Amber light shone like ethereal syrup over the sunlit canopy of the ancient forest. Mighty arboreal giants, their branches heavy with growth, sprawled in a glorious tangle of tropical greenery. Towering trees stretched high as if longing for a glimpse beyond the leafy ceiling, their thick branches woven together into a dense canopy so tight that even the bravest sunbeam had to squeeze its way through. The perfect habitat for the various species of fauna and flora that called the jungle home. Far below, the air hung heavy, rich with the scents of damp earth, moss, and age-old secrets. The forest floor cushioned each step with a thick bed of leaf litter and undergrowth, and every creature that dared wander here moved as though under a spell, their presence hushed by nature’s stillness.
But as every old forest knows, something always lurks beneath the surface, a deeper, darker secret nestled in the shadows, waiting for the curious or the foolish. At the forest’s heart, a hidden clearing kept itself veiled, where a newly formed crater yawned, its steep sides sloping inward as if the earth had taken a bite and never bothered to fill it in. This wound in the land had not existed before and yet three cycles of the sun ago, when the blazing trail of a meteor carved a furious path across the dusky sky, its fire painting streaks of gold and violet against the gathering night. For those out beneath the open air, young children skipping stones by a riverbank, elders tending to evening’s meals, wanderers returning to lamp-lit homes, the world had seemed to pause, its breath caught in trembling awe.
At first, it had resembled a distant lantern, drifting with impossible speed as it grew ever brighter… far too bright… until the rising stars vanished in its wake. A low, unearthly rumble had built on the horizon, like a thunder drake chasing lightning, swelling into a roar that rattled every rib and window. The meteor had hurtled overhead with a tail of blue-white flame, splitting the hush with a sound so immense it felt as though the sky itself might shatter.
In that moment, fear and wonder had mingled; neighbors had spilled from their doorways, faces bathed in shifting light, leaving the villagers wide eyed and slack jawed. The air itself had trembled. Flying creatures had burst from the trees in wild, spiraling flocks, and a hot wind had swept through, carrying the scent of scorched ozone and unsettled earth.
The great ball of fiery death had struck, far out beyond the forest’s edge, down where the land dipped and ancient megalithic stones ringed an old, sacred clearing. The impact ringing through the ancient forest like a hammer-blow, as a blinding flash illuminating the trees in stark relief. A concussive wave had rolled outward, toppling loose branches and sending ripples through every pond and puddle. The ground had quaked beneath the villagers’ feet, unsettling for sure, but not ruinous, leaving hearts pounding and dust dancing in the twilight air.
Afterwards, when silence had returned, now heavy, electric, and filled with the clamor of questions. Frightened villagers demanded answers from elders who shared the same fears and confusion as the rest but had the wisdom to remain calm in the growing sense of unease highlighted by the distant glow emanating from the crater’s heart, that beckoned irresistibly like an otherworldly siren as even from such a great distance, the explosion and its effects were still casting ghostly shadows over the stunned onlookers. It was not just devastation that lingered in the aftermath, but also the irresistible pull of the unknown, a call for investigation and discovery. And as the night deepened, whispers of the extraordinary occurrence had echoed between the trees, mingling awe and unease in equal measure. Voices and opinions were raised, fears addressed and accounted for and then a decision was made that would alter the course of their lives forever. For during the early hours of the morning of the third cycle, after the day of the impact, something stirred in the forest.
From the tree line, shrouded from the bright azure sky, a figure appeared at the crater’s rim: a rider astride a creature that had an appearance as if resulting from the unholy union of reptiles and mountain goats. Its thick, shimmering scales blended with the scraggly patches of fur, giving it a strange, prismatic glamour. Heavy, well-worn horns twisted from the creature’s skull, puffs of early morning vapor billowed from the great beast’s muzzle, its nostrils snorting in protest as its split hooves scraped the rocky ledge. The gahrba shifted nervously beneath its rider, who pulled softly on the reins of his mount and leaned down to pat the creature soothingly against its neck. He could sense the gahrba’s apprehension and though the sight before him was unnerving to say the least, the excitement of the unknown made the riders' dual hearts quicken in his chest. His face was obscured by the mask fastened to his head, tubes inlaid into the surface provided him with the needed water to breathe in this world above the oceans. Intricate armored plates resembling grown coral peeked from beneath nomadic fabrics he wore over his riding attire; his ensemble intended for comfort and long days in the saddle was well-worn and weathered from countless journeys. His sabatons scuffed and dusty gave him an experienced look, and the cloak that was weaved from the fur of the great flying beasts high in the far off mountains, was already shifting in color and texture, blending into the terrain with uncanny precision.
