A warrior surged past—barefoot, bare-chested—his leather loincloth snapping as he lunged. Black and red paint ran down his face like war scars. His jaw was tight. The bone piercings in his ears rattled as he moved. In his hand, a bone knife curved like a fang, already stained with blood from his previous kill. He didn't pause. In a single strike, he slit the intruder's throat. The body dropped, lifeless, and in the same motion, he spun and severed another's head clean from the shoulders.
He turned to Nine. His chest heaved, and blood ran down his arms. His eyes, wide and urgent, locked onto his.
"You must save yourself—GO, NOW!" he shouted. His voice cracked at the end.
Nine didn't think—he ran. His feet pounded the ground. His breath was ragged. his mind screamed louder than her panic.
'Cowards run. But maybe even cowards would've stayed for this' his mind screamed louder than his panic, he pressed his hand to his chest—his heart pound like a war drum'
"You're Nine," he whispered aloud. "You finish what others start… or you die trying."
He skidded to a stop, heart hammering in his chest. Then he turned and dashed into the woods.
He jumped, caught a low branch, and climbed, hands gripping the bark, pulling himself higher and higher until he reached the top of the tallest tree. He crouched on the thick branch, high above the chaos.
From up there, the view opened: The sea glimmered beyond. Mountains loomed in the dark. And below — the village in chaos.
He whispered, "How did it all come to this..."
The moon was bright enough to light the scene. She saw the invaders clearly now. They weren't dressed like the mountain raiders or other tribes. Their clothes were layered and muted, made for stealth and speed—tight to the body, yet flowing like a shadow.
"Nine, look!" One's voice called from just below her.
He turned quickly. Following the direction of the hand, ONE was pointing at the sea.
Out in the distance, shapes moved across the water—dark, massive.
His mouth fell open. His stomach tightened.
"Are those... sharks?" One asked, eyes narrowing.
Nine didn't answer right away. His voice caught in his throat. The ocean didn't ripple. It split, that's not something sharks do.
Nine shook his head slowly. "No. They're battleships. And they came ready."
Five ships approached the shore like monsters from the deep, their prows cutting clean lines through the water.
One swallowed hard. "What are we going to do now?"
He looked shaken. The calm in him was gone, as his stomach sank. He'd fought before—this war was getting intense and they're on the losing side
"I'm going to the Earthlings," Nine said, already climbing down.
"The Earthlings?" he caught up with him at the base of the tree. "Nine—the Chief is dead. They won't fight for us, they turned their back on us long ago."
Nine turned to him, His blue eyes locking gaze with his. "I'm not giving them a choice."
One stared at him, searching his face for something—a change of mind. There was none.
"Take Dagi with you," One said, just then an eagle's cry echoed above them. The great bird swooped down, circled once, and landed beside them.
Nine walked to Dagi and mounted smoothly.
One stepped back. His eyes didn't leave his.
Without a word, the eagle snapped its wings open and kicked off the ground. In seconds, they were in the air. One stood alone below, watching until she disappeared into the night.
---
The children sat huddled beneath the thick canopy, their tiny bodies pressed close, some clutching one another, others holding sticks lit with fire. Their faces were painted with pale blue lines—a sacred birthmark of protection. Animal-tooth earrings hung gently from their ears, and their necks were laced with tangled cords of beads. Barefoot and bruised, their legs were wrapped in hide—light enough to run in, tough enough to endure the cold.
The wind whispered above the trees, then—
Thud.
Seven dropped from a branch overhead, landing with a crouch. His chest rose and fell, but his breath was calm. "Path's clear," he said, glancing back toward the dense woods behind him.
Eight held his torch tighter and gave a short nod. "Then we move."
The group turned toward the narrow crack in the earth—an old cave mouth, covered in vines and dust. One by one, they entered. The flame from their torches flickered against the walls as they stepped cautiously down the stone path, deeper into darkness.
The tunnel curved and narrowed until they reached a massive stone door, silent and ancient. Beside it, carved from the wall, was a small statue—hands lifted, holding a bowl-shaped offering cup. Its face was smoothed by time. Mysterious. Waiting.
Three stepped forward quietly. With a swift pull of his bone knife, he cut his palm, his expression tight as the blood welled. He let the drops fall into the cup.
A deep rumble rolled beneath their feet.
The stone door groaned. Slowly, the cracks widened as the door shifted open. Dust trickled from the edges. Once the opening was wide enough, they entered—one after the other.
The door began to shut behind them.
Five hesitated. His voice trembled as he turned to look back. "Do you think the others will be okay?"
Seven's jaw tightened. He didn't look back. "No," he said simply. "But I pray they do"
A soft sniffle came from one of the children at the back. A little boy—no older than four—pulled on the sleeve of the older girl beside him.
"Will Mama be inside the temple?" The little boy whispered, voice breaking.
The girl didn't blink. Her eyes were distant, sad, tiring and empty. "Mama's gone."
The boy's lips trembled, but he nodded, wiping his face with the back of his wrist. His small shoulders heaved once. Then he went quiet.
Eight turned his head slightly but didn't speak. He just stared ahead, firelight dancing in his eyes as he muttered under his breath—a prayer.
They were safe for now.
Or maybe not