The wind whispered across the cliff's edge, rustling the vines that clung to broken rebar and crumbled stone. Below them, the crater yawned—massive, ancient, alive. Its slopes dipped into an emerald labyrinth of sunken ruins and moss-throttled towers. The river cut through the center like a vein, glowing under the fading light of day.
The trio and the Tarnak'hul stood at its edge, gazing down at the impossible drop.
No one said it out loud, but the same thought hung in the air.
How the hell are we getting down?
They had made it this far.
Now came the drop.
"Well," Dianna said, hands on her hips, grinning at the ridiculous scale of the descent, "I hope everyone's in the mood for something stupid."
Ethan groaned. "Oh no. Not this again."
She raised an arm and pointed to a nearby root—massive, gnarled like a sleeping serpent, winding down the cliffside in looping coils.
"The express route."
There was a beat of silence.
Then one Tarnak'hul warrior erupted—"WOOOOOOO!"
Another joined in. "YES! YES! THIS IS GLORIOUS!"
"ROOT ROUTE! ROOT ROUTE!" they began to chant.
More voices joined the chorus, stomping feet and pounding chests, the sound echoing across the crater like war drums made of joy.
The warlord gave Dianna a long, amused glance. "This is either genius or lunacy."
She winked. "Why not both?"
He threw back his head and roared, deep and thunderous. "Tarnak'hul! Pick your vines! Choose your roots! GRAVITY IS OUR ALLY TODAY!"
"WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—!" one warrior shrieked as he launched down the slope, arms flailing, vanishing into the green.
Another followed, upright and howling. "I REGRET NOTHING!"
The jungle came alive with motion.
Dozens of Tarnak'hul took to the roots in batches—sliding, leaping, spinning, some even trying to ride two roots at once. Screams of delight, panic, and triumph filled the air.
Dianna picked her root, crouched low, gave Ethan a wink—
And launched.
"WHOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOO!!" she cried, hair flying back, armor gleaming, blade raised like a knight charging downhill.
"Okay. That's hot," Ethan muttered.
Sid followed behind her with an elegant hop—landing smoothly, hands in pockets, surfing the curve with effortless grace. No scream. No sound. Just cool.
Ethan stepped up, eyeing the descent with a grin of steel.
"My turn."
He jumped—and immediately started whooping like a man on fire.
"WHEEEEEEEEEE—HAHAHAHAHA—HOLY—YESSSSS!"
The root twisted like a rollercoaster drawn by a mad god. Moss slapped his face. Leaves exploded around him. At one point, he had to duck under a branch that screamed past inches from his head.
And yet—
He was doing it.
"NAILED IT!" he shouted as he dipped around a curve. "I AM THE ROOT KING!"
The Tarnak'hul behind him weren't so lucky.
One bounced. Another spun like a barrel. A third missed entirely and ended up crashing through a bush upside down, war horn somehow still blaring between his teeth.
"WHEEE—AGHHH—THERE'S A ROCK—!"
"TOO FAST—TOO FAST—WOOOOO!"
"BROTHER I HAVE NO BRAKES—!"
Down below, Dianna landed in a crouch, dust kicking up around her.
Sid touched down beside her like a falling feather.
Ethan skidded in after them, catching his balance, hopping once—then landing on his feet.
He raised both arms, grinning wide. "That's right! Second run, baby!"
A Tarnak'hul warrior crashed behind him, tumbling like a sack of potatoes.
Ethan glanced back smugly. "Clean landing. Watch and learn."
Another warrior spiraled in sideways, screaming all the way to impact.
Then the final thunder hit.
The Warlord descended like a storm.
He dropped from the last curve like a boulder wrapped in glory—armor gleaming, one knee forward, one fist punching the earth on impact.
BOOM.
A shockwave rippled outward.
Dust rose. Leaves trembled.
And the Warlord rose slowly, like a statue waking.
Not a scratch on him.
Even the jungle paused.
Ethan blinked. "Okay… okay yeah. That's just… show-off levels of cool."
The Warlord didn't even look at him. He just walked past, majestic as thunder on legs.
The rest of the Tarnak'hul lay scattered across the slope, groaning, laughing, cheering.
"Still alive!" one croaked, face-first in a bush.
"I lost a shoulder pad but kept my dignity!" another gasped.
