FREE USE in Primitive World

“The swamp paths will be slippery, Sol,” Zeyra whispered, her voice a soft, raspy purr that barely carried past his ear. ” So, make sure to be extra careful.”

“Just focus on making sure you guys don’t trip,” Sol said, his hand casually coming down to grip the back of her neck, his thumb applying a firm, dominant pressure that made her let out a small, satisfied breath.

“If the other eight teams get bogged down in the mud because you fell down, we’ll be fighting four thousand men in the open brush instead of a narrow ditch.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not that weak. I have spent my whole life in the jungle and know how to navigate it,” she promised, leaning her head heavier against his shoulder plate.

Kira looked at Zeyra’s behaviour with cold eyes but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t time for stuff like this right now.

Once the initial silence of the meal settled, the three new male teammates assigned to his Team by Veylara exchanged nervous glances before shuffling forward through the ferns.

They dropped to their knees a few paces away from Sol, their posture rigid and full of an intense, almost worshipful deference.

Living in a world where strength was the only true law, Sol’s absolute destruction of the elite stalkers and his brilliant strategy had turned him into an idol overnight.

The biggest of the three, a broad-shouldered youth named Torin, had the heavy, thick calves of a Wind-Leopard spirit. Despite his scars, his face was still flush with the awkward, silly nervousness of a young warrior trying to impress a chief. He hit his chest armor in a muffled salute.

“General Sol,” Torin whispered, his voice shaking slightly with excitement. “I… I saw you during your training drill this afternoon.

I’ve never seen anyone redirect tension like that. The older warriors are saying you have a spirit that can flatten mountains. It’s an honor to be in your team. I’ll absolutely do my best.”

“Don’t call me General,” Sol said, his tone casual but flat. “And don’t worry about my spirit.

Just make sure you do as planned and smash your oil jars against the main support poles of their tents, not the dirt.

If the hide doesn’t catch the flame immediately, the smoke won’t blind them.”

“Understood!” Bran, the second male warrior, chimed in with a frantic nod.

He was leaner, his fingers constantly twitching as if he wanted to sprint right into the trees.

He had a hyperactive personality that made his leopard-spirit traits seem almost erratic.

“We’ve already double-checked the vine bindings on the pitch jars, General Sol! Kael and I can clear twenty paces in a single heartbeat when the wind is at our backs. We’ll have the eastern sector screaming before the stalkers even open their eyes!”

The third youth, Kael, looked a bit more grounded but his eyes still held that intense, starry-eyed admiration. “The whole vanguard is talking about the rotating wheel strategy, Sol.

The elders thought we were going to die behind the wooden walls, but now… everyone wants to see the look on the Marauder chieftains’ faces when they realize they’re running into a trap.”

Sol looked at the three boys. They were silly, nervous, and clearly riding an adrenaline high before their first massive deployment, but their Layer 2 speed pathways were tightly wound and ready to snap.

They were good pieces.

“Save the shouting for the swamp,” Sol muttered, throwing a bone-shard into the brush. “If you breathe too loud through the jungle, the birds will give us away before dawn.”

The three boys nodded quickly, their faces turning serious as they settled back onto their haunches, completely satisfied that their new leader had acknowledged them.

Kira, who was checking her bow, stopped setting her bowstring for a second and looked over at Torin, her stormy cat-pupils narrowing. “You boys are already talking like the war is won.

If you get too excited now, your legs will freeze the second a Zerith stalker drops from the branches right in front of your nose. Keep your energy in your core, not your mouths.”

Torin rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. “We know, Kira. It’s just… after the Zharun betrayed us, everyone thought we’d be digging our own graves inside the spires. Seeing the General… I mean, Sol…giving us such a brilliant strategy. We’re ready to run until our lungs burst.”

“You won’t have to run forever,” Zeyra murmured, her eyes never leaving Sol’s jawline as her fingers continued to trace the rough grooves of his black Rockhorn carapace.

“The rotating wheel means we only strike for minutes. The pressure is on the enemy, not us. They are the ones who will be running blindly into the mud.”

A few paces behind the boys, the third girl assigned to the team, Tala, remained completely isolated. She sat perfectly still in the deep shadow of the root, her small, seemingly frail frame hunched over her knees.

Her pale, milky-grey eyes stared straight into the blank darkness of the forest, completely blind to the visual world but hyper-aware of everything else.

Her nose twitched every few seconds, sampling the scent-profiles drifting in the air, and her ears rotated smoothly toward the distant sound of a nocturnal insect snapping its jaws.

She was entirely quiet, her personality cold and detached from the excitement of the boys. She didn’t offer an introduction, and she didn’t even join the talk, she was simply locked into the environment, practicing her abilities as much as possible.

Sol cast a glance toward her, noting the long, curved bone-needles strapped to her forearms. “Tala. What do you see right now?”

The small girl didn’t turn her head, her voice coming out like dry autumn leaves scraping across stone. “The night is beautiful. . The wind is low. There will be plenty of mist during dawn. It is the perfect air for a slaughter, General. Enemies will have no idea the hornets are sitting in the dark.”