The night was long and uneasy.
Even as exhaustion tugged at their limbs, Adlet and Polo never found true rest. Every whisper of the forest—the rustling leaves, the distant calls of unseen predators, the low hum of the sea breeze—was filled with an undercurrent of danger. On the Forbidden Island, even silence felt alive, as if the land itself were watching, waiting.
At dawn, they packed their meager camp, the aches of their bodies a constant reminder of how little rest they had gotten. But there was no time to slow down. Somewhere on this cursed island, Lucien and Linoa might still be alive. And with Lucien's power, their chances of survival would increase tenfold.
That hope was the only thing that kept them moving.
Days passed in a grim rhythm. Each morning, they ventured out from their hidden camp, tracing the coastline or delving deeper into the thick jungle. The air was oppressive, humid with the scent of salt and moss. Strange birds called from the treetops, their cries echoing through the dense canopy like warnings.
They often spotted the shadow of an Apex moving through the trees—a vast, silent shape, its eyes glowing faintly in the underbrush. Every time, they froze, holding their breath until the danger passed. They knew better than to confront such creatures. A single battle could draw a dozen more to their position.
At night, they would return to the shelter of the forest, setting up a small fire hidden beneath thick branches. The crackling flames were a small comfort, but even the light seemed too bright in the oppressive darkness of the island. They spoke little, sharing their meals in silence. Polo would occasionally try to lighten the mood with a joke, but even his humor had dulled, as if the island itself had drained the joy from him.
Two weeks passed in this manner—long, tense days of walking, searching, hiding.
By then, they had reached the base of a vast mountain range that split the island in two. The peaks loomed ahead, jagged and ancient, their silhouettes piercing the clouds like the spines of forgotten gods. The air was thinner here, colder, filled with the scent of steam rising from cracks in the rock.
"This has to be the place," Polo said quietly, his voice tense with a mix of hope and apprehension.
Adlet nodded, his eyes fixed on the towering ridges. "Linoa said the Rokh Falcons make their nests up here. If Lucien and she survived… they'd be here."
Polo's gaze hardened as he scanned the horizon. Neither of them had spoken about the odds of survival for days. They both knew the island's dangers. But neither of them would turn back.
They began their ascent.
The terrain grew steeper, the narrow path winding through jagged rocks and precarious cliffs. The wind howled through the crags, a constant reminder of how exposed they were. But the higher they climbed, the more alive the island seemed. Strange flowers—bright red, as if stained with blood—grew between the cracks, and the very ground beneath them pulsed with heat.
By midday, they reached a flat clearing at the foot of a towering ridge. The air shimmered faintly with waves of heat, and the ground crackled with the energy of the island. Polo stepped forward, scanning the landscape warily.
"Careful," he muttered. "The ground's—"
Before he could finish, a deafening roar split the air.
A blinding flash of red filled Adlet's vision. Then, with no warning, a torrent of fire erupted from the earth, slamming into Polo's chest. The blast hurled him backward like a ragdoll, his body crashing into a boulder with a sickening crack. The shockwave scorched the earth, the air thick with the smell of burning stone.
"POLO!" Adlet screamed, his heart sinking.
Smoke and dust filled the clearing, choking the air. His Aura flared instinctively, forming a faint shield just as another burst of fire streaked past, grazing his leg. The pain was searing, but it barely registered in his mind. What froze him in place was the creature emerging from the haze.
A colossal turtle, its shell a jagged dome of molten stone, pulsed with crimson cracks. Each breath exhaled sparks into the air. The creature's massive head rose from beneath the shell, crowned with two blunt horns, its beak gleaming like polished metal. When it opened its maw, the world itself seemed to ignite.
Adlet didn't know it, but he stood before a Ruby Turtle—a Rank 4 Apex.
It advanced slowly, its enormous frame shaking the ground with each step. Adlet began to retreat, his injured leg screaming in pain. But then, the turtle's eyes shifted toward Polo.
Polo lay motionless, barely conscious, blood pooling beneath him.
"No…" Adlet whispered, his voice hollow.
The turtle's jaws opened again, light gathering in its throat—a crimson glow building to an explosive crescendo.
Adlet's body moved on instinct.
He thrust out his hand, summoning green Aura that burst from his palm. It formed into a whip-like tendril that lashed across the clearing, wrapping around Polo's arm and yanking him away just as the second wave of fire erupted. The blast rained down where Polo had been, the shockwave scattering molten rock in every direction.
Adlet caught Polo midair, his knees buckling under the strain. His burned leg gave out, and they both crashed to the ground.
"Hang on!" Adlet gritted through clenched teeth, struggling to lift his friend. "I've got you…"
He tried to move, but each step was agony. Behind him, the ground trembled again. The Ruby Turtle was closing in, its massive form casting a shadow over the clearing.
Another blast built in the creature's throat, glowing brighter, hotter.
Adlet threw himself behind a cluster of large rocks, covering Polo with his body just as another explosion raged overhead. The heat was unbearable, the rocks sizzling beneath them, but somehow they survived.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then came the slow, heavy thuds of approaching footsteps.
They couldn't run. There was nowhere to hide.
And as the massive shadow of the beast loomed over them, Adlet realized something that chilled him to his core:
This might be where their story ends.