Tai awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes. Warm morning light peeked through the curtains of his old bedroom. He blinked groggily and sat up in bed, finding himself in his childhood home. The familiar posters of superhero movies still adorned the walls, and the faded blue paint had the same scratch marks by the door from when he used to race toy cars across it. Home... I'm home? He rubbed his eyes, confused but comforted by the cozy normalcy around him.
His feet found the well-worn slippers waiting on the rug. Somehow he was already dressed for work in a crisp shirt and tie, which was odd—he hadn't worn a tie in years, not since that disastrous office internship. Tai shrugged it off as a quirk of oversleeping. As he wandered into the hallway, the scent of breakfast grew stronger. This is too real, a small voice in the back of his head murmured. Wasn't I... somewhere else? The thought drifted away as he heard a familiar humming from the kitchen.
Down the stairs he went, trailing a hand along the banister he used to slide down as a kid. Each step felt incredibly vivid: the creak of the third step, the sunbeam hitting the grandfather clock on the landing. The colors seemed a little too rich, the air a little too sweet, as if the morning had been painted just a shade too perfect.
Tai's nose twitched at the aroma of pancakes - banana brown-sugar walnut, with the unmistakable hint of his mother's secret Christmas spice blend, the one she used without shame even on non-Christmas days. The smell wrapped around him like a warm hug, and his stomach rumbled on cue.
He rounded the corner and froze.
There she was: his mother, standing at the stove flipping pancakes, just like she had every Sunday morning growing up. She looked younger than when he’d last seen her, with a spring in her step and not a strand of gray in her black hair.
"Morning, sleepyhead," she said over her shoulder, without turning around.
Tai’s breath caught.
Mom?...
The logical part of his brain stumbled. His mother had been gone for five years. He knew that.
As if the dream wasn’t surreal enough, his gaze shifted and there sat his father, at the kitchen table, already dressed in slacks and a tucked-in polo shirt, flipping through the morning newspaper like it was any other Sunday.
The television murmured in the corner, low volume, tuned to the morning news, something about unusual meteor showers lighting up skies across the globe. A reporter gestured animatedly at looping footage of fiery streaks raining through the atmosphere.
Tai stared. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.
His father looked the way he used to, before grief had hollowed him out: sharp-eyed, solid, sipping black coffee like it was his sacred duty. Not the faded, slower man Tai had known for the last few years. The difference was staggering.
“Whole world’s losing its mind,” his father muttered without looking up, snapping a page crisply. “It’s just rocks burning up. But no, every second person thinks it’s aliens or some ancient prophecy come true. Ridiculous.”
Tai’s throat tightened.
He hadn’t realized just how much he missed this version of his dad—the one who always had something to say, always had an opinion, always pushed him to do better.
It hadn't always been easy, but it had always been solid.
Unshakable.
Like a tall, weather-worn tree standing firm through every storm.
"Morning, Tai," his father added, still not glancing up. "Don’t be late again, first impressions matter."
Tai’s mother turned then, beaming at him like nothing in the world had ever gone wrong. "Look at you, all dressed up already. Big presentation at work today, huh?" She nodded approvingly at his tie. "Sit down, I’ll get you a plate. Coffee’s fresh."
Tai moved on autopilot to the kitchen table. The old oak chairs, the kitschy rooster-shaped clock on the wall ticking softly, every element slotted into place with eerie precision. It was so normal it hurt.
He sank into his chair, heart twisting in his chest. He wanted to leap up and hug her, to never let go, but an irrational fear kept him still. If I move too suddenly, maybe she'll vanish. So he just watched her bustle about, pouring coffee into his mug. It was even the same chipped ceramic one that said "#1 Son" in fading blue letters.
"Thank you," he whispered as she set it down in front of him. His hands curled around it, holding tight as if the heat alone could anchor him here. Everything felt hyper-real—the steam curling off the coffee, the distant bark of a neighbor’s dog, the soft clink of the spatula tapping the pan.
His mother placed a plate of pancakes in front of him. “Eat up,” she urged cheerfully. “You have a long day ahead.”
Tai picked up his fork, hands trembling. This was wrong. This was so right, but so wrong.
He knew she was dead. He remembered the hospital. The funeral. The unbearable silence in their home afterward that stretched out like a second ghost, filling every room with her absence. That was why he’d moved out—into a tiny bachelor apartment he didn’t even like, because the house without her felt like a museum of grief. His father had moved out too, eventually. They’d sold the place. But here it was again, impossibly restored. Even more impossibly, so were they.
This can’t be real.
His mind scrambled for logic, but the scent of banana pancakes, the warmth of the coffee, the softness of her voice, they drowned out doubt like a warm tide. He took a bite. It tasted perfect, fluffy, sweet, just like she used to make.
