Exhaustion weighed heavily on the group as they trudged through the dense jungle. The darkness encroaching around them made their journey even more challenging. Shikihime, despite her efforts to keep up, found her stamina dwindling faster than the others. Elena cast worried glances at the group, her concern growing as the night deepened.

  Shikuro and Bjorn, burdened and weary, struggled to maintain their pace in the enveloping darkness. Recognizing the need for a respite, they called for a brief halt. The decision was made to slow their pace, conserving their dwindling energy. Minato and Elena led the way, clearing a path through the undergrowth and cutting away the dense vegetation.

  After a few minutes, they noticed the jungle beginning to thin out. A small pond, its surface reflecting the faint light of the stars, appeared nearby. Shikihime, assessing the surroundings, suggested, "We should make a camp here. The enemy won't see our fire in this cover, and we could benefit from several campfires to keep us safe through the night."

  As the words left her lips, a voice echoed in her head, clear and distinct: "Wise choice, my child." Startled, Shikihime looked around sharply and drew her weapon, her eyes scanning the shadows for the source of the voice. The rest of the group, sensing her alarm, quickly followed suit, weapons at the ready.

  Shikuro moved closer to Shikihime, concern etching his features. "What's wrong? What did you see?" he asked.

  Shikihime's confusion was evident. "See? No, I heard a strange voice. Didn't anyone else hear it? It said 'Wise choice'."

  Shikuro glanced around at the others, seeking confirmation. One by one, they shook their heads; none of them had heard anything. He turned back to Shikihime, his voice gentle but firm. "Shikihime, we heard nothing. It might be the exhaustion taking its toll."

  Shikihime's brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "Am I getting tired?" she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

  Shikuro nodded sympathetically. "You've also been hit during the fight. It's best if you rest first. We'll take care of setting up the camp."

  Hesitantly, Shikihime lowered her weapon, still troubled by the voice she had heard. The idea of rest was appealing, yet part of her resisted, not wanting to leave her companions vulnerable. But Shikuro's reassuring presence and the evident exhaustion of the group convinced her. With a nod, she agreed to take the first shift of rest, settling near one of the campfires they had started.

  As the night enveloped the camp, Shikuro approached where Akalune lay, concern etched on his face. Minato and Yoru were already there, conducting a thorough examination. They carefully removed Akalune's armour, and then her top, leaving her exposed from the waist up for a better assessment of her injuries. Yoru's hands moved with practised precision as she gently probed around Akalune's ribs, searching for signs of fractures.

  "It looks like some ribs are fractured," Yoru reported, her voice steady despite the grim diagnosis. "Thankfully, the armour distributed the impact, so her lungs aren't pierced. She should recover as long as she doesn't cough up blood continuously."

  Meanwhile, Minato tended to a wound on Akalune's head, likely caused by the impact with the tree during their escape. Shikuro watched the proceedings with a heavy heart, his mind fraught with concern. He broke the silence with a question that carried the weight of their harsh reality. "Will she be able to keep up?"

  Minato's response was tinged with a blend of realism and resignation. "I don't know. But she won't slow us down, one way or another. We've known each other a long time, and we both understand what's at stake." His words implied a harsh truth that they all knew but seldom spoke of – the need to prioritise the group's survival above all else.

  As Shikuro processed this, a voice, clear and unmistakable, echoed in his mind. "I can save her. Want to make a deal?" Startled, he looked around, searching for the source, but the others showed no sign of hearing it. Was it his imagination, or something more?

  His gaze shifted to Shikihime, who lay near one of the campfires. She wasn't asleep; her eyes were open, filled with concern as she watched their group, especially Akalune. Shikuro could see the worry etched on her face.

  Bjorn, noticing Shikuro's distracted state, asked, "Something the matter?"

  Shikuro, not wanting to alarm the others or reveal the voice he'd heard, dismissed it. "No... everything is alright." He forced a sense of normalcy into his voice, even though his mind was racing with questions.

  As the night enveloped the camp, Shikihime and Shikuro exchanged a few words about Akalune’s condition. The conversation was brief, filled with concern and unspoken fears. Soon, Shikuro wrapped his arms around Shikihime from behind, offering comfort and warmth. The gentle embrace and the crackling of the campfire lulled Shikihime into a deep sleep, where she found herself adrift in a strange dream.

  In her dream, Shikihime wandered through a mysterious building adorned with ancient texts on its walls. The script was unfamiliar, yet she could decipher bits and pieces as she walked along the corridors. The air was thick with a sense of age-old secrets and forgotten lore.

