The jungle’s edge breathed like it remembered them.

  Rell stepped down from the vine-wrapped cart, joints stiff, clothes still holding desert dust. The sun filtered differently through these trees — gentler, green-tinted, and warm without the cruelty of the dunes. He let the scent hit him fully.

  “Smell that?” he said, voice low. “Smell like home.”

  Thessia stretched beside him, her long braid swinging lazily as she inhaled the thick, earthy air.

  “You sayin’ you missed this place?” she teased. “After all the ‘damn sand’ complaints?”

  Rell didn’t answer. His eyes were busy scanning the tree canopy.

  Ko Mala hoisted the last pack off the cart and dropped it with a solid thud. “You used to hate this air.”

  “Sand worse,” Rell muttered.

  “Barely.”

  They stepped onto the sanctuary path. It wound through the underbrush like it had been waiting for them.

  —

  As they neared the inner glade, Thessia nudged Rell in the ribs.

  “Hey. You ever think about… I don’t know, settlin’ down out here?”

  Rell gave her a look. “Settle how?”

  “You know,” she said, shrugging. “Put down roots. Raise a few weird jungle babies. Marry your sword-wives. Maybe teach them how to roast those jungle slugs you like.”

  He blinked.

  “…You talkin’ marriage?”

  Thessia grinned, brushing past him. “If the leaf fits.”

  Rell’s ears turned red. “Th-That not… I mean… why both of you sayin’ that lately?”

  She laughed loud enough to rattle the birds from the branches.

  Ko Mala just shook his head. “They gangin’ up.”

  —

  But the laughter died quick.

  Because the moment they stepped into the sanctuary clearing, a familiar scent hit Rell’s nose.

  Not beast.

  Not forest.

  Fury.

  Umbwe.

  —

  The Blessed Beast lion stepped out from the shadows like he’d never left — silver-maned, broad-shouldered, eyes like smoke behind fire.

  Thessia took a cautious step back.

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  “You again,” Umbwe growled. “Why she here?”

  “She with me,” Rell said, jaw tight.

  “Then you bring trouble. Again.”

  Rell frowned. “Ain’t like that.”

  Thessia began to rise, hand moving to her pack. “I’ll go—”

  “No,” Rell said, raising his voice. “You not goin’ nowhere.”

  That was all it took.

  Umbwe lunged.

  But he never reached her.

  Rell slammed forward, catching him mid-pounce. The two crashed into the roots, snarling and grappling. Rell threw an arm around Umbwe’s throat, dragging him down in a headlock.

  “You don’t touch her,” Rell snapped, breath heavy.

  Umbwe twisted violently, breaking the hold. A paw slammed Rell back — and they both rose at once, fists and claws ready.

  Before they could clash again, the great Owl screeched overhead.

  And from the deeper trees, the silver-furred Wolf stepped out, eyes calm but stern.

  “Enough,” the Owl said, its voice old and still like winter mist. “This place has known too much fire.”

  Umbwe’s breathing slowed. He looked to the Owl, then back to Rell, then at Thessia — and turned without a word, vanishing into the deeper jungle.

  —

  A long silence followed.

  Rell dusted himself off.

  Ko Mala snorted. “Same Umbwe.”

  “I ain’t like this,” Rell muttered.

  Thessia rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright. I get it.”

  “No,” came the Owl’s voice again, soft but firm. “It is not.”

  The group turned to it.

  The Owl’s head tilted.

  “While the ape walked elsewhere, men came. Not with honor. With fire. With nets. They caged our kin. Took the young. Sold them to voices we cannot trace.”

  Thessia blinked. “Poachers?”

  “Worse,” the Owl said. “Buyers.”

  “The pirate,” Ko Mala muttered. “The tide-scarred one?”

  The Owl didn’t answer. It simply blinked.

  Rell looked away.

  “Always somethin’,” he said. “Can’t even come home without ghosts waitin’.”

  He didn’t wait for more.

  He turned and walked off toward the jungle’s edge, alone, fists clenched.

  The trees watched him go.

  Like they’d seen this before.