The rider didn’t scan along the perimeter of destruction, where once majestic megaliths of his forbearers now lay cracked and scattered as if they were the remains of a youngling’s playful session with blocks. Nor did he marvel at the forest’s reshuffled edge where tendrils of smoke from scorched branches still wafted lazily into the blue, azure sky. The broken and burnt husks of the once majestic trees now merely the unwitting participants in the mounds of moved dirt and detritus, that got pushed unceremoniously towards the outer edges of the clearing. But it wasn’t the mayhem that caught his attention, his eyes trained onto a flicker near the crater’s cave, a whisper of movement in the shadows, easy to miss for someone not trained in the art of looking,… like him. The hunter, known to his people as Momel’drak Ra, was no ordinary wanderer. He was a seasoned scout of the Quaglagiratoh, an amphibious folk with glistening skin, a simple, rural way of life and an infectious laughter that could echo their mirth through the trees. Their scattered villages were full of music and bright communal feasts, and Momel, ever curious, was a beloved soul at every gathering around the bonfire, relaying stories of his great adventures and exploration to the little ones sitting enthralled at his feet. Little eyes filled with wonder and amazement as he told them about the great forests, the steep cliff edges, the roar of the waterfalls located over yonder on the far side of the valley. Momel enjoyed those moments where his experiences and wisdom could be shared to the next generation to follow. It sated him for now, but even the most contented spirit can feel the pull of adventure, especially on a morning that was so heavy with promise.
The sun, their great god Ula, stretched golden fingers across the sky, and Momel’s heart leapt in time with the dawn. He had seen the comet streak earthward the night before, its fiery tail outshining even the most joyous festival lanterns. Now, after much deliberation with the rest of the village and by the elders’ bidding, not to mention his own eagerness and spirit for adventure, Momel's eyes followed the glow in the distance where the sky had kissed the world. Sleep was slow to claim him that night, as he tossed and turned in anticipation.
Early the next morning, long before Ula’s first light reached across the mountain peaks in the far-off distance, Momel gear had already been packed with practiced ease. His mate Ahatchi, her belly round with new life, stood nearby with a smile both warm and anxious. This was the Momel she had always known, the one she loved. He had been adventurous from the first day they had met when his rapidly approaching silhouette blocked out the light of their god, before crashing into the waters of the swimming hole that all the younglings would splash around in. He was as infuriatingly charming then as he was now, a characteristic that was both annoying and utterly endearing, which is why she teased him gently, hiding his gear and stalling for time, her laughter a soft melody about his endless need to explore, but her eyes lingered with an unease she couldn’t name. A shiver of warning grew beneath her normally cheerful nature. Momel, hoping to quiet her fears, pressed a kiss to her brow and promised to return swiftly. The intimately alien clicks and lulls of their language forming a message he gave her every time he set off on one of his journeys… ‘You know I always come back.’ Then, with a flash of that infuriating, lopsided grin he always gave her, he fastened the breathing mask to his head, the faceplate flaring with bioenergy in the early morning darkness as it connected with the bonds of the breathing tank on Momels’ back. Then he made his way over to the waiting gahrba and swung into the sturdy saddle fastened to the creatures back. The beast’s scales catching the firelight in a playful ripple of interspersed hues as Momel turned it towards the exit of the village and the ancient forest that waited ahead. The beast quickly picking up speed as it tore up the distance towards the treeline. With one last wave, he urged his mount into the emerald maze of trees and underbrush, dust and fallen leaves swirling behind them as the great creature bounded joyfully through the tangle. Ahatchi watched them vanish, her heart buoyed by love and pride... even as a strange tension fluttered in her chest, a silent drumbeat of anticipation. The babe in her womb kicked, as if echoing the thrill... and the dread... of the journey now unfolding. For Momel, the world seemed alive with possibility: birds trilled overhead, the breeze danced with the fragrance of blooming vines, and shafts of sunlight flickered through the leaves like golden ribbons. Yet, beneath all the laughter and hope, there lingered a quiet question: What awaited Momel at the end of this bright, uncertain path? Still, with joy in his heart and the promise of home guiding his every step, Momel pressed onward, ready to greet whatever wonder… or worry… waited in the shadows of that falling star.