  Eventually, she reached a grand hall, its vastness awe-inspiring. The hall was lined with statues, eleven in total, each one unique and imposing, standing guard around a throne. Seated on the throne was a boy, his gaze piercing and wise beyond his years.

  "Come closer, my child," the boy beckoned. Compelled by a force she didn’t understand, Shikihime approached, stopping about five meters from him.

  "Do you know who I am?" the boy asked.

  Shikihime, slightly amused by the surreal nature of the dream, replied, "A dream, a boy? You could be anything."

  The boy nodded in agreement. "You are right. I am the dream and the master of this land. You are trespassing on its ground."

  Shikihime chuckled lightly. "The Land of Noone is your land? I'd love to hear more; it's always good to enjoy an interesting story."

  "I have nothing to prove," the boy said calmly. "I am here with an offer and a request. If you agree, I will grant you your dream, but you must abide by the deal."

  Shikihime, still in jest, responded, "Yes, sure, my divine boy."

  The boy smiled. "So, what is your wish?"

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  A little annoyed but playing along, Shikihime said, "I wish to get home, alive, with those I hold dear."

  "Understood," the boy replied. "But I cannot grant this wish. He has already requested it, and I have agreed."

  Shikihime's tone was sceptical, laced with sarcasm. "Yeah, yeah, and an almighty person like you would never play anyone unfairly."

  The boy's smile turned devilish. "I don’t play unfairly. I seek an exchange, a deal that benefits both parties. What do you desire so much?"

  Shikihime sighed, her tone more earnest now. "I wish for the alliance to last longer than my lifespan. I want our two countries to forge a long-lasting friendship and alliance."

  The boy pondered for a moment before replying. "You are indeed greedy. I will ensure that your countries' alliance outlives even your grandchildren. But in return, you must come back to me when I call. You will aid me, or die trying. Should you succeed, you may return home."

  Shikihime looked sceptical, about to question the boy further, when suddenly she was jolted awake by a strong shake.

  As dawn broke, casting a dim light over the camp, Shikihime was stirred from her uneasy sleep by the sense of urgency in the air. Opening her eyes, she saw Akalune standing, her face contorted in pain from her injuries. Shikuro, with a grave expression, announced that they needed to leave as soon as possible.

  Shikihime, still disoriented from her abrupt awakening, asked, "What happened?"

  Shikuro's voice was tense as he explained, "Henrik has been poisoned, and Stefan is missing. Yoru and Minato are tracking his last known location."

  Before Shikihime could process this information fully, a loud exclamation of "SHIT!" echoed from the direction of the pond, followed by Minato's urgent warning, "GET OUT!"

  Shikihime, now fully alert, turned to Bjorn. "Stay with Akalune; we need to check this out." With that, she and Shikuro hurried towards the pond, from where the voices had come.

  Arriving at the pond, they found a chaotic scene. Yoru was soaked, water dripping from her clothes, and Minato stood with his weapon drawn. At their feet lay an enormous snake, its head alone nearly a meter long.

  Yoru, catching her breath, said, "I know what happened to Stefan." The implication was clear, and a chill ran down Shikihime's spine. She quickly asked, "Are you alright?"

  Yoru nodded, her breathing still heavy from the encounter. "I reacted in time and dodged. Minato managed to decapitate it with two quick strikes."

  Shikuro, assessing the situation, said firmly, "Let's return to the camp." As they walked back, they discussed the grim discovery. The monstrous snake was likely responsible for Stefan's disappearance, a chilling reminder of the dangers lurking within the jungle.

  Upon their return, they explained the situation to the rest of the group. The harsh reality of their first morning in the jungle was settling in. Out of their group of twelve, three were already lost, after very first night.

  The group's retreat through the dense jungle was marked by a palpable sense of urgency and concern. Akalune, weakened and in pain, struggled to keep pace with the others. Bjorn, seeing her falter, swiftly took her in his arms, determined to not leave her behind.

  "Leave me here. I'll only slow you down," Akalune protested weakly, her voice tinged with resignation.

  Bjorn, however, was resolute. "You'd need to weigh a lot more to be a hindrance," he replied firmly, his voice a mix of reassurance and resolve. "Don't worry, Akalune. I won't prioritise you over the group or Shikuro. But for now, let me carry you."

  Shikihime, keeping a watchful eye on the group, noticed Lukas, Elena, and Mathias showing signs of distress. Concerned, she approached them. "Is something the matter?" she inquired, her voice carrying the weight of leadership and empathy.