A third warrior, eyes spinning, gave a dazed thumbs-up. "I married the root!"
Dianna grinned. "That… went better than I expected."
The Warlord turned, sweeping his gaze over the sprawled group. "Sound off! If your bones are still inside you, we march!"
Grunts of agreement. Groans of recovery.
Ethan stretched his back, feeling the ache but loving it. "Alright. That was ridiculous."
"Good ridiculous," Sid noted.
Dianna nodded, brushing moss from her armor. "Let's do it again sometime."
They gathered now, breath steaming in the cooling air, the orange light of sunset casting long shadows through the trees.
Far above, the ridge they'd left behind was already a memory.
And before them—the jungle whispered of more.
With a rustle of movement and the low groan of stretching leather and creaking bone straps, the warriors hoisted their massive packs once more. These weren't just bags—they were traveling fortresses, twice the size of their bearers and stuffed with tools, weapons, bundles of rope, whole furs, and slabs of dried meat. A few even had spare shields strapped to the sides like dinner plates for giants.
From the top layer, several warriors pulled out long-wrapped torches.
Snap. Spark. FWOOSH.
One by one, fire bloomed. The jungle drank the light greedily.
Soon, a trail of flickering orange followed them as they pushed deeper into the thick green. The air grew cooler, heavier. Vines hung lower. The calls of birds gave way to rustles in the brush.
It didn't take long for the first creature to come.
A low growl. A rustle to their left. Then—a blur of scaled muscle lunged from the bush, too fast for most eyes.
But not fast enough.
SCHHHNK!
A Tarnak'hul warrior stepped forward with a single, brutal swing. His blade buried itself in the creature's snout—splitting it open mid-leap.
Blood hissed against the moss.
The warrior yanked the blade free and nudged the beast with his boot. "Dinner."
Without missing a beat, two others broke from the line to help. They hacked it apart cleanly—one stripping meat, the other coiling intestines into a pouch. Every organ was handled like a resource.
Ethan winced, watching one of them casually loop the thing's spine over his shoulder. "Okay. Still not used to that."
"Efficient," Sid said simply.
"Gross," Dianna added, then glanced at Sid. "Don't even think about having me do that."
He gave her a sly look but said nothing.
As the trail dipped, they took down two more creatures—one with curved tusks, another with plated scales like armor. Both were dispatched swiftly and stored with ritual care.
It was dark by the time they found it: a small clearing hugged by roots and flanked by a curtain of old vines. Ancient stone teeth poked up through the earth like ruins half-swallowed. The jungle opened just enough to show the stars.
The warlord raised a fist again. "This is good. Let us camp here."
The warriors moved like clockwork.
Packs dropped.
Poles unfolded.
Canvas stretched.
In minutes, the clearing transformed into a living outpost. Tents rose, cookfires sparked. Clay dishes clinked. Pots were filled with water and sliced meat. A perimeter was marked with wooden stakes and binding thread.
The trio tried to help.
Ethan fumbled with a tent pole and nearly took out a warrior's knee.
Dianna handled some stakes with sharp precision, carving grooves so they would hold.
Sid laced silver filament through the treeline—his eyes distant, every touch deliberate, threading strands between bark and stone like an invisible tripwire.
Soon, smoke curled skyward.
The campfire roared.
A beast flank sizzled on the spit. Grease popped. Someone passed around bottles made of hollowed bone filled with thick, pungent liquid.
Ethan sniffed it, eyes narrowing. "This supposed to be drinkable?"
The Tarnak'hul warrior chuckled. "Only if you're brave enough."
They ate.
They feasted.
The jungle quieted.
Dianna sat with her legs stretched, meat in one hand, blade in the other. Sid leaned against a moss-covered stump, watching the trees with half-lidded eyes. Ethan was already in the middle of a loud story, half-shouting, using sticks as puppets to reenact the slide down the cliff.
"And then—BOOM—I land it! Sid saw it! I stuck it!"
"More like stumbled into it," Sid muttered.
"I stuck it artistically!" Ethan countered. "With flair!"
Around them, the Tarnak'hul laughed, belched, and shouted over one another—crude stories and triumphant chants bouncing into the night.
The warlord stood near the fire, silent, sipping from a thick cup, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond. Listening.
Always listening.
And for a little while…
They were warm.
They were full.
They were alive.
And the night held no war—only stars above and embers below.