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From the cave’s mouth emerged a creature so small and bashful it almost seemed to apologize for existing. Its exoskeleton caught what little light there was, lending it a glimmer that softened the edges of its otherwise comical, bug-eyed face. Only the sharp click of its mandibles betrayed a more dangerous purpose. With twitching antennae and wide, unblinking eyes, it looked almost harmless, well… almost.
Momel, trusting his instincts far more than appearances, reached for a curious device with a long barrel, etched in runic script that seemed to pulsate with iridescent lights that came to life under his touch. The cool metal felt reassuring in his four-handed grip as more sigils etched in the weapons’ surface, flared into life. The weapon’s familiarity fit snuggly against his shoulder as he lined up his shot, before sliding his finger slowly across the tiny trigger plate, feeling the heat from his finger flow from him, a small price to pay to the mechanism that powered the rifle. Steadily the stream grew in power, rapidly building up in the weapon until it attained optimal firing capacity. Momel took a breath to steady his nerves as he mentally instructed the weapon to release the pent-up charge. A flash of ionized particles, streaked through the air with pin-point accuracy, aimed precisely at the target, who… with uncanny timing, shifts just enough to avoid the direct shot aimed at its head. The blast missing but by a hairs breadth, grazes the top of the creatures carapace head, neatly severing one fragile antenna in a fizz of ionized plasma, ringing like a tolled bell off the cave’s stone surface. A piercing screech shattered the quiet of the clearing, and before the hunter could fire again, his quarry darts away to safety, sharp insectile legs clicking against the stone as it vanished into the cave’s gloomy interior.
With a sigh, equal parts vexed and resigned, Momel slipped from his mount in one graceful motion, all long limbs and well-practiced ease. The Quaglagiratoh appeared mostly humanoid as one would expect, two legs and arms… well four arms to be precise, but with features that made it clear this was no ordinary forest wanderer: skin, slightly coarse, yet interspersed with smooth whirls and patterns that faintly shimmered in the light. Eyes, large and liquid-bright that seemed to drink in the shadows. Each blink drew a soft film across bright aquamarine irises, unsettling and lovely at once, as the hunter weighed his options before him. Return to the village and report what he had seen, or… step into the unknown gloom where secrets surely multiplied and yet his curious nature had already decided against the better course of valor as the discovery of the unknown and the adoration to be attained by the faces of his people listening as he would relay the newly found information and possible wealth of stories he could weave from what he discovered if he just… kept… going.
Momel laid his hand on the flank of the gahrba, indicating his intent for the beast to remain where it is until called… or to flee if danger was at hand. The creature letting out an alarming bleat, sensing the wrongness in the air, but its master was already making his way down the precarious slope of the crater. Momel was now more alert as he scanned the surroundings of the impact zone as he made his way towards the centre of the crater, pausing at the cave’s entrance. Humid air was pressing against his exposed skin from heat wafting from somewhere inside the cave. He could see shimmering light playing against the crystalline faces of some of the rocky outcroppings inside. Already deeper inside the caves’ entrance he saw what appeared to be small fungi growing against the walls of the cavern. But it was the small puddles that glowed with faint bioluminescence that piqued his interest, for the creature had left a trail of its blood to follow, glowing droplets disappearing around a corner ahead in the tunnel. Behind him, the forest became alive with the distant chorus of unseen creatures and the rustle of shifting leaves that almost seemed to be beckoning him back, the forest a place of known dangers compared to the ominous blackness that lay ahead.