Tears stung at the corners of his eyes. “I’ve missed this,” he said softly, his voice almost a child’s.
His mother paused. Her expression softened, and she reached out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, just like she always did when he was little. “Oh honey,” she said, with that quiet, certain tenderness, “I’ve always been right here.”
The words should have comforted him, but they sent a shiver down his spine.
He set the fork down, hands trembling. The edges of the world felt thinner now. Too perfect. Too still.
“This... this is a dream,” he said slowly, finally meeting her gaze.
Her eyes were just as he remembered, soft brown with those tiny flecks of gold that caught the light whenever she smiled.
She didn't answer, just gave that same loving smile and patted his hand. "Dream or not, you need to eat, Tai. You need your strength."
He swallowed hard and looked down at his plate. The pancake was gone, as if he'd never taken a bite, and in its place was a strange, gleaming shard of crystal. It glowed faintly orange, reminding him of something... Eggs. A cave full of glowing eggs...
Tai's chair suddenly lurched beneath him as the floor gave a violent shake. The coffee mug toppled from his hands and shattered across the kitchen tiles. He jumped to his feet as the whole house began to tremble; picture frames rattled, a vase fell with a crash from the hallway table.
His mother stood frozen, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter to steady herself. "Tai, what's happening?"
From the living room, his father's voice cut in, sharp but disbelieving. "It’s just a quake. Or... no, wait…" A loud beep-beep-beep pierced the air as the TV switched to an emergency alert. On-screen, the meteor footage played again, but now it looked different. The fireball overhead was no longer a single trail. It was splintering.
Through the kitchen window, Tai watched in disbelief as the bright morning sky dimmed into a strange, purplish twilight. The blazing meteor, now clearly visible over the rooftops, broke apart in mid-air, splitting into hundreds, thousands of glowing pieces that scattered across the sky like burning confetti.
His father's voice grew louder, almost angry. "It’s debris! It's breaking up! Those idiots on the news! This is exactly what I said, they're just making people panic…"
But his voice was drowned out by the growing roar in the air. Tai stumbled to the window. The fragments were still burning, arcing down like vengeful stars. His heart pounded.
He turned back toward his mother. Panic surged. "We have to get out…!"
Before he could finish, it hit.
Or something hit. A flash of searing white light filled the world, and then an earth-shattering BOOM. The ground heaved like it was trying to throw him off. Tai was lifted off his feet and slammed hard into the kitchen floor. Cabinets burst open. Plates exploded across the tiles. The ceiling cracked with a groan and a web of fractures. Plaster and dust rained down like snow in a storm.
"Mom!" he screamed, crawling across the trembling floor toward her through the chaos. She was reaching out, her face frozen in fear, but calm—too calm.
"Tai!" she called, her voice echoing strangely through the din, distant and warped, like it was coming from underwater.
Everything slowed.
The roar stretched into silence.
And then—
The kitchen floor heaved again beneath him, the tiles buckling like waves. Tai reached out - almost there - his mother’s hand just within reach.
Just as their fingers touched, the world cracked open.
The floor wasn’t floor anymore. It was shaking, rumbling, jostling like
Thunk.
A sudden jolt knocked the air from his lungs. The smell of pancakes vanished. Her hand slipped from his grasp, dissolving like smoke.
The kitchen flickered. The shrill screech of the emergency alert blurred into a rising cacophony of unfamiliar sounds - chirps, clicking, distant howls, and the strange rhythmic drone of something alive.
The light turned green.
Tai’s eyes snapped open.
Light stabbed at him, hot and wet. The ceiling of his kitchen was gone, replaced by tangled green leaves and shafts of sunlight that pierced through a jungle canopy. He was no longer in a warm kitchen, but lying flat on his back, bouncing on something hard.
The world smelled of mud and sweat and something sour and metallic.
He gasped.
His heart thundered in his chest. His face was wet, not with spilled coffee, but with sweat (and maybe tears). The heat was oppressive, the air thick like steam. It clung to his skin and filled his lungs like fog.
Another jolt.
The surface beneath him rattled - wooden, uneven.
No. Not a floor.
A cart.
He was on a moving cart. The wooden planks creaked under him, and one of the wheels hit a bump, making his teeth clack together. The rolling motion continued, indifferent to his confusion.
Gone was the scent of breakfast. Gone was the safety of home. He was somewhere alien and strange, lying in a cart, covered in sweat and the stale ache of fear.
He was awake.
He sucked in a breath, the air so heavy with moisture it felt like he was drinking it.
Tai groaned, turning his head. The dream clung to him like cobwebs, but the world around him was brutally real. He was crammed into a small, rickety wooden cart, more of a handcart or wagon, just big enough to hold a pile of supplies—and him. Every inch of it smelled of damp wood, sweat, and an iron-tinged stench that sent a flash of memory through his mind: the centipede’s corpse, acid and blood on the cavern floor.
