A wide opening between the massive roots formed the entrance to the elder’s dwelling.

  He stepped inside first, his figure gradually swallowed by the warm, amber light within.

  Tahuuk followed, ducking slightly as he crossed the threshold. Jason entered after him. The sudden change in brightness made him squint; the light was softer than the jungle’s moonlit glow, yet richer—almost alive. His eyes adjusted slowly.

  Then he saw it.

  The interior of the tree was hollowed by nature itself, spiraling upward in layered rings. Walkways curved along the inner walls, where tribespeople moved calmly above them. Openings branched outward from different levels, leading to neighboring dwellings, guard towers rising from living trunks, and elevated paths that had been completely invisible from the forest floor.

  Jason turned in a slow circle, breath caught in his chest.

  He almost missed the smaller structure woven into the roots at ground level—a modest house shaped organically from the converging wood. Its form was asymmetrical, grown rather than built. Hanging lanterns illuminated the interior, each holding a gem-like stone. The stones appeared red at their core, yet emitted a gentle orange glow that warmed the space without flickering flame.

  The entire place felt… tended to.

  Not conquered.

  Just moments ago, the forest had felt like a realm of predators. Here, in contrast, everything carried an air of quiet balance. The difference alone spoke of generations spent learning how to live within this world rather than against it.

  “The root of life is a sign that the Protector watches over this planet,” Sira said calmly as she walked beside him.

  Jason blinked, startled that she had spoken to him at all. Then the meaning of her words caught up to him.

  “Wait… roots?”

  She gave him a restrained look. Not anger—correction.

  “Did you believe we hollowed out a living tree?” she asked evenly. “Look at your feet.”

  Jason glanced down. The ground beneath him was solid earth.

  “These are converging roots,” she continued. “We call them Uwita. They form naturally in sacred places across the planet.”

  There was reluctance in her tone, but not hostility. She did not want a conversation.

  She wanted respect.

  After that, she fell silent again, her focus returning to the elder.

  The elder entered the smaller dwelling first. Tahuuk followed, bending to avoid striking his head against the low entrance. Jason stepped in next, closer in height to the hunched elder than to Tahuuk. Sira entered last.

  Inside, the space felt compact but warm.

  Simple wooden cupboards lined one wall. A table stood near the center. Two low sofas faced each other, their frames carved from dark timber, cushions woven from fibers Jason couldn’t immediately recognize.

  For a moment, confusion flickered across his face.

  Where did they get the materials? How did they shape them without tools like the Empire’s?

  The elder noticed immediately.

  A soft snicker escaped him. “You seem overwhelmed by how comfortable my home is.”

  He moved slowly toward one of the sofas and placed a slender incense stick on the low table between them.

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  With a gentle motion of his hand, he gestured for them to sit.

  Sira lowered herself beside the elder without hesitation.

  Tahuuk sat across from them, his posture straight despite the confined space.

  Jason followed, settling beside Tahuuk. As he did, the incense began to burn. A thin ribbon of smoke curled upward, carrying a faint, sweet scent—like resting near still water beneath open skies.

  The aroma softened his thoughts.

  The flood of questions about architecture, tools, materials—about everything he had just witnessed—began to quiet. With every breath, distractions fell away, leaving only the questions that truly mattered.

  Tahuuk lifted his gaze toward the elder and Sira, steadying himself before he spoke.

  “Elder, I do not wish to disrespect the tribe, nor do I wish to challenge the decision that was made.” His voice was firm, but restrained. “What I ask is not for myself. I ask for my friend—my blood brother.”

  His eyes shifted toward Jason.

  The others followed the movement, and suddenly the quiet warmth of the room felt narrower. Though Jason might have felt discomfort under such scrutiny, the incense softened the edge of it.

  Sira’s response came faster than restraint.

  “You call this thing blood brother?”

  Jason’s jaw tightened. Annoyance flickered across his face—an emotion just strong enough to push through the calming haze.

  A low chuckle rose from the elder.

  “I suspected he was special,” the elder said lightly. “At least to you, Tahuuk. Otherwise, you would have been too stubborn to return.”

  His expression softened, perceptive and patient.

  “And what help does your brother require?”

  Tahuuk drew a slow breath.

  “He awakened the White Iris,” he said. “But he cannot control it. I believed—”

  “You want an outsider to complete the ceremony?” Sira cut in, disbelief sharpening her tone.

  Tahuuk hesitated only a moment. “Yes. He deserves the name of warrior.”

  Sira’s posture stiffened. Jason understood her anger now. This was not merely tradition—it was identity.

  A sharp knock sounded inside the house as the elder struck the base of his staff against the ground. The room fell still.

  He regarded Jason thoughtfully.

  “Young man,” the elder began, “do you know why Tahuuk was forced to leave?”

  Jason glanced toward Tahuuk. He had never pressed for answers before, respecting the silence. But now, it seemed the silence would break.

  “In our tribe,” the elder continued, “we hold the coming-of-age ceremony. Through ritual, we seek full harmony—with nature, and with oneself. Afterward comes the trial. Three months alone in the jungle.”

  His voice did not waver.

  “If you return alive, you are a warrior. If you do not… you feed the land.”

  He gestured with his staff toward the wall behind him.

  Jason turned.

  Skulls lined the surface—predators, trophies, memories of survival. But among them were Akicita skulls as well.

  “They died during their trials,” the elder said quietly. “But not all who are absent from that wall fell to the jungle.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “Some were slain by visitors from beyond this world. Some among us desired expansion—alliances, trade, knowledge from the outside. Greed crept in.”

  His voice hardened.

  “It cost us dearly.”

  Silence settled in the room.

  “It is now forbidden for outsiders to interact with our tribe. Those who leave and return are declared exiles. Tahuuk knew this.”

  Tahuuk lowered his head.

  “I believed isolation would doom us,” he admitted quietly. “If the outside grew too strong, we would be crushed without ever understanding it.”

  Jason swallowed. The stares in the village made sense now. The hostility. The caution.

  He looked at the elder.

  “Then why treat me differently?”

  The elder’s eyes met his.

  “Your eyes mirror your soul,” he said gently. “There is no greed in you. Only resolve.”

  He rose slowly from his seat. The warmth in his expression faded, replaced by something stern and absolute.

  “If you truly wish to stand among us,” he said, lifting his staff and pointing it toward both Jason and Tahuuk, “then you will undergo the ceremony.”

  His voice deepened.

  “You will vow to protect our tribe and all it represents. You will keep our ways secret from the outside world. Should you break that vow, you will not merely be exiled—you will be hunted. From the moment you set foot on this planet again, our warriors will seek you.”

  The air felt heavier.

  Tahuuk rose at once and bowed deeply.

  Jason flinched at the sudden movement, then followed suit.

  “We will honor your law,” Tahuuk said, gratitude and resolve intertwining in his voice.

  The elder’s sternness softened, just slightly.

  “Then,” he said, a faint smirk forming beneath his aged features, “we shall prepare the ceremony.”