The gahrba, still perched at the crater’s edge, pawed the rocky ground, nostrils flaring in anxious protest. The creature’s large, intelligent eyes followed its master, underpinned with nervous apprehension. This area felt ripe with an air of danger the gahrba’s animalistic instincts for survival could not ignore, and so… in defiance of its masters’ initial command, the creature shook its muscular bulk and approached the rim of the crater before taking a precarious step down the slope to where Momel was busy with his gear, unaware of his mounts’ disobedience. The sturdy creature scrambled down the crater’s steep side, its movements jerky and uncoordinated as panic set its muscular legs twitching as it clumsily made its way down. Loose gravel skittered away beneath its normally sturdy limbs, and several times it nearly lost its footing, jaws clacking together in alarm as it fought for balance on the uneven terrain. Driven onward by the need to protect its master the gahrba proceeded, each slip of its hooves only exacerbating its increasing momentum. The gahrba darted from one patch of loose earth to another, armored scales flashing in the sunlight as it skidded through drifts of gravel and rocky outcroppings, never pausing to gather itself. There was urgency in every movement, fighting the inescapable instinct for self-preservation as the love for its master fuelled it onwards, all the while sensing that something… was horribly wrong. Still, somehow, the great beast managed to reach the base of the slope, breathless and trembling, just as its master finished securing his gear and turned to face the approaching animal, rising to greet the great beast. With a gentle hand, Momel stroked the gahrba’s scaled neck, his touch both reassurance and soothing. “Wait for me,” he murmured in a tongue of clicks and hums, the bond between them palpable in the murky air, as a low forlorn sounding rumble emanated from the mounts muzzle… gently nipping at the shoulder garment of its master.
Momel drew a steady breath, his fingers working the clasps of the breathing apparatus, feeling the familiar coolness of the water-filled globe as it pressed against his back. The hiss of its release was oddly loud in the silence as he carefully placed it in the soft sand next to the entrance, fingers trailing over the transparent surface as if considering donning it again to leave, a fleeting hesitation before that unhealthy dose of curiosity set in.
His free hand rested on the pommel of the bladed walking stick he removed from the saddle strapped to the gahrba’s back, its curved blade shimmering with the latent promise of violence, as he planted the capped end of the polearm into the sand. He was armed with two short, fat cleavers strapped to his ray-skinned belt, easy to reach if needed, and the stubby boom stick fitted into place with a satisfying click against the small of his back, the devastating weapon a last resort if needed, lending Momel a grim sense of preparedness. He returned the long rifle to the gahrba’s saddle, knowing that it would prove too big and unyielding in the potentially tight spaces of the tunnels ahead. Still, as he turned to face the gaping mouth of the cave, a sliver of doubt crept in. Momel looked once more over his shoulder, the forest now seeming impossibly bright and inviting compared to the stifling gloom ahead. The gahrba stomped its hooves against the ground in protest as the wind shifted, carrying with it the jungles’ earthy perfume of soil and growing things—a final reminder of what might be lost if he pressed on.
Steeling his hearts against his fleeting resolve, Momel steps forward into the caverns waiting maw, each footfall placed deliberately like the finality of a stubborn decision that has already been made. The crunch of gravel beneath his sabatons echoed down the tunnel as the darkening shadows started swallowing him by degrees, with the vestiges of daylight fading behind his back. With every step, the silence thickened, broken only by his own breathing in his ears and the silent pitter patter of water droplets somewhere down there in the dark. Momel reached into a satchel at his hip, retrieving a tiny sphere. He brought it to his lips, whispering the needed words that made it glow with a bright light. Then he dropped it next to his feet, a trail of breadcrumbs that would lead him back to safety if he should lose his way. He cautioned himself to use them sparingly, trusting in the knowledge that their light would remain a beacon for many an hour. So, with new found resolve, Momel started his decsent into the silence of the dark, the world itself holding its breath, waiting to see whether the hunter’s decision would lead to triumph—or to tragedy.
