BOOM!

  There was a loud crash!

  Joe, along with the rest of the exploration team who hadn’t yet taken cover, had been monitoring the unfolding chaos from the edge of the forest. The moment the launch bird lost altitude, and the object it carried came crashing down, he sprang into action.

  He signalled to the other two generals—one already at his side, the other spotted in the distance, sprinting toward the settlement in the direction of the wreck.

  Joe barked out orders without hesitation.

  “Get all the hunters and able people together. Prep to retrieve that object—whatever it is, we need it. And be ready to fight that thing if it gets too close to the buildings. We’ve worked too hard to let these things treat us like we’re nothing to pay attention too.”

  The native animals, locked in their own desperate struggle for survival, paid no attention to the humans. The launch bird being schedule to crashed to the ground any time soon, still burning and struggling on its way down, while the remaining three circled overhead, hovering like vultures with nowhere better to be.

  It was the perfect window.

  Joe’s retrieval team began to move, creeping closer to the site. The field ahead was open, exposed, and deadly—but the distraction gave them a chance.

  Lady Vee had been silently tracking the whole fight, her eyes sharp and calculating. What surprised her now wasn’t the chaos in the sky—it was the number of settlers charging across the field.

  They ran with nothing but sticks, stones, and old spears, teeth gritted and hearts loud.

  Fearless. Or foolish. Maybe both.

  She watched them go and couldn’t help but feel a twist of admiration.

  Still, she knew better.

  The launch bird was grounded, sure—but those three yellow-and-green feathered bastards were still circling overhead. Just waiting. They could swoop down at any second and tear through the crowd like butter.

  Their courage wasn’t lost on her, but she understood something most didn’t: this wasn’t Earth.

  And when God gave you a test in a place like this, it was never meant to be easy.

  It was salvation—or damnation.

  A part of her wanted to be out there. To run into the fray. To prove herself. But another part—sharper, colder—knew the truth. Understanding these creatures... truly understanding them, was just as critical to survival as strength.

  She could be part of the game. But she also had to know how to play it.

  As she scanned the field—soon to become a battlefield—her mind raced. Every detail mattered. Every second counted. She was already building a plan. A response. A strategy.

  She just needed to stay close enough to see everything before she made her move.

  As she surveyed the soon-to-be battlefield, Lady Vee’s mind worked furiously, piecing together what she knew and the plan she needed.

  First priority—the object. Just like Joe said. The one thing they both agreed on. The same thing those sky-ripping birds were losing their damn minds over.

  Joe’s call for able-bodied settlers to retrieve it had already been met with swift action. They were moving. But she already knew where it needed to go. To Gemski’s basement. Unfinished, sure—but just deep enough. If they could get it half-covered, they'd have enough time to buy some space, maybe study it before those things came tearing through again.

  It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even good. But it would do. Especially if those smaller birds wanted it badly enough to die for it.

  "To the hole!" she shouted.

  “When you get to the object, take it to the hole!”

  It sounded strange. Hollow even. But it landed with weight. People understood. The message was clear. They had to drag that thing back to base if they wanted a chance to get ahead in this hellscape.

  As the team pushed forward, she felt that tight surge of urgency spike through her veins.

  Focus, just focus.

  The more they understood this forest—this war zone of biology and instinct—the better they could predict the next move. The object, whatever it was, was a key to understanding the creatures. Their purpose. Their aggression. Their weakness.

  Knowledge would be their real weapon.

  But damn was it going to be a bitch to move.

  The object had size. An enormous root-like structure, slick and backless, its base knotted with thick tendrils that looked too alive to be dead. Nestled in the centre of it was a translucent, jelly-like sac, pulsing faintly with sun light, filled with some kind of fluid that shimmered like oil on water.

  Too big to lift. Too soft to drag without care. And heavy as hell.

  Even with every available hand on deck, it was a logistical nightmare.

  And lets not forget, the birds weren’t gone.

