The structure stood slightly apart from the rest of the settlement, as if even the community itself respected an invisible distance. It was made of tanned hides, woven fibers, and dark wood covered in carved symbols. Some represented animals, others stars, others impossible figures that seemed to change depending on the angle from which they were viewed.
As he crossed the threshold, the air changed. It became colder.
The smell of smoke was left behind, replaced by a mixture of dried herbs, damp earth, and something harder to name—something ancient. The light inside was dim, fed by small embers and oil lamps that cast a trembling glow.
The Great Wise Woman sat at the center.
She did not appear to be a fragile elder. Her body was slender, yes, but her posture was firm, anchored to the ground like an old tree that had survived too many storms. Her skin was etched with deep wrinkles, each one like a path traveled. Her eyes, dark and attentive, seemed to look beyond the man, as if gazing through time itself.
Before her stood a low table made of solid wood.
Resting on its surface were the cards.
There were not many of them, but their mere presence commanded respect. Their edges were worn, and the illustrations did not correspond to any symbol he recognized. They were not human. Nor Velkari. They were something older—something that seemed to belong to a world that existed before anyone tried to rule it.
"I knew you would come," the Great Wise Woman said, without raising her voice.
The man lowered his head.
"Since he was born…" he began, but stopped. He searched for the words. "Since before that, actually. Something doesn't feel right."
She took one of the cards between her long, knotted fingers. She turned it slowly, as if even the act of revealing it required care.
The image showed a kneeling figure, surrounded by shadows that seemed to emerge from its own interior, as if the pain did not come from outside, but from oneself.
"Pain," she said. "Loss."
She placed the card on the table.
"It does not indicate when, because it is something that can happen at any moment. But do not trust yourself—it will come."
The man felt a knot tighten in his stomach.
"To us?" he asked, though he already sensed the answer.
The Great Wise Woman did not respond immediately. Instead, she took the second card and revealed it.
A small light being born among ruins. It was neither bright nor powerful, but it persisted, refusing to go out.
"Hope," she said. "But not where you are looking."
She lifted her gaze.
"It is not for you. Nor for her."
The silence grew heavy.
"What kind of hope?"
The elder set the card aside and took the third.
This one was different. Chaotic. Fragmented. The images seemed to overlap one another: cities breaking apart, figures confronting each other, worlds colliding.
"Change," she replied. "The change that is desired. The one that is feared."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"He will alter the balance. He will awaken what many believe to be buried. He will ask questions no one wants to answer."
The man placed both hands on the table.
"So…" his voice was barely a whisper, "he will bring chaos."
The Great Wise Woman nodded.
"Yes. Because this world is held together by lies that are far too old."
The man closed his eyes for a moment.
"If they find us," he said. "If they come back for us. If all of this ends…"
He could not continue.
The elder reached out and took his hand. Her touch was warm, steady.
"I will protect him," she said. "Like a simple child."
The man opened his eyes.
"Promise me."
She held his gaze.
"I promise."
When he turned to leave, he did not see the final card. It remained half hidden, barely visible beneath the edge of the table. On it, a figure lay motionless, surrounded by blood and withered leaves.
Early death.
The Great Wise Woman watched it in silence as the man moved closer to the exit of the tent and the music wrapped around everything once more. The fire still burned. The night was still gentle.
For now.
"May the spirits walk with you," she murmured.
Without warning, the world shattered.
A scream tore through the fabric of the tent like a blade. Then another. And another. They were not songs. They were screams of terror.
The man straightened abruptly, his heart hammering against his chest with a violence he had not felt in years.
"What was that…?" he asked, turning toward the Great Wise Woman.
She was already on her feet.
She did not look surprised. Only tense.
She raised one hand, asking for silence. Her eyes fixed on the entrance of the tent, alert, as if listening to something beyond the screams. Something that had not yet fully revealed itself.
Then the fabric was violently pulled aside.
An Indigenous man burst inside, gasping, eyes wide, his face covered in sweat and ash. He shouted in his language, frantic, desperate words. He pointed outside with erratic movements, as if what he had seen could not be expressed with human gestures.
The Indigenous man took a step forward, but never got to ask anything.