He blinked and focused. Next to him, nearly on top of him, lay Bruk, the giant badger-man who had bravely - and a little crazily, fought the centipede. Bruk was out cold or close to it, his bulky furry form sprawled awkwardly. One of his tree-trunk arms was flopped over Tai’s legs, pinning him in place with surprising weight. The big guy was like a living furnace; waves of body heat radiated from him, and he was drooling slightly, adding a slick spot on Tai’s already grimy hoodie sleeve.
Tai tried to shift Bruk’s arm off gently. "Ugh... hey big guy, mind moving?" he whispered, not really expecting an answer. Bruk just gave a snore that sounded like a chainsaw starting up, and his arm remained firmly in place. Tai couldn’t help but manage a tired half-smile. At least some of Bruk’s earlier paralysis had worn off; the snoring was a good sign he was alive and recovering.
The cart jolted again, and Tai winced as Bruk's arm pressed down harder. He craned his neck, trying to see past Bruk’s massive form. Two figures were trudging at the front of the cart, harnessed to it by thick ropes: one short and stout, the other tall and lean.
The dwarf and the red-haired woman were actually pulling the cart, their backs bent with effort. Tai’s brain did a double-take at the absurdity. The situation was so uncannily similar to one of his favorite video game openings that a bizarre sense of déjà vu washed over him. If the dwarf turned around and drawled, "Hey you, you’re finally awake," I might actually lose it, Tai thought, a hysterical giggle threatening to escape at the idea.
The cart’s wooden wheels creaked and squealed in protest at the jungle terrain. It was laden not just with Tai and Bruk, but with various sacks and odd lumps covered by a tarp. Under the humid earthy smells, there was a rank odor of decay and something vaguely chemical.
Tai spotted a spiny, chitinous leg the size of a person’s arm poking out from under the tarp, bobbing with each jolt. His stomach turned. He recognized it—one of the centipede’s limbs, now hacked off and tied down like cargo.
He looked closer. There were other grotesque shapes piled in: a curved, glossy black mandible as long as his torso, lashed down with rope; several chunks of segmented, bonelike armor; and clay jars sloshing with... something. Fluids. Goo. Internal parts, maybe venom sacs. Whatever they were, they weren’t labeled.
Why the hell are they collecting all this? he thought, a shiver crawling up his spine. It looked less like a supply cart and more like the back room of a slaughterhouse straight out of a horror movie.
Then it clicked.
This was the loot.
Not glowing coins, not enchanted daggers on velvet pedestals. Just gore. Raw, unprocessed monster parts hacked off and stuffed into jars.
Apparently, real loot didn’t sparkle. It squelched.
Magical resources, Tai thought with a grimace, in their natural habitat. It was a far cry from picking up neatly packaged treasure in a video game. The reality was messier. Grosser. Way, way smellier.
A thick, sickly green ichor still oozed from the centipede leg, leaving a trail of drips along the muddy path. He swallowed back a wave of nausea and forced himself to look away—anything else. His head was still swimming from the abrupt transition out of that vivid dream.
He couldn’t afford to puke now. Not on this cart. And definitely not on Bruk.
Up ahead, the dwarf and the warrior woman plodded on in silence except for their heavy breaths. Tai could hear the squelch of mud and the buzz of insects around them. High above, alien birdcalls echoed through the canopy—warbling whoops and throaty hoots unlike any birdsong he knew from Earth. This jungle was alive with sounds: insect chirrs, distant animal cries, and the constant rustle of leaves as unseen creatures flitted about.
Tai carefully shifted, and Bruk’s arm slid off his legs enough to give him some freedom. His muscles protested as he scooted to a slightly more upright position. Okay, assess the situation, he told himself, trying to summon some of that internal monologue that had kept him sane earlier. He was alive, on a cart with these adventurers, being taken... somewhere. They hadn’t abandoned him or left him to die (thanks, conscience, for worrying about that). In fact, they'd patched him up and brought him along. That had to count for something.
He cleared his dry throat and attempted a quiet, "Hello?" but it came out as more of a croak. If any of the party heard, they gave no sign. The warrior woman continued marching, eyes scanning the surroundings vigilantly. The dwarf kept his attention forward, grumbling under his breath with each effortful step. Tai wasn’t sure if he should interrupt their focus. Maybe staying quiet was wiser; he was the extra baggage right now, and drawing attention to oneself as the baggage usually wasn’t a great idea.
Instead, Tai leaned back and took in more of the jungle around them as they moved. The path, if it could be called that, was little more than a narrow break in dense undergrowth, often blocked by roots or drooping vines. Giant ferns as tall as he was lined their way, and enormous trees towered on either side with trunks gnarled and wide enough to drive a car through. Their canopy was so thick that, even though it seemed to be morning or midday, it was hard to tell in the green twilight under the leaves, it felt like late afternoon. Shafts of light broke through here and there, illuminating drifting specks that Tai realized weren’t dust but spores, tiny motes that glowed faintly golden as they floated in the humid air. It was oddly beautiful, like walking through a living cathedral where the gods of nature painted with sun and mist.