  A frustrating realization settled in as the team struggled, straining against the weight of the object, trying not to draw attention from the circling beasts above. The thing was too damn heavy. Too awkward. They weren’t moving fast enough.

  Lady Vee’s jaw clenched, irritation sparking hot behind her eyes. These people weren’t weak—but they were running out of time. Her mind flicked fast through every useless scenario until one snapped into place.

  “Get the damn axes and cut it!” she barked.

  “Hack away at whatever you can! It’s a plant—whatever that gel is, we don’t need it. Cut it off!”

  Her voice cracked through the tension like a whip. No time for second-guessing. No room for debate.

  They obeyed.

  Silent, tense, maybe afraid—but they moved. Axes came down hard and fast, teeth biting into the thick tendrils and bark-like flesh of the root object. The gel sack pulsed, shimmered, but no one asked questions. They didn’t have the luxury.

  It was messy. Ugly. A frantic flurry of blades and bark and splashing fluid—but it worked. The sack came off with a sick, wet snap and thud, left behind in the grass like an afterbirth. They turned their full effort to dragging the remaining body of the plant toward the only shelter they had.

  “Take it to the hole!” Lady Vee shouted again, her voice steadier now, threading control through the panic.

  Her eyes never left the sky. The three birds were still up there. Watching. Waiting.

  As her people heaved and strained and shuffled the root-thing across the field, she gripped the large feather tucked over her back—a trophy from her earlier exploration, one of three they had claimed back then—and muttered low through gritted teeth:

  "To God be the glory.”

  As they pushed through the open field, it became painfully clear—their work was far from over.

  Though the plant was more manageable now without the gel sack, their problem only seemed to shift for the worse. It wasn’t noticed at first, but just as they had a nice stride going, people began falling. It wasn’t weird at first considering the predicament they were all in.

  Hunger—almost starvation.

  Thirst—basically dehydration.

  Exhaustion from working like prime labourers.

  Fatigue was expected, especially after being tasked with taking this oversized plant base across what seemed like the length of two football fields.

  One after another, they started tripping like a curse of clumsiness had fallen over them.

  Garry's voice, a whip-crack in the humid air, sliced through their weary gasps. "What's wrong with you people? Keep on your feet! We need to hurry and hide this thing in the hold before those flying creatures come looking for it.”

  Juniper stumbled again, his face slick with sweat and grit. "Man, we can't help it! The roots are tripping us up, and we really don't have it within us to take it all the way to the hole! Its been days since we had food and water. This is literally killing us. The more people fall, the more it amplifies the compounding struggle, adding pressure to those who now have to compensate and carry their load. We're dying here. Can’t you see that!”

  Garry scoffed, a dry, bitter sound. "Shud up and lift with your knees then. You ain’t the only one going through this shit! You are the only one complaining! All these muscles and all of you are useless. Whatever is happening to those that fall will be handled by those following; those same followers will fill in and replace those that fell or get too tired. Focus on the task at hand and save your energy by being quiet. This is our fight, but it is not thee fight.”

  Nia, pulling on a coarse rope, shrieked a curse under her breath as a root slid under her boot. "What the fuck is up with these roots though. They seemed so big moments ago, but now they are so stringy and needle-like in size.”

  "I don't give a damn what they're doing!" Garry yelled, his face a mask of frustration. "They're not the problem! The beasts above are! This thing is our shield until we get it to the hole! And this thing is also a target. Focus! Lift! Push! Pull! Move! Step! One! Two! Three! Move those legs people. Go! Don't you dare drop this plant, people! Human kind's survival depends on this thing!"

  The group, as a single, straining entity, obeyed. But as they moved, the roots tangled and tightened, not just tripping them, but it was now creating friction burns wherever there was movement, it felt like thousands of sharp needles piercing their weary flesh, grinding away at skin.

