The jungle pressed close around them.

  The deeper they went, the thicker the world became—underbrush closing in tight at their knees, the canopy above letting in only shafts of bruised light. Even the birds were quiet. Just the soft shuffle of boots in damp soil, the occasional crack of a branch, and the steady breath of four people who weren’t speaking much.

  They followed the trail where it curved along old stone paths half-swallowed by roots. Eventually, the trees began to thin again, and the green broke open onto a small rise. Wood and rope formed a spindly silhouette against the gray sky—an old watchtower, maybe ten meters tall, built from island timber and lashed together with tight black cord. It leaned slightly, but stood.

  “Still holding,” Liu muttered, tipping his head back.

  “Barely,” Nozomi replied, already moving toward the base.

  They took turns climbing. The ladder groaned, the whole structure swaying faintly under their weight. Lei was the first to reach the top. Then Xo. Nozomi followed, Liu last.

  At the top, the platform creaked but held. And the view hit them like breath pulled through the teeth.

  The island unfolded in all directions—dense with dark forest, streaked with narrow river channels. The coastline twisted around uneven cliffs, and to the north, the ocean met the land in a jagged bay.

  Lei pointed across the sea line. “That there. Do you see it?”

  Nestled in the rocks was a shattered hull—split down the middle and half-lodged between stone and sand. From this height, it looked like driftwood. But even from here, the pieces were too cleanly sliced, too angular to be natural.

  “Could be a wreck,” Xo said.

  “Their wreck,” Nozomi added. “ The lost mortal squad.”

  No one argued. Then Liu’s voice came, quiet and low. “Look further.”

  He was staring inland—past the dense stretch of jungle, toward the distant horizon where something broke the sky.

  Not a cloud.

  A peak.

  It was jagged and wide, steam rising from its crown. But it wasn’t just steam—it was black, thick smoke. The kind that clung to the air, that rose too slowly, that seemed to stretch up without end.

  “Wasn’t on the map,” Lei said.

  “Wasn’t in the briefing,” Nozomi added.

  The mountain didn’t move. It simply stood, radiating pressure even from this distance. There was something unnatural about it. The lines were wrong. The earth beneath it looked… newer. Like something that hadn’t always been there.

  “Volcanic?” Liu asked.

  “Maybe,” Lei said. “But this island isn’t volcanic. Not officially. No record of anything like that forming here.”

  They stood in silence.

  Eventually, Xo said, “It’s too far. Let’s check the shipwreck first.”

  Heads nodded.

  “Better to confirm what we can before climbing into hell,” Nozomi said.

  With one last look at the smoke rising from the not-mountain, they turned and began their descent.

  The jungle swallowed the sound of their steps.

  For half an hour, the squad moved in a silence so complete it began to feel wrong. No birds called overhead. No insects buzzed underfoot. Even the wind seemed reluctant to move. The only noise was the occasional rustle of brush as someone shifted their weight, or the faint drip of moisture sliding off broad, dark leaves.

  Liu glanced upward once, eyes narrowing. “Shouldn’t be this quiet.”

  Nozomi nodded slightly but didn’t break stride.

  Lei kept his eyes scanning the treeline, every sense narrowed to a line.

  The trees thinned ahead. The jungle broke just before the shore.

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  Palm-like trees bowed toward the beach, their fronds rustling faintly in the salt wind. The squad crouched low beneath the foliage, concealed by brush and shadow, eyes fixed ahead.

  The wreck was impossible to miss.

  A long, dark shape loomed out of the cove, half-buried in the earth where the sea had hurled it. The hull had cracked open down the middle—ribs of the ship jutting skyward like broken bone. One mast had snapped completely, its length embedded diagonally through the middeck. The sails were shreds. The whole thing stank of seawater, old wood, and something fouler underneath.

  Lei’s eyes narrowed. He shifted along the undergrowth for a better view, steady, silent. His gaze caught a faded mark on the splintered prow.

  A crest. Weather-worn, half-scorched. Still visible beneath the grime.

  The Chengtan Coastal Guard.

  “This was the investigation team’s ship,” he murmured. “They never made it.”

  The silence stretched. No birds. No wind. Just the distant lap of water against the splintered hull.

  Lei held up is hand and froze. Everyone stopped. His eyes tracked the far side of the wreck, just above the cracked deckline. Something hunched rose from within the ship. Gangly limbs clutched at the broken railing. A long neck craned upward—avian, angular. Then the rest of it dragged itself into view, feathers clinging wetly to pale, mottled skin, limbs twisted wrong at the joints.

  The thing unfurled a set of damp, sickly wings—and leapt. It took flight with a single beat, shrieking as it rose into the air. Something dangled from its beak.

  An arm. Human. Bloodless and limp, trailing shredded cloth from the forearm.

