The jungle was alive. Not in the gentle way of nature, but with the pulse of sothing far more dangerous—sothing violent, sothing sharp, sothing inevitable. The leaves trembled, not from the wind, but from the movent of warriors, unseen but not unheard. Footsteps were light, but hearts pounded. Hands gripped weapons. Eyes flicked between the shadows, searching for ghosts.
Princess Elissa crouched low behind the thick trunk of a kapok tree, bowstring pulled taut. Her muscles, honed through years of battle, did not tremble. She was still, a statue carved from flesh, her every breath asured. Beside her, the won of Amazonia—warriors, survivors—mirrored her poise.
They had seen the flying beasts again. The tal creatures. Unlike anything Amazonia had ever known, they roared through the sky like dragons of steel. They spoke, but in tongues unknown. They moved with an uncanny precision, like spirits bound in tal.
Latvia's war had already torn Amazonia apart. But Latvia had used dragons. What were these? Had Latvia's monsters evolved?
It didn't matter. Enemy or not, they were in Amazonia now. And Amazonia did not bow.
....
Sergeant Tobias Harker wiped sweat from his brow. The jungle was a damned nightmare—too humid, too loud, too green. The air slled of earth and sothing sour, sothing rotting just beneath the surface.
Harker hated it.
"Keep tight formation," he muttered, voice low but firm. The squad moved through the undergrowth, boots silent against the damp soil. Trained killers, every one of them. Imperial soldiers didn't make noise unless they wanted to.
The last radio call had been clear—potential hostiles in Sector 7A. No ID confird. Could be Latvians. Could be soone else. Either way, orders were simple: locate, identify, eliminate if necessary.
"Movent ahead," whispered Private Langley, gripping his rifle tighter.
Harker raised a fist. Halt. The unit froze.
Then—a rustle.
A flicker of green.
A shadow against the leaves.
Harker's instincts scread. Soone was there.
"Hostiles!" Langley hissed, lifting his rifle.
The jungle erupted.
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The first arrow ca without sound—only the whisper of wind before it sank deep into Langley's shoulder.
He didn't scream. Trained soldiers don't scream. But the grunt of pain was sharp, bitten-off. Blood darkened the fabric of his uniform, his rifle falling from numb fingers.
"Contact!" Harker roared.
Gunfire shattered the jungle's breathless silence. The sharp crack of bullets ripped through leaves, splitting bark, carving holes in ancient trees.
Amazonians were fast. Too fast. By the ti the first shot was fired, half of them had vanished, lting back into the foliage.
"Close formation!" Harker barked, moving with the precision drilled into him since his first day in the Imperial Army. Guns against bows, firepower against silence. It should've been no contest.
But the Amazonians weren't fighting a fair fight.
A scream—Private Ross. A blade had found his throat. Blood poured, thick and dark, steaming in the humid air. A shadow disappeared before anyone could fire.
Too fast. Too damned fast.
Then they saw her.
She stood among the ferns like a goddess of war, muscles taut, seven feet of raw strength. Her green eyes burned like wildfire beneath the jungle's shadow. In one hand, she held a longbow, in the other—a sword, its edge slick with fresh blood.
Harker barely had ti to register before she moved.
He dodged the first strike by instinct alone. The second tore his sleeve, carving a shallow line of red across his arm. The third—he caught it, tal clashing against tal as he blocked her sword with his combat knife.
She was strong. Unnaturally so. It took everything in him to not stagger back from the force of the impact.
"Who the fuck are you?" he growled.
The woman's eyes narrowed. Her lips curled in disdain.
"You speak like the tal demons," she spat. "But you are not of Latvia. What are you?"
That hesitation saved his life.
Harker shoved back, gun raised. He could've shot her. Should've. But sothing about the way she stood—about the way she looked at him—made him pause.
She wasn't Latvian.
He knew that now.
The fight slowed. Not stopped—but slowed.
Both sides hesitated, weapons still raised, breaths still ragged.
It was then that Lieutenant Huxley's voice crackled through Harker's radio.
"Sergeant, confirm the status of hostiles."
Harker didn't answer. His mind was racing too fast.
And then the Amazonian woman—Princess Elissa, though he did not yet know her na—spoke.
"You are not Latvia," she said, slow, cautious. "Then why do you wear their skin? Their colors?"
Harker frowned. "We don't."
"Lies," another Amazonian hissed. "We saw your tal beasts. Latvia's sky monsters!"
It clicked then. The confusion. The misunderstanding.
These won—these warriors—still thought Latvia ruled this land.
Harker exhaled, lowering his rifle slightly. "Latvia is gone," he said. "They lost the war."
Silence.
Pure, unbroken silence.
Elissa's grip on her sword tightened. "What?"
"You heard ." Harker's voice was firm. "Latvia fell. We crushed them."
The Amazonians exchanged glances, their once-burning rage shifting into sothing else.
Disbelief.
Uncertainty.
But not trust. Not yet.
"If Latvia is gone," Elissa said slowly, "then who are you?"
Harker hesitated.
"We are the Bernard Empire," he said at last. "This land belongs to us now."
Bernard Empire? She'd never heard the na. However, If Latvia lost the war. Then they are their conqueror.
"You're lying," she hissed.
"No. It's true. Latvia's forces in Amazonia collapsed when their capital fell. We've been cleaning up the remnants."
Elissa's chest tightened. If this was true… then her mother might still be alive.
But She couldn't trust them.
One enemy had fallen—only to be replaced by another.
She had spent years cursing Latvia, dreaming of their downfall. But never had she imagined that when they were gone, sothing even more monstrous would take their place.
She stared at the soldier before her.
The Bernard Empire.
An unknown beast.
But if history had taught her anything, it was that all beasts were hungry.
The key to Eternal was still in her grasp. A piece of sothing greater. Sothing dangerous. Sothing neither Latvia nor the Bernard Empire could ever be allowed to claim.
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