  Most of the surrounding grass had already been cut and cleared, put to use for crafting, weaving, and marking the boundaries and paths of the settlement. What little remained standing had been worn thin during the five days they’d been on the planet. But the pathways were still too narrow for the crowd carrying the large plant, forcing them to brush into the tall grass along the edges.

  At first, no one noticed the subtle unraveling of the massive roots proportionate to their size. None of them realized that the roots of the plant they carried had a dense and loose fibrous system that was coiled together. As they walked through the high grass, they naturally got tangled in the wiry, sinewy roots. Because of that, the roots were overlooked.

  The roots felt like snakes in the grass on the search for something unknown, reaching and spreading outward as the humans dragged the plant's base. It was becoming more problematic to walk without impediment as the roots unraveled more. The roots were thin but strong, and under the disguise of the grass, they were slowly tripping people up.

  As they tried to get better leverage with their hands, backs, and shoulders under the gigantic plant base, the deeper the roots got under pressure, the more the numbness disguised their true nature as they moved, wrapped, and burrowed into skin and flesh.

  After some time, the roots were around legs, arms, necks, tools, and within their clothes—anything they made contact with, the roots reacted by strangely curling around it. As they slowed, to rest or catch themselves, it looked like the roots were getting more active somehow. Was it the movement that was causing them to be so reactive, or maybe the temperature from their bodies, or some other variable?

  Short though it was, when it was time to move again, the damn thing fought back. The roots held on to the grass, and some literally had to be uprooted again. Stopping for any reason was starting to look like a bigger burden than suffering the unending walk, because when the going gets tough, the tough get going.

  But things only got worse the more they took breaks, at this point it was a necessary action to prevent them all from collapsing under the weight of the plant base. The longer they took to get to the hole, the more people started to trip. Many of them cursed as the roots whipped up and cinched around ankles or slithered into clothing seams, breaking skin and now drawing blood.

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  It was no longer just weight and clumsiness slowing themselves down—it was bondage.

  The plant was trapping them—there was no longer any doubt. The roots tangled around their bodies like the strands of a spider’s web, the kind you stumble into without warning. But to what end?

  Was the plant the reason why the launch bird was flying the way it did?

  Mechanically and puppet like?

  Did the plant make it easier for the other birds to attack the launch bird?

  Whatever was happening, it was working — the roots were dragging down the able bodies, the very ones needed to take the launch bird down if it landed in their settlement.

  “Issa! Do something,” Lady Vee bellowed, cutting through the rising panic.

  “Cut those damn roots off anyone they’ve latched on to! Speed this shit up now. You guys need to get some distance from the roots in some way. We need some rope, and please find me Doctors Webber, Harry, and Renner—NOW! We need to get back over to the gel section we cut from the plant when this is over. Make sure you can find at least one of the doctors. I can’t leave before this task is complete.”

  Her eyes swept the group, meeting the gazes of those still standing firm, willing to risk it.

  “And the rest of you—keep pushing through the pain! We’re almost past the housing district! Just a little more and we’ll be near the hole!”

  Grunts and groans rose over the dragging of feet and fallen bodies being dragged along by roots they were yet to be cut from—bodies straining, backs bent, bleeding fists tightening around axes, ropes, and spears.

  They were doing everything they could to fulfill the task. It was brutal work—every step felt like it cost more than the last. But if this was going to help with the survival of the human race to some degree, they wanted to do their part.

  So they pushed onward.

  The trail they left behind was nothing more than flattened weeds, mangled grass, and patches of blood where roots bit too deep under their open skin before being hacked away. The air was thick with the scent of crushed green plants, sweat, iron, and pure human effort.

  Time wasn’t on their side. The birds were still circling. Maybe distracted. Maybe not for long.

  And then things shifted again.

  Shifted into high gear.

  It started with one man stumbling. Then another dropped to his knees right after, coughing, on the brink of unconsciousness.

  Then two more collapsed.

  The commotion faltered.

  Workers blinked, swayed—some clutching their heads, others looking around in dazed confusion.

