2025-10-14 15:39:50All through my years as a young Silurix, I envisioned myself as a soldier in the Liberated Lion Army, standing tall alongside the finest warriors and representatives of the six clans. At first light, the thundering waves of their marching feet, the sound of their anthem, and their unending procession to keep the cities safe gave me a powerful sense of purpose. “Woah! That one's huge.” I remember saying to myself one time as I sighted one of the tallest soldiers from across my Aunt's window. We called him ‘Goran’— Mountain Man.
My Aunt and Uncle never sent me to school so I really did have a lot of time on my hands. I wanted to be like Goran but, most importantly, I wanted to feel the sense of purpose that fueled the minds of these soldiers. So, I began putting myself through the most absurd training sessions. They made no sense, really. I remember practicing a 'war cry' in the middle of the grand marketplace but instead I let out the pathetic squawk. I didn’t realize how horrible I sounded until a tiny, scaly bird perched on a nearby lamp-post and immediately dropped a splat of its crimson droppings directly onto my head. Then a group of market-goers followed, pausing to point and snicker. “Ayy! Why would you do that to yourself?” a nearby vendor let out, shaking his head. I could feel his sense of disappointment at my lack of dignity.
Now, here I was, a Liberated Lion and the only surviving victor of the Silurix clan. As I took the first step out of the venom swamp, the rays of the first light hit me. There was a clear contrast between the atmosphere of the horrific state of the trap I had just escaped and that of the camp site. I stood at the entrance for a few minutes and took in a deep breath to really soak it in before proceeding to announce my survival. As I proceeded, the venom swamp’s muck clung to my boots, each step, a sucking, morbid reminder of the mire I had just survived.
“I'm finally out of that death trap”, I said to myself. “Can't believe I'm actually alive”, I kept muttering to myself until I reached the tent of the Army Commanders.
I didn't quite understand why I kept repeating those words. They just kept ringing in my head. A broken record of a thought that I couldn't seem to stop. It was like they were trying to overshadow another. The swamp's oppressive air, thick with the stench of decay and the creeping illusions of the Vyper lions, had not just messed with my body, but had also infected my mind. I was stuck in a part of myself that felt disconnected, disembodied.
Suddenly, it clicked. It felt like I was forgetting something crucial. But what could I have possibly left behind in that miserable mire?
"Did I lose a weapon?" I thought, my hand flying to my side to check for my blade. It was there.
"A canteen of water?" I checked again. It was still filled with the murky swamp water.
I kept coming up empty. The feeling of being hollowed out remained. I tried to shake off the persistent emptiness. "Must have been the hallucinogenic plants," I mumbled to myself. I tried to convince myself that the effect would wear off. But the emptiness wouldn't go away. The feeling of forgetting something wouldn't either. The venom swamp had taken something from me, and I wasn't sure what it was. But I knew that, whatever it was, it was not something I could get back.
Just before entering the tent, I stopped to drink some clean water from a bowl at the entrance of the tent. My hand trembled as I lifted the bowl of water to my lips. My reflection shimmered on the surface—a ghost with a mud-smeared face staring back at me. It was in that moment, in that distorted image of myself, that the emptiness shattered. It all came back to me. Not a memory, but a fresh wave of grief so intense it stole the air from my lungs.
My legs buckled. They instantly became too fragile to carry the rest of my body. I dropped the bowl, and a desperate, guttural sound tore from my throat as I fell to my knees. "Titus!"
The swamp hadn't just taken something; it had taken him. “Arrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!”
How could I have forgotten? The shame was a physical blow, heavier than any of the trial's hardships. A wave of conflicting emotions—rage, sorrow, and something cold and numb—swamped me. I remained on my knees, unable to move, unable to breathe, lost in a storm of feelings and questioning the point of this entire, brutal trial.
I sat still on the ground and slowly recounted every detail of the trial as they came rushing back.