  Mathias, looking weary and troubled, responded. "It's just... too many encounters in a very short time. Jumping apes usually don't form such large packs. They have an alpha male who doesn't tolerate many males around. And the females, being smaller, don't usually hunt. Plus, the poisoning is odd. When and how did something so poisonous come into play?"

  Yoru chimed in, her voice laced with the experience of a seasoned fighter. "It must have happened during our retreat yesterday. We didn't exactly cut our way through; it was more like pushing through the underbrush. I've got bruises from the leaves and branches, and who knows what else."

  Her words resonated with everyone. The jungle was a place of unforgiving brutality, where even a minor scratch could prove fatal. The realisation settled over the group like a heavy cloak, reinforcing the danger of their situation.

  The group continued their journey in silence, each member lost in their thoughts, pondering the challenges they faced. The dense foliage of the jungle seemed to close in around them, a constant reminder of the perilous path they were navigating. The air was thick with unspoken fears and the burden of survival. In this hostile environment, they knew that unity and vigilance were their only hope.

  Interlude: King Ivar's Dilemma

  In the grand halls of the Realm's palace, King Ivar sat upon his throne, a look of deep concern etching his aged face. The room was filled with the murmur of his generals and advisors, a symphony of strategy and counsel. But beyond these walls, the realm was in turmoil, teetering on the brink of civil war.

  King Ivar's first decree that day was to reallocate the mercenaries scattered throughout the kingdom. "Move them to less strategic locations," he instructed his generals, his voice heavy with the weight of leadership. "We cannot afford to have them too involved in matters of the state." The mercenaries, once valuable assets, had now become liabilities, their loyalties as unpredictable as the shifting sands.

  As the generals filed out to carry out his orders, King Ivar leaned back in his throne, lost in thought. The Realm was on a precipice, and the challenges he faced were daunting. Archduke Aldrik's rebellion had escalated from murmurs of discontent to an open uprising. The once loyal Archduke, emboldened and defiant, threatened the stability of the entire nation.

  The situation with his other allies was no less dire. Archduke Shikuro, the linchpin of his alliance with the Dynasty, was missing. His absence had strained the already fragile relations with the eastern power. And just yesterday, the shocking news of Archduke Arvid's assassination had reached him, sending ripples of fear and uncertainty through the court.

  King Ivar’s mind was a whirlwind of strategies and scenarios. Each decision seemed to lead to more complex problems. The civil war seemed inevitable, a dark cloud looming over the horizon. Aldrik's rebellion needed to be quelled, but with caution and precision. A misstep could plunge the realm into chaos.

  As he pondered, King Ivar's thoughts turned to the Dynasty. Their support, though tenuous, was crucial. But it hinged on the safe return of Shikuro with Shikihime. Their union was more than a marriage; it was a symbol of hope, a bridge between two mighty powers. If Shikuro failed to return, the alliance would crumble, leaving the Realm vulnerable and isolated.

  The king rose from his throne and walked to the grand window overlooking his kingdom. The view was a tapestry of sprawling landscapes and bustling cities, a realm that had thrived under his rule. But now, it stood at a crossroads, its future uncertain.

  King Ivar's gaze was drawn to the distant mountains, he was not looking at the mountains themselves, but to what was behind them, the island and duchy of Eirtaoir, where the rebels, led by Aldrik, had fortified their position. The rebellion was more than a power struggle; it was a challenge to the very ideals Ivar had upheld throughout his reign. He knew that the upcoming battle would be more than a clash of swords; it would be a fight for the soul of the kingdom.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his chief advisor, Lord Emeric. The old advisor bowed respectfully. "Your Majesty, the generals have begun the reallocation of the mercenaries as per your orders."

  King Ivar turned from the window, his expression solemn. "Thank you, Emeric. Prepare my council. We need to discuss our next course of action."

  "As you wish, my king," Emeric replied, his voice steady.

  As Emeric left to gather the council, King Ivar remained by the window, his mind racing. He knew that the decisions made in the coming days would shape the fate of the Realm. The challenges were many - a brewing civil war, the threat of external enemies, and the delicate balance of alliances.

  But King Ivar was no stranger to adversity. He had ruled through times of peace and conflict, his wisdom and strength guiding the kingdom through turbulent waters. He knew that the path ahead would require all his cunning, courage, and resolve.

  As he awaited his council, King Ivar made a silent vow. He would do whatever it took to preserve the Realm, to bring peace to his people, and to quell the flames of rebellion. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear - King Ivar would stand firm, a beacon of hope and strength in these dire times.