  This clearly wasn’t fatigue anymore. Something else was happening.

  The air… it was thicker. Sticky. Sharp, with a biting, rustic stench that burned the back of the nose. The kind of scent you found at a slaughterhouse.

  The kind that made your instincts scream run.

  Death lived in the area, and they needed to leave.

  Lady Vee’s heart kicked against her ribs.

  Her gaze darted over the team—more bodies down.

  Some gasping. Some gone silent. Their faces were pale, their eyes unfocused.

  She clenched her jaw, the large feather in her grip crushed tighter as she thought about cutting down that rooted plant that was causing them so much trouble.

  This wasn’t just about moving a plant anymore.

  Something in it... or from it... was fighting back. It was fighting her people, and it was getting worse the closer they got to the hole.

  Or maybe the perspective was wrong—and it was causing trouble the farther it got from the gel sack.

  Whether it was the gel, the roots, or some invisible effect the plant emitted under stress—something was causing the people around to be more fatigued than the labor called for.

  She watched as the roots and the smells choked them while they tried to cut away at the tangling roots that consumed them.

  It was slowing them down inch by inch—not just physically, but clearly neurologically—because those who endured the roots the longest seemed to be more out of it than those who fell and were cut away.

  It was doing its damage fast. Leaving its roots deep within flesh, painlessly.

  They were so close to the hole where Gemski planned to build a headquarters.

  They were so close to securing this root of a plant.

  So close to understanding the one piece of evidence that might explain the birds’ appearance, the fires, the mission of the launch bird itself.

  But now?

  Now it was a question of whether they’d get it there before it finished off the rest of the retrieval team.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Get the wounded to the medical area. Now!” Lady Vee barked, her usual composed demeanour cracking—just for a moment.

  Her feet were already moving before her mind had fully pieced together the situation.

  Whatever this thing was, the mission to retrieve it had taken a dangerous turn.

  The task that once felt heavy but straightforward had twisted into something far darker.

  Was it toxic? Was it releasing something? Affecting the team on a level they didn’t understand?

  As leaders, did they make another mistake? Did they prematurely make a rash move and cause the loss of life once again?

  Lady Vee didn’t have answers—only a growing number of questions to match the certainty in her gut that it wasn’t going to end well.

  They couldn't afford to fail now. Not when everything hung in the balance.

  Cries shattered the air.

  “Help!”

  “Something’s wrong with Garry! Someone call Doctors Webber and Harry!”

  Then another:

  “Help!”

  “I feel drained, like I’m drifting—dying!”

  The screams came in waves from under the rooted plant, overlapping in a rising tide of panic that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them.

  Those pulling by rope were also pulling those caught up in the roots.

  The retrieval team stirred like wounded beasts as doors flung open around them. From the surrounding huts in the housing district, people poured into the dust-choked air. The team tried to ignore them, pushing through, focusing on the mission.

  Those who had hidden when the launch bird appeared now stumbled forward, faces twisted in confusion and fear, eager to help in any way they could. Guilt drove them — they hadn’t wanted to face the alien birds themselves, yet they couldn’t stand by now. The team was far from where the birds had fought, and these new hands were desperate to assist, though they still feared the cost of stepping into danger.

  New hands and legs stumbled forward to help those barely able to stand. Bodies fell, tangled and dragged along; the new hands quickly pulled and cut them free, leaving some behind — limp, breathing shallow.

  Many stood frozen, staring at the horror unfolding before them. Those who could acted, adding more rope to the plant and pulling, trying to create distance as they processed the chaos around them.

  The new hands joining from the huts pulled people into the buildings, away from the open, while others rushed back to cut the roots they could see writhing around in the air and entwined around the injured.

  And then it hit Lady Vee as she watched the injured and wounded.

  They were all bleeding—but it wasn’t bleeding them oddly enough.

  The roots, the plant itself was draining them.

  They looked thiner at a glance or was that her mind playing tricks again?

