clearing he had already noticed scouting from the fig tree, its small area virtually devoid of trees.

    From higher up, he thought it a natural meadow, but, getting closer, his interest spiked, realizing it was not.

    Vegetation he thought to be absent had actually been cut, or more accurately, snapped, by what started to seem like the scene of a fight.

    Approaching cautiously, more details became clear, and luckily, the broken terrain, now almost covered in new growth, told him that whatever had happened there happened years ago.

    Offshoots wildly sprouting from the trees¡¯ broken stumps had already begun to meld the clearing together with the encroaching forest.

    ¡°This could be one of the island''s top predators'' battlefields,¡± thought the boy dreamily, wondering about the titanic clash.

    ¡±Not a good spot for me to rest then¡±.

    His thoughts made up, Omri looked at the sun, still high in the clear azure sky, and decided to keep cautiously exploring the surrounding cliffsides, when an auburn glint caught his eye.

    Almost completely claimed by nature, a rusty sword lay on the ground, what was left of the blade stuck between the roots of two twisted stubs.

    The weapon itself was nothing special, but the meaning behind it was impossible to miss: other people had been on the island.

    Ogling the ruined piece of metal, he squashed down his rising hopes, and centered himself, not letting his mind ruminate too much on the chance of civilization being near enough to reach.

    What followed was a brief investigation of the clearing, bringing to light more and more details, as spearheads, knives, arrows, and a multitude of rusted pieces of metal were dug up one after the other.

    He adjusted his previous assumptions.

    ¡°A small group, well armed, probably killed by one of the apexes considering there is not a single bone left around here¡±.

    Omri shuddered a bit, the idea of one of his nightmares coming to life and massacring a group of seasoned soldiers burned at the forefront of his mind.

    As he was thinking about what could possibly bring a whole group of people to that godforsaken place a sudden realization struck him.

    ¡°Unless they were also castaways, somewhere around here must be their camp¡±.

    A last look at his surroundings made him backtrack on the musings.

    ¡°Or at least, I should be able to find what¡¯s left of it ¡±.

    And, lo and behold, find it he did. The whole affair turned out easier than he had imagined, as he located the man-made base just a little further north, not too far from the waterway that cut his side of the island into two asymmetrical parts.

    Whoever had chosen the place had no idea of what lurked in the jungle.

    Omri lost track of time while analyzing the campsite ruins, his curiosity burning bright at the last discovery.

    Signs of combat also dotted the main encampment, everything not already claimed by nature lying in pieces scattered over the growing vegetation and on the shallow ferns on the ground.

    After carefully analyzing the site, the only option that came to his mind was an exploratory expedition.

    ¡°A small group, maybe 20 or so people, too small to think about starting a colony, with a sizable group of combatants to defend the rest of the staff.¡±

    What he thought would be a small detour turned out to be a time-consuming effort, and the boy, wanderlust finally sated, took a long look at the slowly falling sun, a sense of dread setting in.

    He was too far from home.

    Getting back in the dark would be suicide, and finding a new hideout for the night was a coin toss between life and death.

    Looking around, he briefly wondered about spending the night perched on the trees, but he quickly denied that option, as a fight in the dark with something like the panther would also be a sure way to die.

    His mind made up, he started jogging toward the island''s reliefs, bobbing and weaving between the sparse vegetation, hoping that the rocky formations, surely hiding some caves, would provide him the shelter he so desperately needed.

    He found what he was looking for along the smooth slopes of one of the looming spires, a deep cave, its gaping mouth resembling a large wound on the cliff''s jagged sides.

    The cavern¡¯s size was not a good omen, but the sun was almost fully hiding beneath the horizon, and, considering he had no other alternative, the boy gathered some firewood and made his way into the dark rocky maws.

    ¡°No strange smells, and I don''t see any carcass remains around here. The entrance is too big for my tastes, but sleeping in the jungle is just too stupid to consider ¡± he thought.

    Setting up the campfire, he grabbed his knife and made some shavings, before grabbing a large flint from the satchel at his hip.

    Quickly, bright embers shone a light on his surroundings, and the cavern¡¯s view cleared up, second by second.

    The cave sloped slightly downward, and the young warrior was startled as a gentle breeze blew from its depths, a cooling sensation spreading through his body.

    He suddenly felt it again, that same tug calling for him from deep inside his chest.

    It was a feeble thing, nothing compared to the almost raging arm that pulled him when he was drowning in the merciless embrace of the sea.

    It was coming from the cavern¡¯s dark depths, down in the earth''s bowels, a long way below ground.

    He could not help it. Something inside him wanted to know.

    He took a couple of careful steps toward the wind source, and, as a second playful wave reached out for the boy, the compulsion hit him like a tide.

    Lifting a torch taken from his campfire he made his way deeper into the cave.

    The walls narrowed quickly, the floor getting steeper and steeper, but Omri paid no mind to his surroundings, rapidly pushing toward the pull¡¯s source.

    It kept getting stronger, and when the tunnel in front of him started to shine with a faint azure light, Omri briefly questioned his sanity, wondering if he touched some weird mushroom on his way through the forest.

    He squeezed through a last crevice, and his mind ground down to a screeching halt, as he found himself locked in place, the mesmerizing sight laid in front of his eyes alien and wonderful.

    That narrow tunnel he followed gave way to a massive cave, covered in bioluminescent moss that weaved together in a complex pattern of multicolored hues, deep blues, faint cyans, and comforting ceruleans.

    The youngster slowly walked into the blending spectacle of lights, transfixed by the beautiful landscape surrounding him.

    He slowly shook himself out of his stupor, and, as he reached the gigantic dome¡¯s center, something tugged at his perception, the cave¡¯s air suddenly stilling.

    Below the lights, below the breeze, the faint stench of rotten meat made its way through his nostrils, and he started to scan his surroundings, deeply aware that something was off.

    Bringing the torch closer to the floor, blood-chilling fear started to seep in, as he revealed an uncountable number of bone shards littering the grounds.

    He tried to silence the omnipresent hum in his body, focusing more on the environment that now pressed on him, heavy and wet with the promise of blood, and finally, a low grumble managed to cut through Omri''s senses.

    His eyes widened like saucers as he localized its source.

    A bear the size of a medium-sized cabin was shallowly sleeping at the edge of the grotto, edged between two stalagmite clusters, the 50 feet of distance separating them so seemingly small.

    All of his attention was locked on the grumbling beast, on the twitching nose that was greedily taking in the smell of his fear.

    The boy slowly backtracked his steps, painfully aware of the low creaking sound the broken bones made beneath his feet, and when the beast started to rise, blearily looking around, their gazes met.

    Omri turned, sprinting into a dead run, as the bear let out an earth-shattering roar, enraged at the impudent intruder violating his domain.