As his eyes adjusted, he noticed more wonders: luminous insects flitting in the shadows beneath broad leaves, leaving trails of light like tiny comets. Flowers the size of dinner plates hung from vines in colors so bright they almost pulsed. A small creature with iridescent feathers scurried across a branch overhead, paused to watch the group with four shining eyes—its body shaped like a squirrel, but feathered like a bird of paradise. It blinked once, then disappeared with a soft poof and a scatter of sparks, as if it had teleported rather than fled.
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Farther up in the canopy, Tai spotted translucent jellyfish-like beings drifting lazily between the treetops, their tendrils trailing glittering threads of pale light. They pulsed softly with each motion, gliding through shafts of sun as if they were swimming through the air. One of them brushed a branch, and it rippled, the light momentarily bending like a heatwave before it vanished into the shadow.
Then something stirred in the deeper jungle. Tai’s breath caught as he glimpsed a shape—colossal, slow, and ancient—moving beyond the tree line. Not threatening, but monumental. A creature the size of a small house lumbered silently between the trunks, mostly obscured by vines and mist. Its back was covered in moss and luminous fungus, blending it so perfectly with the forest that he wouldn’t have noticed it at all if it hadn’t moved. Antler-like horns rose from its head, tangled with ivy, and as it passed, the ground seemed to hum faintly in its wake.
It didn’t look at them. It didn’t need to. Its presence alone felt like the jungle itself had drawn breath.
For a moment, Tai forgot his fear in pure awe. He’d read about fantasy worlds and watched endless movies and games with mystical forests, but nothing compared to actually being here, feeling the damp air on his skin and hearing the rich tapestry of life all around. This place was wild and alien, yes, but it was also breathtaking.
He caught himself almost smiling in wonder, until a flicker of motion zipped past his ear. Something bulbous and iridescent darted in front of his face, hovering just inches away. It looked like a floating eyeball encased in a delicate glassy sphere, ringed with petal-like fins that fluttered as it hovered in place. The creature blinked, actually blinked, then gave a soft, chiming buzz before zipping off in a zigzag trail of blue light.
Tai flinched, waving the air as if to clear the moment from his face. Okay. Beautiful, yes. But also weird as hell. Careful, he reminded himself. Pretty or not, this jungle likely had its share of things that could bite, sting, or eat him—and he was in no hurry to repeat the whole poison-induced paralysis experience that Bruk had gone through.
Thinking of Bruk, Tai turned to check on the big guy. Bruk’s ears twitched, and his eyes were half-open now, the dark beady pupils visible under heavy lids. He let out a low groan and mumbled something incoherent. Then, with great effort, Bruk lifted his arm off Tai and flopped it onto his own chest. Tai flexed his legs, grateful for the circulation returning.
Bruk’s head lolled towards Tai. "Small... human..." he muttered. His voice was slurred and thick as honey, but at least he was somewhat awake. "We... out of cave?"
"Yeah," Tai whispered back, keeping his voice low. "We’re out. They got us on a cart, heading somewhere through this jungle." Seeing Bruk awake gave Tai a small surge of relief; he wasn’t alone in his bewilderment now. At least one person here knew him (as "small human," apparently) and had shown him genuine concern, however odd the circumstances.
Bruk blinked slowly, his black-and-white furred face scrunching up in a woozy smile. “Good… Bruk hate cave. Too many leg-bugs. Hmph.” He shifted slightly and winced, one of his large hands brushing his shoulder where a deep puncture mark still lingered. “Bruk feel… heavy. Like hundred rocks on back.”
“You and me both,” Tai replied with a weak chuckle. “They gave you something for the poison, right? Some kind of antidote?”
Bruk snorted, clearly offended. “Bruk no need antidote. Badger blood too strong! Poison makes Bruk nap, not die.” He puffed his chest out—well, as much as one could while sprawled awkwardly on a rattling cart. “Bruk once eat stinger-bug for breakfast. Tasted bad. Not deadly.”
He gave a tired shrug. “Kett give Bruk bitter juice. Healing juice. Make Bruk bones wake up faster.” He flexed one paw sluggishly, frowning. “Still sleepy in arms. Bruk no like sleepy paws.”
His frown deepened as he looked down at himself. “Too heavy... make friends carry. Bruk sorry.”
His apologetic tone was almost comical coming from a seven-foot-tall badger-man with biceps the size of Tai’s waist. The mental image of the stout dwarf and the lithe warrior woman dragging Bruk’s massive body onto the cart was equal parts impressive and absurd. Tai briefly pictured them using ropes, cursing creatively, and possibly bribing gravity to cooperate.
