The mist still curled in the air—soft, slithering, and strangely calm.
Krixi stood behind the rubble, silent. Her blade arms rested at her sides, vents along her spine exhaling pale green fog like breath from a sleeping beast.
The group remained wary. None moved. Not even Sid.
Then the Warlord's voice broke the silence.
"Can you stop it? The toxin. The fog it breathes."
Sid blinked as if pulled from a trance.
"I… don't know," he admitted. "It's not something I'm consciously doing. It just… happened. My thread awakened something during my awakening—something strange. And Krixi also inherited it."
He stepped forward slightly, watching the steady hiss of vapor from the puppet's back.
"I used ancient materials—Thornsong Bloom… and Screamshard Core. They were both poisonous in their own way, and now… I think Krixi breathes it. Not for attack—Just… to exist."
He exhaled, glancing down at his own hand, where his threads twitched faintly with that eerie green pulse. "I'm immune to it. I can only make sure only Krixi touched the mist. But I think that's just… how she is."
A low murmur rippled through the Tarnak'hul.
"A breathing non-living thing," one warrior said, almost in disbelief. "How bizarre."
The Warlord tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing.
"Are you curious," he asked slowly, "to try it out in combat?"
Sid looked at Krixi again.
The puppet didn't move.
But his threads pulsed.
Not with his will.
With hers.
Sid's fingers curled slightly.
"…Yeah," he said. "I am."
The jungle pulsed with heat and silence—thick, green, alive.
Sid stood beside Krixi, whose mist coiled lazily around her like a second skin. Her breathing—if it could be called that—had softened, but never ceased.
Then the Warlord broke the quiet.
"How about you three get some stretching done," he said, voice like gravel over stone. "Join the scouts. Learn what the wild teaches those who survive it."
Ethan perked up, eyes flashing with that familiar spark. "Stretching, huh? Finally, something that doesn't involve ritual circles and almost dying. I'm in."
The Warlord grunted. "Don't treat it like a game. The jungle's not your gym."
He turned slightly, gaze shifting beyond the trees—toward where the earth dipped into something deeper, older.
"Remember the settlement we saw. Built into the crater wall like a scar. I had scouts survey it while we camped. They've found a safe approach. You'll meet them along the ridge trail."
He faced the trio now, eyes glinting under the canopy's fractured light.
"Observe the place. Learn how they live. But don't go blind. If it's hostile, I want to know. If it's not… maybe it's useful."
"And on the way," he added, nodding toward Krixi, "test it. Her. See what she can do when it's not just theatrics and poison. Beasts roam near that path. Let them teach her how to kill."
Sid said nothing. He glanced at his puppet—at the way her head tilted just slightly, as if she'd understood the challenge.
"I'll keep her controlled," he said. "As much as she lets me."
Ethan rolled his shoulders with a grin. "Finally. A real warm-up."
Dianna sighed, resting a hand on her sword. "Just try not to enjoy it too much."
"I make no promises."
The Warlord nodded once—sharp and final."Then go. Don't dawdle. The scouts are already moving."
Sid stepped forward, his threads twitching faintly with the anticipation humming through his nerves. Krixi followed—silent, weightless, breathing fog.
And just before they vanished into the green, the Warlord called out:
"Teach her what it means to fight."
Then the jungle swallowed them.
---
The jungle shifted as they moved.
The scouts, seasoned and confident, led the way with ease—barefoot steps landing where most would stumble, hands brushing aside thorned vines without a scratch. They spoke in low voices, trading instructions with light humor, like this death-infested terrain was a familiar backyard.
"Watch for the red-tipped leaves," one said, gesturing lazily at a cluster of ferns. "Not poison. Just a warning. The poison's usually near them."
Ethan arched a brow. "That's… oddly considerate of the jungle."
Dianna smirked. "You thinking of writing a thank-you note?"
Ethan raised a finger, mock solemn. "Dear murderous ecosystem—please stop trying to kill me for five minutes."
One of the scouts chuckled. "Talk like that gets the trees listening. They might take it as flirting."
"Then we're definitely dying," Dianna said dryly.
Sid remained quiet, eyes scanning constantly. He followed every instruction the scouts gave, never once missing a cue. He crouched low when they did, mirrored their pacing, even started pointing out newer tracks before they did.
One of the scouts glanced back. "Huh. He learns fast."
The other grunted. "Too fast. That one's smart— this two, I doubt it."
Krixi walked ahead, silent and gliding. Her clawed feet made no sound. She kept a steady pace—close enough to remain in sight, far enough that her vented mist trailed harmlessly behind her in the breeze.
Even so, Ethan kept an eye on the fog, muttering, "Kinda weird how something that cute could kill us in our sleep."
"She's not cute," Dianna said. "She's a weapon."
Ethan gave her a sideways look. "You name your swords too."
"Exactly."
They pressed deeper.
The jungle grew older. Denser. The air thickened with the weight of time and damp. Trees leaned like old bones. Moss clung to everything, and beneath it—cracked stone. Metal. Roads long consumed.
Then one of the scouts halted, crouching near the base of a rotted trunk.
He touched something in the dirt.
A print. Deep. Clean. Heavy.
Another scout knelt beside him, brushing away leaves. A second set. Then a third.
Massive, clawed. Spaced wide.
"Beast sign," the lead scout said, voice suddenly devoid of humor. "Fresh."
The Tarnak'hul beside him grinned, exposing scarred teeth. "Prepare yourself, boy," he said, turning to Sid. "I think your fog-breather's about to get her first taste of blood."
Sid felt a twinge in his gut—not fear, exactly, but tension. The kind that comes before instinct kicks in.
His threads twitched faintly at his side.
He looked ahead at Krixi.
She had already stopped.
Blade-arms raised.
Head tilted.
Listening.