  Lei’s mouth tightened. His core stirred as instinct pulled him inward, searching—feeling. Qi perception extended, faint threads scanning the pulse in the air. What came back chilled him.

  Water element. Sharp. Defined. Not just a beast. A monster.

  “Harpy,” He said. “Shipwreck haunt. I’ve read about them.”

  Xo tensed, brow furrowed. “Scavengers?”

  “Worse,” Lei muttered. “They sing.”

  Liu gave him a look. “Like… badly?”

  Lei shook his head. “Like it gets in your head. Mind-type charm. If there’s more than one, and they start that melody…”

  The harpy clambered onto a broken beam and perched, claws digging into the wood. Its neck twitched. It dropped the arm, and it landed with a dull, wet slap in the sand.

  “Are we sure it’s alone?” Liu whispered.

  “I don’t know. Probably not, they hunt in groups.”

  He felt another flicker. Not Qi, but breath. His own, just a little too quick.

  He turned to the others, voice low. “Too strong to fight head-on if there’s more. One could still be manageable, but we wouldn’t probably come out of the fight unscathed.”

  Nozomi shifted behind him, already pulling back a pace.

  “How many?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lei replied. “I’m not picking up others yet, but it was inside the ship, and we didn’t know until it flew.”

  Liu’s eyes flicked toward the wreck. “So either we leave, or we fight.”

  “We leave,” Lei said, sharper than he meant to. He exhaled. “We can’t afford to draw them out.”

  Xo gave a nod. “Then we don’t linger.”

  They withdrew from the brush, keeping low, careful not to rustle a single leaf. Lei moved last, eyes still on the sky.

  The harpy was gone—already vanished into the gray.

  But his gut stayed tight. The forest was still waiting for them, and already seeing powerful beasts is not a good sign.

  They returned to the treeline without a word, cutting wide of the coast and circling back toward the inland path.

  A shiver traced down Nozomi’s spine. A single dew drop fell into a puddle—sharp, clear. For one second, it sounded like a song. By unspoken agreement, no one mentioned the harpy.

  The jungle swallowed them again. Deeper this time. The green seemed darker now, more watchful. As if the forest had been listening. As if the leaves had caught the sound of their breath and whispered it ahead.

  They crossed the path below the old watchtower again—its crooked silhouette looming briefly through the canopy, now half-hidden by vines and distance. Then it vanished behind them for good.

  An hour passed according to the sun. Maybe more.

  Ahead, the trail dipped into a natural basin, where the trees thinned again into a wide, open clearing.

  Liu slowed first, raising a hand. “There,” he said softly.

  The others followed his gaze.

  Rusted blades dotted the grass like forgotten stakes. Spears snapped at the haft, swords eaten by time and weather. A few scattered helmets lay where they’d fallen—some dented, some split clean down the middle. But there were no bodies. No blood.

  Just one.

  At the edge of the clearing, sitting atop a stone outcropping like a throne abandoned to moss, was a skeleton.

  Slumped forward slightly. One hand resting on the hilt of a long-rotted blade, the other curled loosely against its ribs. Clothing had long since decayed, though faint scraps of red and gray still clung to the bone.

  Nozomi’s voice came low. “That’s not right. Shit, this island gives me the creeps.”

  Lei moved carefully forward, eyes sweeping the field. “These weapons... they’re old. Imperial-issue, but generations out of date.”

  Xo crouched beside a fallen spear, turning the shaft in his hands. “Villager-made, maybe. Or militia.”

  Liu’s gaze stayed fixed on the skeleton. “Then why is there only one body?”

  No one answered.

  No animals had disturbed the bones. No scavengers had touched the armor. The skull tilted slightly, empty sockets fixed on the jungle’s edge like it had been waiting for something that never came.

  Lei stepped closer, careful not to touch the stone. “You see how it’s sitting?”

  “Like it chose that spot,” Nozomi said. “Not like it fell there.”

  “Or like it was placed,” Liu added.

  A silence fell, heavier than before.

  The jungle beyond the clearing stood utterly still. Even the air refused to move.

  Nozomi’s hand drifted to the hilt at her back. “I don’t like this place, feels like a trap.”

  “We keep moving,” Lei said. His voice was quiet but certain.

  The others nodded.

  Then something ruffled the leaves behind him.

  No sound. No warning.

  Just a flicker—barely more than a breath—and then weight.

  A sharp pain exploded in Lei’s back, and the world flipped.

  The ground rushed up. His chest hit first, then his face, the breath torn from his lungs as something heavy slammed him into the mud. Claws dug in. Hot breath rasped at his ear.

  The others turned—too fast, too late—and found themselves staring into the eyes of a predator.

  Coiled muscle. Black fur streaked with ash. A lean, sinewed shape crouched low over Lei, pressing him into the earth. A shadow puma.

  Its eyes gleamed with pale hunger. And for a moment, everything stopped.

  Then the blades came out and everyone exploded in motion.