"Don’t worry about it," Tai said, sympathetic. "Pretty sure they weren’t going to leave you behind."
Bruk grunted affirmatively, then managed a grin. "They good friends. Strong friends. But Bruk still sorry, Bruk supposed to carry them, not other way." He let out a low, self-deprecating chuckle that rumbled through the cart. "Bruk owe big favor... maybe many."
Tai found himself smiling. There was something infectious about Bruk’s simple, honest manner. "Well, I’m sure they’ll just ask you to smash something extra hard next time."
Bruk’s grin widened, showing a few fearsome badger-like fangs. "Yes! Bruk smash real good next time!" He said it with such eager sincerity that Tai had to bite back a laugh. Even half-paralyzed and just regaining consciousness, Bruk’s enthusiasm for clobbering monsters remained undiminished.
Bruk wasn’t done. He stared dreamily up at the canopy, clearly enjoying the chance to brag now that he was awake. “One time, Bruk eat snake-bird whole. Spit out feathers later. Snake-bird venom strong. Bruk stronger.”
Tai blinked. “You… ate it?”
“Was challenge,” Bruk said proudly. “Lost bet. Bruk never lose bet again.”
He paused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Bruk not suppose sleep after. But Poiseen strong... Bruk sleep three days. Very good sleep. Dream of wrestling cloud-whales.”
Tai stared. “You were out for three days?!”
Bruk nodded with a satisfied grunt. “Kara very angry. Feathervenom* was special. Fancy. Meant to give money. Bruk eat it.”
“What did she say?”
Bruk mimicked her voice—badly. “‘Bruk, you big furry stomach with legs! That bird was worth the whole month of pay!’” He chuckled to himself. “Still worth it. Snake-bird spicy. Bruk like spicy.”
Tai had no idea whether to be horrified or impressed. Probably both.
Bruk tapped his chest with a heavy paw. “Once fight stone-goat with one paw. Other paw was busy holding soup, Bruk like soup.”
“Wait—what?”
“Soup was hot. Bruk not spill.” He nodded solemnly, as if that was the most important part.
Tai burst out laughing. “Okay, that’s impressive.”
Bruk smiled widely, eyes gleaming. “Bruk very impressive.”
Up ahead, the dwarf’s ear twitched at the sound of their voices. He glanced over his shoulder. "Ah, you’re awake back there," he called, his accent rough and words clipped but understandable. "Thought we heard the little lad yapping."
The warrior woman also slowed her pace a fraction, angling her head to listen, though she didn’t turn fully around.
Tai realized that until now, aside from Bruk’s muttering, he hadn’t actually spoken out loud to any of them since he’d fainted in the cave. His throat felt raw and unused, and anxiety spiked in his chest. What do I even say?
These people had saved his life, patched him up, and were literally dragging him through a jungle. And he barely knew anything about them. He was pretty sure the badger-man’s name was Bruk—he’d heard it enough times muttered in third person to take a safe guess—but as for the others... he thought he might have caught the names Kara and Kett during Bruk’s rambling earlier, but he wasn’t exactly confident who was who. And given how strange this whole situation already was, interrupting to ask felt awkward.
At least they knew his name—more or less. The leader had gotten “Tai” out of him back in the cave, even if he barely remembered saying it.
"Uh, yeah," Tai croaked. He tried again, louder and clearer. "I’m awake."
The dwarf slowed the cart to a halt with a grunt of effort. The warrior woman matched the stop, planting her feet firmly. Tai could see sweat trickling down the side of her face; pulling this cart with all its load, plus two passengers, through muck and vines was clearly grueling work.
The dwarf unshouldered his harness, rolling his neck with an audible crack. "Finally decided to join us in the land of the living, eh?" he said. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but there was a glint of humor in his sharp green eyes as he stomped over to the side of the cart.
Up close, Tai took him in properly for the first time. The dwarf wasn’t tall—maybe a head shorter than Tai—but he was built like a compact wall: thick shoulders, broad chest, sturdy arms roped with muscle. He wore a simple under-tunic rather than full armor, though even the plain clothing was striking—dark, tightly woven fabric embroidered with fine, almost delicate orange knotwork along the sleeves and collar. Part of his armor—a single pauldron strapped across one shoulder—remained on, probably in case trouble found them again.
His face was deeply lined, weathered with age and experience, but there was something quietly noble about it. A small scar cut through one of his bushy eyebrows, and his flat nose looked like it had been broken more than once. His beard was a thick, long mass of gray streaked with remnants of black, neatly braided at the end with a few copper rings.