  The headaches, the fatigue, the dizziness she heard them complaining about. The facts were adding up. It was overlooked because the symptoms were expected but she didn’t realize in this moment it was being accelerated.

  Water.

  Not flesh. Not blood. Life itself was being taken. The roots of this plant weren’t just touching them—they were siphoning something essential. It was complex, alien in design, a filter of some sort. But it wasn’t blood the plant craved. It was water.

  The only explanation that made sense: the damn plant was stealing their hydration, drop by drop, from bodies already starved of it.

  After five days without proper water, this was a death sentence. The realization hit her fully—enough to make her act. She ordered everyone to stop and drop the plant, putting as much distance between themselves and it as possible.

  She needed to prioritize the lives of the people over the mission. But could she really stop them now, with the goal so close? If anyone died and the birds retrieved the plant again, those lives would have been lost for nothing. Yet, if they got the plant to the hole, maybe they could finally gain understanding… unless this was just another form of some alien monster, and she was making the wrong call.

  Shaking her head, she released her stiff grip on her sword, took a steadying breath, and resolved herself. “If it is God’s will for us to die here, then it is the plan that must be followed.

  Those untouched jolted into motion, led by Issa’s fierce voice as she cut one worker free with a stone blade.

  That set off a chain reaction. Knives of stone glittered in the sun. Roots were sliced. Skin peeled away from the tendrils like tearing cloth. Some of the victims cried out, others didn’t even have the strength left to respond.

  The air was filled with rasping breath, the thuds of bodies hitting the dirt, and the low, desperate murmurs of those trying to keep someone—anyone—alive.

  Others wrapped their arms around fallen comrades, hauling them back on their feet, whispering frantic reassurances through grit teeth.

  “Stay with me.”

  “You're alright. You're alright.”

  “Just breathe, we’re almost there.”

  Every time one was freed, another collapsed. A knee would buckle; a head would loll back. The early signs of failure were sharp as glass—lips split, skin gone dry and ashen. The plant moved like a predator in slow motion: not vicious, exactly, but single-minded, sucking life in a manner that felt criminal. Still, it was only a plant—stupid, terrible plant with secrets.

  Lady Vee’s jaw tightened. Five days. No water. Every scrap of effort—the shelters, the makeshift tools, the fights, the burns—flashed through her. “Ridiculous,” she spat, and the words were steel. It wasn’t bluster; it was the heat of belief.

  They would not lose here. Not now, not after surviving this long. She would pass this test and get them home. By God, she would not die today—she felt that truth down to her bones. All that remained was to do everything she could, as well as she could.

  Lady Vee’s gaze swept the battlefield. The air pulsed with the cries of birds, their wings cutting jagged paths through the smoke in the sky, still locked in a vicious aerial war. Yet her gut screamed that the real threat wasn’t just the birds, nor the strange root-draining plant. The jelly sack. The image of it throbbed in her mind, an unshakable fixation. There was something about it—something important. Why did the birds want it so badly? What was it made of? Could it be used?

  Then, the thought clicked.

  "I need baskets! Large ones! Anything that can hold liquid!" Lady Vee barked, spinning toward the people clustered near the huts. “If you haven’t already, make some—fast!” Her voice sliced clean through the fog of fear, laced with urgency and authority.

  She pivoted back to the frontline, pitching her voice toward those still in motion. "I need some of you on the battlefield, now! Get basket-sized samples of that jelly! Don’t wait, go!" Then, turning sharply to the medics nearby, she snapped, "Move the worst cases to my zone. If they can still walk, get them inside and out of the damn sun!”

  She was gambling. But everything in her gut told her this gamble might save lives.

  She cupped her hands, shouting toward the huts with conviction.

  “If the birds are gone by sunset, take the empty baskets with the weakest among you back to the sack! Wait for my signal! If it’s fluid—if it’s drinkable—give it to the dehydrated first. Then store the rest. Priorities the workers and fighters. Understood?”

  Hydration was hope. But safety was still the line.

