Chapter 3 Warrior of the wild

The mist coiled like breath from the earth as Elias stepped cautiously through the underbrush. His machete was slick with dew, his breath slow and deliberate. He was tracking a sound-not of beast or bird, but of movement, precise and calculated.

Then he saw her.

Kaela, fierce and fluid as the river, stepped out from the trees, the arc of her bow perfectly still, an obsidian-tipped arrow aimed squarely at his chest. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked over him-boots worn but not military, a satchel heavy with maps and journals, and no rifle in sight.

She said something in a dialect that echoed like wind through leaves. Elias raised his hands.

"I'm not here to steal," he said in slow Portuguese. "I'm here to understand."

She didn't lower the bow.

Kaela was Kuarin-one of the last, if not the last. Her people had vanished from maps long ago, swallowed by history and empire. She wore their mark-blue pigment curling in spirals from her collarbone to her jaw, telling a story Elias couldn't yet read.

It was not until nightfall, after she had shadowed him in silence for hours, that she finally approached his camp. Firelight flickered between them as they sat like old foes at a parley, sharing silence broken only by the chirping jungle. She refused the food he offered but took the canteen.

Elias, trying to bridge centuries with mere words, showed her the map-hand-drawn, stitched together from monastery scraps and half-mad explorers' journals. Her eyes narrowed, and then something in her expression changed.

She leaned over the parchment, tracing a path with one finger. Then, without hesitation, she held a corner of it to the fire. Elias lunged, but it was too late. The flame curled the paper, devouring mountains and rivers.

He stared at the damage, incredulous.

Kaela looked at him then, and for the first time, spoke slowly enough for him to understand.

"The real path is not on this. Your maps were written by liars chasing ghosts."

She stood. "You want the Heart? Follow me. But know this-my ancestors are watching."

Elias, caught between awe and annoyance, asked her why she would help him at all.

Kaela paused. Then, with a voice soft but firm, said, "Because I'd rather walk beside the fire than let it burn the forest alone."

That night, as the jungle hummed its ancient lullaby, Elias packed up camp with a new guide-and perhaps a new enemy, or something more dangerous: a reluctant ally with a blade sharper than any he'd faced, and a purpose far greater than gold.

He had found a way forward.

He just hadn't realized yet it would change him more than any treasure ever could.