Despite the grime of the road and the faint sheen of sweat clinging to him, when he leaned in closer Tai caught a whiff of something surprising—a subtle, earthy scent, almost like cedar and leather. Was he wearing... cologne? Tai blinked. A dwarf straight out of fantasy novels, gruff and grumpy—yet apparently also someone who appreciated smelling good under battlefield conditions.
Tai attempted a sheepish grin. "I— yeah. Sorry. And... thanks. For, y’know, not leaving me as bug food."
The dwarf waved a rough, calloused hand dismissively. His palms were like sandpaper—evidence of decades of hard labor—but when he reached out to check Tai’s arm for injuries, his touch was surprisingly gentle. Methodical. The kind of care Tai associated with someone who had spent a lifetime not just breaking things, but also making them. There was a patient craftsmanship to the way he handled Tai, as if he were assessing a cracked tool he intended to fix rather than discard.
"Ach, wasn’t gonna leave an unarmed whelp to die in that hole after we went and pulled you out," the dwarf muttered gruffly, as if brushing away any hint of praise.
Tai sat still, a little stunned by the quiet kindness hidden behind the rough exterior.
Behind the dwarf, the red-haired warrior finally turned around. She was breathing heavily from the exertion, and her eyes flicked to Bruk, who was attempting to prop himself up on one elbow.
"Bruk, you good?" she asked briskly. Her voice was low and even, carrying a natural authority.
Bruk gave a lazy salute with two fingers. "Bruk alive! Just... heavy limbs. Wake soon, promise." He thumped his chest with his other hand, the motion was slow, like he was moving underwater, but heartfelt.
The woman’s tense posture eased a bit. "Good."
Then she turned to Tai, her gaze sharp and assessing, like a hawk eyeing a mouse. Tai instinctively straightened up.
"How about you? Tai, right?" she said, her Common accented but clear. "You hurt anywhere?"
Tai quickly shook his head. "I’m okay. I mean, thanks to you guys. I feel fine now, just... a little out of it." He struggled for words, still overwhelmed by everything. "Really, I… I owe you all my life."
The warrior held up a hand, stopping him. "Save it," she said, not unkindly. "Just doing the job."
She exchanged a glance with the dwarf, a tired, almost resigned look, but with a flicker of something else, maybe a glint of satisfaction.
The dwarf snorted. "Job didn’t exactly go as planned, mind ye. But aye, we’re all alive. That’s something."
Tai bit his tongue, wisely deciding now was not the time to bring up the whole "set the eggs on fire" fiasco. The silence stretched for a beat, heavy with unspoken exhaustion.
It was the mage who broke it.
Tai hadn’t noticed him properly until he popped into view at the rear of the cart. The robed man must have been walking behind them this whole time, either pushing or simply trailing behind.
And he did not look like any wizard Tai had ever imagined.
Instead of flowing mystical robes and grand regalia, the man wore something closer to a long, rugged coat crossed with a robe, the heavy fabric dark gray and stained with mud and soot. Beneath it, Tai caught glimpses of a simple black turtleneck and practical trousers tucked into battered boots. His messenger bag—if it could even be called that—was stuffed to bursting with scrolls, tools, glass vials, and other strange contraptions poking out at odd angles. A few talismans dangled from the bag’s straps and belt, clinking softly as he moved.
He leaned lightly on a staff - rough, sturdy, and practical - more like a walking stick that had seen plenty of abuse than a magical artifact. It was capped with a simple iron band at the top, cradling a rough-looking, unpolished murky crystal. The wood was scratched and scorched in places, hinting that it had been used more for survival than for ceremony.
He was tall, maybe a head taller than Tai, but gangly and awkward, with a square jawline, a narrow, slightly pointy nose, and small, delicate glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. The glasses looked comically tiny compared to his face, and Tai couldn’t tell if they were even functional. His short sandy hair was a wild mess, sticking up in uneven tufts as if he’d lost a wrestling match with a static storm.
Still, there was a restless, bright energy about him. Like a coil wound too tight, ready to spring.
The mage stepped up eagerly, hazel eyes gleaming. "Oh good, good, you're awake!" he blurted out, voice wobbling somewhere between enthusiasm and barely-contained nervousness. "I've been absolutely itching to ask you a million questions—"
The warrior woman, probably Kara? Tai guessed from his conversion with Bruk, shot him a sharp, wordless look.
The mage snapped his mouth shut with an audible click of teeth, lifting both hands in a placating "I surrender" gesture. "I know, I know," he muttered sheepishly, ducking his head.
Tai almost smiled at the dynamic. It was chaotic but somehow comforting.
He leaned back against the cart’s wooden rail, taking stock.
Okay... Bruk, probably Kara, probably Kett, he ticked off mentally. Name count: three. Progress.