  And just like that, the housing district erupted into motion. Fear still gnawed at them, but desperation? That lit a fire. People scrambled—rushing to weave makeshift baskets out of anything they could find. Palms, thread, rope, cloth, netting. If it could hold liquid, it was being used.

  Others moved toward the medical zone, helping drag or carry the worst of the fallen into the shade, whispering prayers, muttering vows. “You’ll make it, just hold on—just breathe.”

  The momentum built like a storm rolling in. They weren’t retreating. They were adapting.

  Then—something shifted.

  It started subtle. The air thickened like syrup, heavy with tension. A low vibration rolled through the air, barely felt—but unmistakable. The birds above shrieked again almost in response—but this time the sound was different. Higher. Sharper. Meaner.

  Lady Vee’s eyes narrowed, breath caught in her chest.

  As her senses taped into the shifting tides.

  And then it happened.

  The Launch Bird—that fire-cloaked monster—finally came crashing from the sky like a comet of death. Its burning form tore through the smoke and smashed into the earth with a cataclysmic impact. A quake rolled through the settlement. Dust and embers exploded outward. Shattered bark, flame-tipped leaves, and blackened feathers rained down.

  Time paused.

  No one moved.

  No one breathed.

  The only sounds left in the wake were the faint crackle of burning grass and the broken, wheezing gasps of the fallen titan. Its belly heaved, breath rattling through charred lungs. Its wings, scorched and broken, twitched uselessly at its sides.

  It wasn’t dead. Not yet.

  But the field had changed.

  And so had the stakes.

  Joe’s eyes locked on the fallen creature, his pulse hammering with a mix of adrenaline and raw, burning opportunity. This wasn’t just some victory to claim—this was survival, handed to them still writhing, still breathing, on a burning silver platter. If they could finish it, if they could strip it down, this behemoth could feed and fuel the settlement for weeks—maybe months.

  His grip tightened on the black rod in one hand, axe in the other. He could feel the weight of it—not just the steel, but the responsibility. They couldn’t afford hesitation.

  "Get it, boys!" he bellowed, voice cutting through the haze of dust, fear, and lingering doubt like a war cry.

  For a moment, no one moved. The beast was plane-sized, a scorched titan bleeding from molten wounds, feathers still smouldering like burning banners in the wind. Its sheer presence towered over them, even grounded and crippled. The air reeked—charred meat, burnt feathers, and that bitter, metallic stench of fresh blood.

  But then—through the swirl of ash and smoke—they saw him.

  General Joe.

  Charging straight into the chaos. No pause. No second-guessing.

  A man who didn’t flinch before death. Who didn’t freeze at hunger or fold to impossible odds. A man charging headlong into hell with an axe in hand and survival on his mind.

  And in that moment, the hesitation broke.

  Because if Joe was willing to bleed for it—so were they.

  The onlookers—many still winded from the brutal forest expedition—hesitated. They carried better weapons than the sticks and stones clutched by the weaker settlers, but exhaustion weighed heavily on them. Most of the hunters who had scouted the forest earlier had avoided confrontation, conserving their energy, while the MVP and specialists had left their mark in the northern and western forests.

  Now, however, that restraint was gone. Muscles twitched, fingers clenched weapons, and eyes locked on the wounded, titan-like bird. Hunting instincts sharpened, all primed and ready for the hunt.

  They were itching for battle.

  And they all knew hesitation kills faster than claws or fire.

  It was the main reason why Joe didn’t wait when he saw what was coming.

  With a stone axe in one hand and a carbon-pit spear in the other, he led the charge—his steps steady, decisive, made of grit.

  Behind him came the willing: hunters, settlers, and survivors wielding whatever the hell they could find. Crude spears, sharpened bone knives, hacked branches reinforced with bits of scavenged scrap. Against the Launch Bird, they looked like gnats with sticks.

  But gnats bite.

  And swarms kill.