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CHAPTER 14: EXILE FROM THE HEARTH
My aunt’s door remained shut, but I could feel her disappointment pressing on the wall like a physical force. Then I saw my uncle. He stood outside his workshop—a grizzled, quiet man whose rare approval meant everything to me. He watched me approach, his face a desolate mask of grief. As I drew level with him, his eyes, usually kind, hardened into chips of black granite. He met my gaze for a long, aching moment. Then, slowly, deliberately, he turned his back on me, walking into his workshop and pulling the heavy wooden door shut with a resounding thud.It was a physical blow that staggered me, a pain worse than any venom. He hadn’t just turned his back on me; he had extinguished my presence. I couldn't endure it. I couldn't live with the guilt and the unanswered condemnation. Ignoring the armed guards and the cold command in JD’s posture, I broke ranks. I ran to the back of my aunt's house, my legs burning with a fresh, desperate adrenaline. I shoved the familiar door open and stu
CHAPTER 13: EXECUTION BY JUDGMENT
The transit vehicle was a cage, armored and utterly black inside. I was slumped on a cold, unforgiving bench, fighting the constant urge to vomit. The metallic, bitter taste of the venom residue still coated my mouth like old pennies. My muscles were in revolt, not just tired, but actively spasming—a relentless tremor beneath my skin, like a thousand trapped needles. The ringing in my ears wasn't just loud; it was a high-pitched, mocking whine that blocked out everything real. My head felt like a bruised melon, thrumming with a headache that felt capable of splitting my skull.I tried to breathe—a simple, basic function—but my lungs burned. Every cell in my body felt violated, scraped clean. The swamp hadn't just drained my strength; it had stolen my ability to feel anything but this raw, awful emptiness. I was a man held together by pure, desperate, exhausted will. JD Blaxskn sat across from me, motionless and immaculate. He didn't look at me, but I felt his scrutiny, cold and clin
CHAPTER 12: UNTETHERED
We were moving out of the tent, heading toward the temporary storage area, when a body slammed into mine, sending a shockwave through me that nearly knocked me off my feet. I looked up and was met by the cold, unforgiving eyes of Jax Anvil. His stare had always been distant, but this was different. This was a message. And I understood it perfectly, without a single word being spoken. He blamed me for Titus's death. Jax let out a low, gruff huff, then looked away. A chilling feeling ran down my spine, confirming the unspoken accusation. He’s right. I am responsible for his death. My guilt twisted the moment, telling me Jax's pain was proof of my treachery.I found myself near the storage sacks, unable to move. I was lost in thoughts. I could not lift a finger to pack anything. All I did was sit still and observed an ant try to drag a grain of millet over to its layer. The ant struggled, slipped, righted itself, and hauled the grain again, its tiny effort immense. I saw myself in its
CHAPTER 11: A LINE ON THE LEDGER
I didn't run. I couldn't afford the panic. I walked, rigid and cold, toward the faint, sickly green glow of the trial marker. Every step was a forced act of will, driven by the ruthless core of the Silurix discipline: cunning ensures life. My boots squelched on the fungal mat, but the sound was distant, muffled by the ringing in my ears—a fading echo of Titus’s final agony.The marker was an ancient, rough-hewn stump, its wood covered in bioluminescent moss and the crudely carved sigil of the Liberated Liions. I reached out a trembling hand and pressed my palm against the cool, damp surface. The sigil flashed, a brief, silent affirmation that the trial was complete. I had survived. I had won.The moment the sigil flared, the oppressive silence of the swamp was ripped away. The heavy, sweet, intoxicating mist began to thin, pulled back by powerful, unseen vents hidden in the canopy. The sounds of the outside world—the distant, metallic hum of Victoria's machinery—rushed back in, ra
CHAPTER 10: TITUS! (II)
The Crucible was engineered to break you down, not just with impossible physical feats, but with relentless, gnawing hunger. Every meal was the same tasteless, lukewarm protein paste. They wanted us hollowed out, easier to fill with their dogma.But Titus was the only one who fought the hunger with laughter.“Look at that slop, Nox,” he’d grumble, kicking his boots in the dirt. “If I fed this to a stray dog back home, my mother would whip me.”Titus came from the wealthy Anvil clan; I came from the Silurix alleys, raised by the back of the palms of my aunt and uncle. Yet, the hunger made us equals. And the Instructors’ Mess Hall, forever wafting the rich, forbidden scent of spiced meat and dark sugar, became our common enemy."We need a distraction," he whispered that night in the barracks, the hunger making his voice tight. "They’re too paranoid to let anyone near that kitchen. They guard against strength, but they don't anticipate cunning."The mess hall ran on a main methane l
CHAPTER 9: A FINAL STEP SIDEWAYS
The sound arrived like a physical blow.It wasn't a roar of battle or a challenge; it was a pure, high-pitched shriek of sheer agony and terror, instantly recognizable, instantly wrong. It cut through the insulating silence of the swamp like a razor across velvet.Titus!The name tore through the haze of the hallucinogenic venom. All the spectral images—the disappointed faces of my aunt and uncle, the silent, judging figure of Titus—vanished. The mist, for one terrifying second, cleared enough for brutal reality to flood in. Titus was close. Too close. And he wasn't fighting the hallucinations; he was being torn apart. I had seen the sign. I had seen his image but I thought it was the swamp playing tricks on me. I ignored it.Now that I had realized how reckless I had been, my feet moved before my mind could process it. A rush of pure, raw instinct—Friend. Danger! Save him! I plunged forward, heedless of the terrain, ripping through hanging moss that stung my skin. I could hear
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