Kara turned back to Tai. "We're heading to our next waypoint. Half a day’s travel still to go, if we push hard," she stated matter-of-factly. "We can talk more when we camp. For now, we needed to make distance from that cave. There are... often more predators attracted by the noise and smell." She gestured vaguely at the cart, indicating the reeking centipede parts.
Predators. The thought of something even scarier than a giant centipede catching a whiff of its remains and deciding to follow them made Tai break into a cold sweat. The jungle suddenly felt a lot less like a wonderland and more like a lurking menace on all sides. His eyes darted to the shadows between the trees. Was that a patch of darkness or some creature waiting? Every distant crack of a branch made him flinch.
He shifted nervously—and his elbow bumped something disturbingly solid... and sticky.
Right. Severed monster bits. Magical loot.
The stench rising off the cart hit him fully then: a rancid blend of burnt shell, sour rot, and something sharp and chemical, like battery acid.
He used to collect rotten meat in games without blinking. Now he wasn’t sure he could ever touch loot again without gagging.
The dwarf must have seen the worry on Tai’s face. "Don’t fret. That overgrown worm was about as nasty a beast as you’ll find in these parts. Few things’ll bother a group our size, especially smellin’ like we do now," he said with a rough chuckle. "If anything, smaller critters’ll steer clear."
Bruk laughed, a booming sound that startled a flock of tiny, lizard-like birds from a nearby bush. "Yes! Bruk smell scare many thing away! Hah!" He gave his armpit a sniff and cringed exaggeratedly. "Oof. Maybe scare Bruk away too."
Tai couldn't help a laugh. It was ridiculous, but oddly comforting, seeing Bruk joke about his own stench. Somehow, even in a literal jungle full of unknown dangers, these people managed to keep their humor.
Kara was already turning and re-fastening her rope harness. "Break’s over. We need to keep moving." She reached into a satchel at her hip and tossed something small toward Tai. He barely caught it against his chest, a tough, brown object, about the size of a protein bar, wrapped in waxy paper.
"Eat," Kara said simply. "You probably haven't since... wherever you came from."
Tai looked at the object: it seemed to be a travel ration. For some reason, he’d always imagined rations in fantasy worlds as hunks of stale bread and questionable cheese, not... compact bars. Honestly, it made a lot more sense.
"Thanks," he replied, unwrapping it. Inside was a dense cake of nuts, dried berries, and thin strips of cured meat all pressed together with honey or syrup. It looked strange—meat and sweet mashed into one—but after a cautious bite, he found it surprisingly palatable, if extremely chewy. His stomach didn't care; it demanded more immediately.
The others were likewise pulling out small bites for themselves. The mage crunched on what looked like a hard biscuit, while the dwarf took a swig from a battered flask and offered it to Kara with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Kara shot him a look that could have curdled milk. "Drinkin’ while hiking and dragging this heap? Seriously?"
The dwarf only chuckled, clearly enjoying the much-expected angry reaction.
Tai’s throat felt parched; the chewiness of the ration was making it hard to swallow.
Noticing his slight struggle, the dwarf reached into a side compartment of the cart and passed Tai a waterskin. "Here. Jungle heat’ll parch ye quick."
Tai accepted it gratefully and took a few gulps of water. It tasted faintly of leather from the skin, but it was cool and refreshing.
"Thank you, Mr... uh..." He trailed off, realizing he still didn't know the dwarf’s name.
The dwarf raised an eyebrow and almost looked amused. "Name’s Kett," he grunted. "If yer gonna thank me every five minutes, at least know what to call me."
Tai nodded. "Kett. Right, Bruk mansion it earlier. I’m trying not to be too annoyingly grateful, I promise."
Kett smirked, which on his craggy face looked like a tiny crack appearing in a boulder. "Don't worry. Rescued lads tend to grow on me, like moss." He returned to the front of the cart, adjusting the ropes over his shoulders.
The mage piped up from behind Tai, apparently unable to contain himself much longer. "And I'm Grelm, by the way," he said, giving a little half-bow while walking. "Mage Adept, scholar of the arcane, and, er, explosive specialist, though that last title is perhaps one I need to... refine a bit." He gave a weak chuckle, cheeks coloring with embarrassment at his own joke. Kara rolled her eyes so hard Tai could practically hear them.
"I’m Tai," Tai offered, then mentally kicked himself because they already knew his name. He was off-balance, socially, like a guy crashing a tight-knit road trip.
Bruk helpfully added, "Small human name Tai," with a nod, as if confirming for anyone who missed it.
Introductions done (if somewhat belatedly), Kara gave a short whistle to signal forward motion. Kett and Kara leaned into their ropes and the cart lurched onward. Grelm stayed walking behind, using his staff to nudge the cart from the back whenever a wheel got stuck on a root, and Bruk remained on the cart for now, though he was clearly itching to get up and walk on his own.
