The fire’s still smoldering.

  Jarrell stands in the ruins of the beast village — body aching, lip split, arms trembling from the escape.

  All around him: ash, wreckage, scattered armor, burned bones.

  But his eyes aren’t on the dead.

  They’re on her.

  The cloaked woman.

  Still standing.

  Still watching.

  [THOUGHTS]

  She didn’t leave.

  She waited.

  He steps forward slowly, raising one open palm.

  [SPEAKS]

  “…You… strong. Save me. Thanks.”

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  No answer.

  She stares.

  Not blinking. Not shifting.

  [THOUGHTS]

  Maybe she don’t speak same way.

  Maybe she scared. Or cautious.

  He tries again.

  [SPEAKS]

  “…Name… Jarrell. Me… not fight.”

  Still nothing.

  Her grip tightens around the staff.

  He lifts his other hand.

  Then steps forward.

  [THOUGHTS]

  She saved me. Maybe… she kind. Maybe I—

  He extends his hand.

  A universal gesture.

  Peace.

  Connection.

  The moment his fingers move toward hers—

  BOOM.

  A blast of raw energy slams into the ground inches from his feet, exploding dirt into his chest.

  He falls back, coughing.

  [SPEAKS]

  “…Why?! What—?!”

  He looks up.

  She’s already gone.

  Vanished like mist.

  No footprints. No trail.

  Just firelight fading behind a broken hut.

  ---

  The sky’s still dark.

  Jarrell walks through the camp — half-limping, half-scavenging.

  Finds old boots. A cloak that doesn’t smell too foul. A dagger with half a hilt. A canteen with a trickle of water.

  He drinks.

  Pulls on the boots.

  Wraps his ribs.

  [THOUGHTS]

  No cage. No chains. No blood games.

  Just freedom.

  He takes one last look at the pit where he nearly died so many times.

  Then turns.

  And walks.

  ---

  The trees close around him again — humid, buzzing, alive.

  But his mind’s not on the jungle.

  It’s on her.

  [THOUGHTS]

  Her hair.

  Blue.

  Like sky through ice.

  Who… was she?