The forest air was thick with the scent of moss and sun-warmed bark as Torya stood high upon the massive trunk of a tree that pierced above the canopy. His breath came steady, his gaze scanning far and wide the endless green stretching beyond sight, a sea of towering leaves and shifting shadows. The tribe's new wooden wall could no longer be seen from here, only the faint plume of smoke from their fires carried by the wind.
Below him, eleven figures waited young men and women, spears and bows in hand, their bronze tips glinting faintly in the light that filtered through the leaves. Lera was among them, her eyes following his silhouette above with quiet admiration.
Torya adjusted his footing, the bark creaking faintly under him. "No signs of large predators," he called down softly. "The prey seem to have returned."
That was good news. For the past three days, their hunts had been light. Yet today, fortune favored them. A family of boars had been found early, fat and strong from feeding near the lower roots enough meat to last the tribe a week if smoked properly.
He began his descent, gripping the vines and ridges with practiced ease until his boots met the earth. Yoren greeted him with a grin, still bandaged from the last hunt but moving with vigor.
"We're blessed today," Yoren said. "The gods must've been watching."
"Perhaps," Torya replied with a faint smile. "Or perhaps we're learning to move as one."
They packed their catch and began their return, moving along the familiar stream that wound through the forest. When they reached the bend the same place where they once discovered the lizardman's corpse a silence fell upon them. The memory lingered like a shadow.
They settled near the rocks, letting the sound of running water ease their nerves. Some began cleaning their hands and faces; others checked their weapons. Torya knelt by the river, his reflection rippling beneath the sunlight.
Nova… still no changes in the readings?
[Observation: No nearby threats detected. However, several foreign energy signatures are approaching from the east humanoid in form.]
His eyes sharpened. How many?
[Seven.]
"Seven?" he muttered aloud, turning toward the far bank.
The undergrowth across the river rustled faint at first, then clearer. Figures emerged, stepping into the open light.
They were humanoid, but their skin was pale gray, almost ash-like, their movements quick and wary. Dried blood streaked their arms and chests, and their weapons jagged bone spears and chipped stone axes dripped with crimson. Their hair, pale as bone, clung to their faces with sweat and grime.
Ashkin.
Torya froze, every instinct screaming. He motioned sharply with his hand. Hide.
The tribe melted into the foliage, crouching behind tree trunks and stones. Not a sound escaped them.
The Ashkin moved cautiously, scanning the forest as though expecting ambush. Their leader, taller than the rest, had a scar running from his neck to shoulder. They knelt by the river, washing the blood from their bodies, muttering in a guttural tongue that Torya couldn't understand but the tone was unmistakable. Paranoia. Violence. Hunger.
"Seven of them," Rahn whispered from behind a log, his voice low. "They've been fighting."
Torya's gaze flicked from the Ashkin to his people twelve in total. The odds were in their favor, but only just. He counted again: four had already crossed the shallow river, boots scraping against stones. Three still remained on the opposite bank, watching their surroundings with restless eyes.
If all seven crossed, they'd be trapped in close quarters.
Nova… if they spot us—
[Assessment: Hostile confrontation probable. Recommend first strike.]
Torya's pulse quickened. He nodded slightly. (Agreed.)
He turned to his hunters, meeting their eyes one by one. "When I signal, strike the ones on this side first. Rahn, take the flank. Lera, Tir with me."
Their faces were pale but determined. They'd fought beasts before, but never other people. The air grew tense, thick with silent dread.
Then the moment came.
Torya raised his hand then dropped it.
The tribe moved as one.
From the trees above, spears rained down, whistling through the air. One struck true, impaling an Ashkin through the shoulder before he could even turn. Another fell with a scream as Yoren leapt from the side, driving his spear into the man's chest.
Chaos erupted.
The remaining Ashkin on the bank roared, grabbing their weapons. Water splashed violently as the three still in the river rushed to cross. Torya dashed forward, his bronze spear flashing. He met one head-on, deflecting a wild swing before plunging the blade deep into the Ashkin's abdomen.
Blood sprayed, hot and sharp. The world narrowed to movement, sound, breath.
Lera's voice cried out "Behind you!" just as another enemy lunged from the side. Torya twisted, catching the blow on the shaft of his spear. The impact rattled his arms.
Then, something within him ignited.
The faint red glow returned to his eyes Bond of Flame. It spread like wildfire, linking him to his people. He felt Yoren's position behind him, Lera's heartbeat steady to his left, Rahn's movements quick as wind on the right. Their motions became instinctive, flowing together like parts of a single living flame.
Rahn struck low as Torya struck high; Lera's spear intercepted a counterblow before it could reach Yoren's exposed flank. The Ashkin were fierce, wild, but disorganized they fought like predators, not as one.
Still, the fight was brutal. One of the young hunters, Tir, took a blow to the side, falling with a cry. Blood seeped between his fingers, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to collapse.
Torya roared, driving his weapon through another enemy. His chest heaved, breath raw, every nerve burning with the shared rhythm of his people.
The last of the Ashkin on the riverbank fell, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him. The remaining three, realizing the trap too late, tried to retreat back across the stream but Rahn was faster. He hurled his spear, striking one through the throat mid-step. The others hesitated and that was all it took.
Yoren waded into the water, swinging his broken spear like a club, knocking another down before finishing him with a heavy thrust.
Only one remained.
He stumbled backward, wounded but alive, eyes wide with rage and fear. His breathing came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling fast. Blood ran down his arm where a bronze spear had grazed him.
Torya approached slowly, his weapon still dripping crimson. The others fanned out behind him, forming a loose half-circle.
The Ashkin bared his teeth, hissing words they didn't understand defiance and hate twisted into sound.
Torya didn't strike. Not yet. He looked at him not as an enemy, but as a warning. "You're far from your kind," he said quietly. "Why?"
The Ashkin spat blood onto the ground, glaring through half-lidded eyes. His voice rasped like stone on steel. "The forest… burns," he croaked. "The earth… stirs. We… run…"
Then he collapsed.
The hunters stared in stunned silence. The words lingered like smoke half-understood, but heavy with meaning.
Lera knelt beside the body, checking the wound. "He's alive," she murmured. "Barely."
Yoren spat to the side. "We should finish it. They'd do the same to us."
"Maybe," Torya said. "But if the forest truly burns…" He turned his gaze toward the trees beyond the river, the endless green that now seemed to darken with unseen weight. "Then killing him won't save us."
He motioned for two of the men. "Bind him. We'll take him back."
The others hesitated, but obeyed. They tied the Ashkin's hands and lifted him carefully, avoiding his wounds.
As they began their return, Nova's voice murmured faintly in Torya's mind calm, analytical.
[Observation: Synchronization among tribe members during combat reached thirty-two percent efficiency. Bond of Flame continues to strengthen under shared adversity.]
So the bond grows through struggle…
[Affirmative. Unity under fire refines the racial trait. As the tribe fights together, instinct and understanding evolve.]
Then we'll have to fight more, won't we?
[Perhaps. But remember fire brings both warmth and destruction.]
Torya's grip tightened on his spear. The forest wind whispered through the leaves like distant voices, carrying the scent of blood and smoke.
Behind him, his people walked in silence tired, wounded, but alive. Their eyes still faintly glowed with that ember hue, like coals that refused to die out.
He glanced back once more at the river, at the red ripples drifting downstream. The forest had always been dangerous but now, something deeper was stirring.
And for the first time, Torya felt the weight of it pressing on his shoulders not as a hunter, but as a leader of flame.