The jungle shifted around them as if exhaling. A low, rolling breeze swept through the undergrowth—too cool for the island's humidity, too deliberate to be natural. Arios Pureheart slowed, one hand raised quietly, and the group behind him halted without a word.
Liza's fingers brushed the dagger strapped to her thigh. Lucy's staff angled slightly toward the ground, faint green motes flickering along its length. The air carried the smell of wet stone and overripe fruit, but beneath that… something metallic. Something wrong.
They had been moving for hours since crossing the river, heading deeper toward the heart of the island's inner territory. The canopy grew denser with every step, the light above them shrinking into narrow columns that filtered through leaves like stained glass. The deeper they walked, the more the jungle seemed to gain… intent.
As if watching.
And it didn't help that Phase Three—the phase their instructors purposely refused to detail—had begun two hours ago.