As they pressed deeper into the jungle, conversation was sparse. Kara focused on scouting the path ahead—she moved with a hunter’s quiet grace despite pulling a cart, her eyes always scanning, ears pricked for any sign of trouble. Kett hummed a low, rhythmic dwarven tune under his breath as he marched, perhaps to keep pace. Grelm occasionally broke the silence to point out a notable herb or fungus along the trail "That one's Glowcap, worth a fortune in the apothecary markets!" he'd whisper, to which Kara responded with an immediate, "Leave it. Keep moving.". Bruk soon grew restless and insisted he could walk; with a bit of grumbling, Kara relented and let him climb off to trudge beside the cart, lightening the load.
Despite the budding camaraderie, Tai remained mostly quiet. He was the outsider in more ways than one, and he felt it keenly. He observed and listened, trying to piece together any scrap of information about this world from their banter and remarks.
He learned that the group were indeed mercenaries or adventurers for hire. The centipede mission was supposed to be a straightforward job: retrieve valuable monster eggs to sell in the city. Losing the eggs to the fire had been a heavy blow to them, something they hadn’t quite addressed openly yet but which loomed in their voices whenever the topic of money or supplies came up.
Now walking beside the cart, Tai matched pace with Bruk’s heavy, lumbering steps. The badger-man still looked a little groggy, but he was moving, which seemed to lift the group’s spirits slightly.
Bruk stretched with a slow grunt, then gave a long, wistful sigh. "Bruk miss real feast... big bowl of hearth-root stew, sweet syrup bread, roasted star-nuts, thick slice of smokeberry meat..." He ticked the dishes off on his fingers, voice slowing like he was already half-drunk on the memory. Then he paused, ears twitching slightly. "And mist-honey cake. Real one... not street fake."
He turned toward Tai, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "Mist-honey cake..." he murmured. "So soft... bite and it poof... cloud in mouth. Spin around... warm... sweet... little storm of flowers and sugar."
He almost cradled the invisible cake in his big hands. "Only old bakers make true ones. Old magic. Not easy. Worth everything."
He closed his eyes briefly, as if tasting it again, his whole face glowing with quiet reverence.
Tai’s stomach rumbled sympathetically, though he wasn’t entirely sure what half of those things were. They sounded incredible.
But Bruk’s ears drooped a second later. "Big feast need silvers. No silvers now."
The words, though simple, hit harder than Tai expected. Kara’s jaw tightened visibly. "We’ll figure it out," she said, her voice brisk and final.
Behind them, Grelm, oblivious to the tension, piped up, "Well, the spell was perfectly executed! Textbook combustion theory, really, it—"
"Enough!" Kara snapped, her voice slicing the air. "I said we’ll figure it out. No more about it."
Grelm clamped his mouth shut mid-babble, wilting like a scolded puppy.
Tai caught Kett at the front, shaking his head slowly—not in anger, but with a kind of weary, paternal sadness, like a man watching children dream of cakes when he knew there were none left in the pantry.
Tai wisely kept his own mouth shut.
They definitely weren’t novices—despite the bickering, they moved with the ease of people who had traveled together for some time. Yet Tai detected tension too, likely from the botched mission and perhaps his own unexpected presence. He tried to stay out of their way as they trekked, but every now and then Bruk or Kett would engage him with a brief comment or joke, as if to make sure he didn't feel completely isolated.
Hours passed. The oppressive green of the jungle began to dim as the day wore on. It wasn’t just the thick canopy—it was dusk approaching. The distant animal noises changed timbre; daytime creatures quieting, nocturnal ones stirring. A chorus of chirping began that sounded like a cross between crickets and electrical buzzing.
Suddenly, Kara raised a clenched fist. Everyone halted immediately. Tai, who had been walking beside the cart to stretch his legs, nearly bumped into Bruk from behind as the cart stopped.
Kara crouched, listening intently. The rest of them froze, silent. Tai strained his ears. At first, he heard nothing unusual—just the ever-present drone of insects. But then, faintly, he caught a new sound: a series of low croaks or grunts, and a weird crackling pop, like someone striking a flint or igniting a gas burner for a split second, over and over.
Kett's eyes narrowed. "There," he whispered, nodding toward a break in the trees off to the side of their rough path.
Quassari (commonly known as Feathervenom)
Classification: Aerial Serpentine Hybrid
Habitat: Dense jungles, mist canopies, and humid highlands
Threat Level: Moderate to High (due to venom potency)
Quassari, more widely known among adventurers as the Feathervenom, is a rare arboreal predator native to the deep jungle. It possesses the slender, sinuous body of a serpent and the iridescent plumage of a tropical bird. Despite its dazzling appearance, it is highly venomous—its fangs deliver a neurotoxin potent enough to paralyze a grown man within seconds and lead to death without immediate care, though badger-men seem to consider this "a good nap."
Deep jungle monster A or B?