THE LEGEND OF THE FOREST

NO ESCAPE: ONLY WAR

The sound of a helicopter sliced through the desolate quiet of the forest night, jolting Major Kealen instantly awake. He looked up through the skeletal remains of the camp he had recently incinerated, realizing the metallic behemoth wasn't merely passing; it was descending, rapidly. The throbbing bass of the rotors hammered against the dense canopy, signaling the arrival of the enemy he had hoped to welcome since last year.

Kealen scrambled to his feet. He knew the stakes were mortally high. Those men, miners and accompanying security, would be consumed by rage upon seeing the devastation he had caused. They wouldn't bother with questions. If they landed and spotted him, the saboteur who had reduced their operations base, their equipment, and their supplies to ash, they would not waste a single second before delivering a hail of bullets on his head.

He ran, swift and low, toward the wreckage of the main supply hut. He needed a weapon, anything that wasn't splintered wood or blackened canvas. The oppressive darkness within the charred structure swallowed the faint moonlight, making any detailed search impossible for him. His fingers scoured the debris blindly, frantically, even as the helicopter's roar intensified, indicating it was settling into the clearing.

Wasting further time searching was suicide; it was like inviting a fiery end on earth. His searching hand closed around a length of heavy, cold iron, perhaps a strut or a pry bar, salvaged from the destruction. He gripped it tightly, his only defense, and sprinted away from the epicenter of the landing.

Kealen threw himself into the thick, thorny undergrowth near the camp's perimeter. He secured himself tight, his body pressed against the wet earth, determined to observe the men's reaction, gauge the strength of their security detail, and assess their numbers. He held his breath as the helicopter finally settled with a deafening shudder.

The cabin door opened, and figures streamed out, flooding the clearing with brilliant tactical light beams. Kealen minimized his silhouette, ensuring not even the slightest hint of disturbed brush or exposed skin would betray his presence.

He watched as the group assembled, a blend of disgruntled civilian miners and hardened men clearly designated as military men. They stood amidst the bunt camp, their faces taut with disbelief and mounting fury. Everything they had painstakingly secured for the initial mining process, the shelter, the comms equipment, the vital tools, had vanished, transmuted into worthless ash.

One of the flashlights focused on a small, shiny object near the remains of the main door. He bend down, retrieving the broken steel padlock. He examined the sheared metal carefully, turning it over in the harsh light.

Commander Zain whose voice carried the weight of absolute authority, stepped forward. "There are humans in this forest," he announced, his voice tight with controlled rage. "No beast possesses the intellect to breach a lock in this manner. We must find them. We must not spare any of their lives. I don't care how many they are, and I don't care who they are." Zain did not wait for confirmation; he spat the final order and strode back toward the hovering aircraft.

The remaining soldiers and the weary miners stood rooted, annoyance curdling into cold, hard resolve.

Major Kealen watched from his secured position, a flicker of grim satisfaction mixing with his tactical assessment. He felt a sliver of pity for the miners; their mission was dead on arrival. Without equipment, without shelter, and without the assured security of a base camp, restarting their work was impossible.

A treacherous thought surfaced his mind, a silent questioning of his own predicament. Should he emerge, explain his situation, and perhaps appeal for mercy, pleading to be taken out of this ungodly place?

The other part of him, the professional soldier schooled in the brutal realities of command structure and field orders, violently rejected the notion. Zain's decree was explicit: fire on sight. Kealen was a Major in military intelligence; he understood the sacred, lethal weight of a superior's last order. Those men would execute him as an enemy combatant before he could utter a single word of explanation.

But he promised himself, an oath whispered into the dark soil, that they would not leave this forest without him. He would cling to this opportunity, even if it led to a final, bloody confrontation, as his only means of escape from Alpha-09 forest.

He watched as the men packed themselves back into the helicopter cabin, presumably to strategize, rest briefly, and prepare for the inevitable search for the perpetrators of the sabotage, the very person hidden twenty feet away.

Their mission was now radically altered. Tomorrow held two urgent objectives: first, confirming that the discovered gold prospect site remained intact; and second, locating and eradicating the camp, or the people, who had set their hut ablaze. They were convinced only rival miners or organized opposition could possess the audacity to strike this deep into the protected zone. The scent of the recent burn, perhaps only weeks old, fueled their certainty that their enemies were still lurking nearby.

"This is the beginning of the battle," Kealen murmured to the echoing vastness of the forest. "Major Kealen will now test his strength once more. I can now prove to the people once more that I came from the lineage of the god of war. Alpha-09 forest, prepare to taste a bloody consequence. I remain the fearless Major from the lineage of war."

His resolve hardened into a dangerous certainty. Sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. He slowly adjusted his position, the crude iron weapon clutched tightly, determined to remain vigilant and ready for the moment his unseen enemies would launch their attack. The night was young, and the war had just begun.

As day breaks, Commander Zain and his men prepared for the day's critical task. After quickly brushing their mouths, they headed to the nearby river for a bracing bath. Soon after, the grizzled miners led them directly to the suspected gold strike.

Zain instructed one of the miners to dig, emphasizing the need to confirm its presence. The chosen miner worked with practiced efficiency, and soon, the tell-tale glint of raw gold emerged from the earth. A collective sigh of relief swept through the small group, at least no rival faction had yet claimed the precious ore, rendering their perilous journey and efforts futile. Time was of the essence now. They had to locate the enemy patrol hidden in the forest and neutralize them before they could execute their nefarious plans.

Zain swiftly deployed his men, assigning them strategic positions to commence their reconnaissance.

One of Zain's scouts, moving with professional caution, neared Kealen's hidden position. The soldier scanned the dense foliage, his weapon held ready. But Kealen, a predator in his own right, had already marked his prey. He waited, a coiled spring, until the unsuspecting soldier presented his back. Rising silently, Kealen moved like a wraith, clamping a powerful hand over the soldier's mouth while simultaneously twisting his other arm around the man's throat, cutting off any chance of a cry. The soldier struggled desperately for breath as his rifle clattered uselessly to the forest floor. But Kealen never stopped until he snuffed out the man's life against the damp earth. Then, seizing the fallen rifle, Kealen fired three deliberate shots into the lifeless form.

The sharp crack of the rifle shots instantly shattered the forest's silence, drawing the other alerted soldiers from their scattered positions, converging on the sound's origin. But Kealen was already gone, melting into the undergrowth, the stolen weapon now an extension of his deadly intent.