  The beast thrashed in agony, wings slamming into the earth with deafening force, each impact kicking up scorched dirt and sending waves of fire-warmed air blasting outward. It was like a fish dragged out of hell’s ocean—gasping, panicking, blindly flailing. Each movement only fed the flames that clung to its feathers like curses.

  But even a dying monster is still a monster.

  One false move. One misstep. That was all it would take to become a red stain beneath half a ton of twitching talon or collapsing flesh.

  Joe dodged left as a claw the size of a horse snapped down where he’d been a second before. His mind wasn’t just in the fight—it was ahead of it. Always calculating.

  The mass of the thing had to be close to 450 tons. Bones, organs, feathers, and meat. If they butchered it right, if they stored it quick and clean, this thing could feed their three thousand strong for months.

  The math raced through him like instinct:

  Half a pound per person per day = 600 days of food.

  In reality? They’d be lucky to get half of that. Rot, scavengers, weather—it could all ruin the dream.

  But a dream it was.

  A goddamn miracle gift from the sky wrapped in fire and pain.

  And they were going to take it.

  Realistically, they had three months—maybe less—before this food, if they could even secure it, turned from miracle into burden. That truth gnawed at Joe even as he charged toward the launch birds. The wall was still a skeleton, nowhere near finished. And once the bird fell, its blood alone would carry a scent that dragged hell straight to their doorstep. Predators. Scavengers. Maybe worse—things this alien world kept hidden, the kind that didn’t roar or hiss, but simply watched and waited.

  Joe knew the forest’s silence was never mercy. It never warned of danger until it was already too late. He had seen them—flashes of something moving when all sound had been stripped from the world. That silence was its own mystery, one he hadn’t solved, but it left him no doubt. The forest was alive with things unseen. And now, with five days of mistakes behind him, Joe was resolved. He would put this right. He would take the bird down, even if it meant doing it alone.

  When they first arrived, the forest might have seemed quiet—but never empty. Joe’s eyes followed the plume of feathers and fire above. If he and the other fighters didn’t act fast—cut, clean, preserve—this miracle would turn into a curse: a mountain of meat rotting in the open, beaconing every hungry shadow for miles. It was almost too fortunate they hadn’t already seen shapes slinking through the tall grass. Almost.

  And yet, despite the danger, Joe felt something stirring. Invigoration. The forest had stripped him bare, taught him painful truths about his body, his limits, his very will. Out here, under the weight of fire and feathers, he wanted to test them all. Test himself. Push until he broke—or proved he wouldn’t.

  But they had an advantage.

  No!

  He had an advantage.

  Joe’s jaw clenched tight. If June had done what he was supposed to do—and Joe had no doubt he had—then some of the groundwork for meat processing was already in motion.

  June was a goddamn miracle worker. An angel of efficiency when he wasn’t complaining and trying to be lazy with his bags of excuses. June is the kind of man who didn’t just prepare for battle—he prepared for survival.

  In just a day, the man had probably wrangled together plan for every tool they’d need. Traps, hooks, maybe even the framework for smoking pits and drying racks. I think he said he was a “Custodian” so his life mission is to ensure that the vital information and wisdom of the past are not lost forever. And it shouldn’t be overlooked—the only reason they even made it out on that expedition was because of June organize the necessary people to create gear for them. Shields, spears, reinforced wooden swords, bags, earth containers—hand-crafted on request, and ready on time.

  The man thought ahead. Always had. Thats something Joe was sure of and grateful for.

  He ran the makeshift toolshed like a general runs a war room—axes, ropes, braces, wedges—all of it mapped to construction, defence, survival. He didn’t talk much, didn’t boast, but his work said it all: Survival isn’t about fighting. It’s about lasting. Its about learning and understanding.

  Joe’s eyes locked onto the flailing beast flapping desperately to reduces its lose of altitude. This wasn’t going to be just a simple kill.

  This was the first brick in a long road of what comes next.

  And what came next, was a fight.