Something invisible seized him. A brutal force dragged him backward, ripping him out of the tent with violence. He slammed onto his back, the air forced from his lungs in a strangled gasp. A soldier in armor pierced his chest with a sword of gleaming blade.
The man rushed out of the tent—and then he saw it.
The settlement was burning.
The central bonfire had been overturned, the flames spreading uncontrollably, devouring huts, hides, ritual fabrics. The smoke was thick, black, mixed with the metallic smell of freshly spilled blood.
Mutilated bodies covered the ground.
Heads severed from their bodies rolled through the mud and ashes. Exposed entrails, hands still gripping improvised weapons, eyes open, staring at a sky that no longer belonged to them.
The music was dead.
Only the screams remained.
Among the shifting shadows, figures advanced with mechanical precision.
Velkari soldiers.
Their armor was smooth, immaculate, untouched by the chaos they caused. It reflected fire and blood as if none of it could stain them. Their movements were not hurried. There was no fury in them.
Only execution.
Panic struck him like lightning.
"Iria…" he whispered, then shouted, "IRIA!"
He searched desperately through the smoke, pushing bodies aside, stumbling over corpses. Around him, the Indigenous people fought however they could. Arrows whistled through the air, some lodging in joints of armor, managing to bring down one or two soldiers. Spears of hardened wood pierced visors when luck allowed.
One Velkari fell with an arrow embedded in his neck. Another was surrounded by three men who, at the cost of their own lives, managed to drive obsidian blades between plates of metal.
But for every one that fell, two more advanced.
"No!" the Great Wise Woman shouted from behind him. "Don't expose yourself!"
The man did not listen. He could not. He had to find his wife and his child.
An Indigenous man was split in two before him, a blade of energy cutting through his torso as if his body offered no resistance at all. Blood splashed across his face. The man barely reacted.
He saw a weapon fall to the ground.
It was not human.
It resembled a sword, but its blade was not entirely solid. A core of dark metal ran through its center, surrounded by white energy that vibrated, alive, emitting a low hum that made his teeth ache.
He grabbed it. The weapon activated at his touch.
The blade extended, emitting an intense light. The man did not think. He lunged at the first soldier in front of him and struck.
The armor gave way. The Velkari body fell to the ground in two clean, smoking halves.
They were not invincible.
He attacked again.
He dodged an energy shot that burned the air centimeters from his head, rolled across the ground, and sprang back to his feet. He severed a leg, then an arm. The weapon responded to his movements with unnatural ease, as if it had been made for hands like his.
He reached the edge of the camp.
And then he heard it.
Crying. Sharp. Desperate. The unmistakable cry of a baby.
"No…" he whispered.
The atmosphere shifted.
The smoke seemed to part in a specific direction. The noise faded around a single figure.
Iria.
She stood trembling, the baby clutched tightly to her chest. Her ritual markings were smeared with blood and ash. In front of her stood a soldier unlike the others—taller, more imposing.
His mere presence made the air feel heavy, as if something invisible pressed down on everything around them. He wore no visible insignia, but he did not need them. His aura was murderous.
The man ran.
"Iriaaaa!" he screamed with all the strength in his lungs.
She turned.
Their eyes met.
"NO!" she screamed, absolute desperation in her voice.
The soldier raised his right hand.
Flesh distorted. Bones vanished. Metal emerged from within, transforming into a white, gleaming, impossible spear. It was not visible technology. It was as if his very body were being rewritten.
The soldier hesitated. He saw the man approaching—and decided to change targets.
The spear launched toward him with brutal speed.
The man threw himself to the ground at the last second. The spear grazed his shoulder, tearing away skin and flesh as if they were nothing. The pain was immediate, searing—but he did not stop.
He rolled. He stood. And placed himself in front of Iria, breathing heavily.
The baby cried louder. The fire roared behind them. The entire world seemed to hold its breath.
The man did not hesitate.
"Run, Iria," he ordered in a firm voice, without looking back. "Don't stop. Don't look back. Just run."
Iria looked at him one last time.
Her eyes trembled. Her lips parted as if to say his name, but no sound came out. She pressed the baby to her chest, turned on her heels, and ran into the forest, disappearing into the dense undergrowth, swallowed by the dimness beginning to claim the jungle.
The crying faded.
The man inhaled deeply.
And then, silence was broken once more.
"So… I finally find you," the soldier said.