CHAPTER TWELVERumoursThey ran.Fast.The jungle blurred around them—a chaos of green and brown and shadow, of leaves that slapped against their skin and roots that reached up to trip them. But Muri did not see any of it. He felt it. He knew it.Every root was a memory. Every branch was a warning. Every dip in the earth was a map he had memorized through years of survival, years of moving through this jungle with nothing but his ears and his hands and his instincts.His feet found purchase where there seemed to be none. He ducked under a low-hanging branch, his body twisting at the last possible moment, the rough bark brushing against his back. He vaulted over a rotting log, his hands pushing off the damp wood, his legs tucking beneath him. He wove through a thicket of thorn bushes without slowing, his body finding gaps that barely existed.Behind him, Venit struggled to keep up.She was fast—goddess-fast, faster than any mortal should have been—but she was not accustomed to runn

CHAPTER FOURTEENRite Hunting 2Kaelen was tall—taller than Muri by a head—with broad shoulders and thick arms that spoke of years of hunting and fighting. He carried himself with the kind of confidence that came from never being challenged, from always being the strongest in the room. He was the pride of the clan, the leader of the young warriors, the son who had fulfilled every expectation their father had ever had.He had never had time for Muri, never really cared about the weakling of their bloodline. Not when they were children, when Muri stumbled through the village with his hands out, learning to navigate a world that didn't care if he could see. Not when Muri failed his rite the first time, or the second, or the third. Not now.Muri stood slowly, his jaw tight, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Kaelen.""I heard you passed the rite." His brother's voice was flat, unimpressed, carrying the weight of someone who was delivering news, not congratulations. "The elders co

CHAPTER SIXTEENThe Hunt 3Muri's heart pounded in his chest like a trapped bird.He stood at the edge of the cliff, the cold draft rising from the depths below, carrying with it the scent of something ancient and powerful. The breathing echoed up from the darkness—deep, rhythmic, the sound of a predator sleeping without fear."Aji," he whispered, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "You want me to hunt an Aji.""I want you to try and hunt one" Venit corrected, her voice light but edged with steel. "Hunting implies success. I'm asking you to attempt something worthy of a legend." She shrugs"Venit, listen to me." He turned toward her, his hands trembling slightly. "I've heard the stories since I was a child. An Aji is not a deer or a complex grass feeder. It's not a shadow-stalker, it's not even a pack of shadow-stalkers. An Aji is a mini force of nature. The elders say that when an Aji moves through the jungle, the trees fall silent, birds stop singing, insects stop chirping.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Weight of a Legend The jungle welcomed them like an old friend.Muri walked at the head of the sled, the rope digging into his shoulders, the massive weight of the Aji dragging behind him. Every muscle in his body screamed, his ribs ached with each breath. The claw marks on his chest throbbed beneath Venit's makeshift bandages.But he kept on walking.The sun climbed overhead, casting dappled light through the canopy. Birds called from the branches. Somewhere in the distance, a stream gurgled—familiar and inviting.Venit walked beside him, her white hair pulled back, her steps lighter than they had been in days. She had been quiet for the past hour, but her presence was steady."Muri." she said finally."Mm?""We're coming up on the stream. The one from three days ago."He stopped. He could hear it now—the soft rush of water over smooth stones. The memory of their first camp, the fish, the electric bath, felt like a lifetime ago."We should stop," he said. "Wash u

CHAPTER TWENTY Concern Two weeks had passed since the initiation.The clan had settled into a new rhythm—one in which Muri was no longer the blind boy at the edge of the village, but a recognized hunter, a man who had slain an Aji. He still felt the weight of their stares, but now they were stares of respect, not pity.He rose each morning before dawn, strapped his sling to his belt, and joined the hunting parties. Sometimes he went with the full unit—seven warriors fanning out through the jungle, their footsteps synchronized, their voices low. Other times, he went alone with Venit, the two of them tracking game through the dense undergrowth, their arguments carrying through the trees.And every night, after the evening meal, Venit taught him to fight.She was a harsh teacher. Merciless and ruthless. She corrected his stance with sharp words, knocked his feet out from under him when he dropped his guard, and mocked his slow reflexes with a grin that he could hear in her voice."You