The jungle did not sleep.
It held its breath.
Branches didn't move. Leaves didn't rustle. Even the night birds fell silent—
as if something older than sound had begun to listen.
Only the fire whispered.
And the man stood between it and the dark.
---
He crouched low in the mud, one hand pressed to the soil. His breath was shallow, but steady. The fang-blade gleamed faintly in his other hand, still slick from its last kill.
Behind him, the cave waited.
Not the people.
The fire.
The fire had seen something.
And now the dark had smelled it.
---
A root shifted in the underbrush.
Not snapped.
Moved.
The man's eyes narrowed.
Six of them.
No glint in their eyes. No breath in the air.
Only motion.
Only intention.
They didn't hunt for meat.
They came to erase what shouldn't exist.
---
The first beast leapt.
No snarl. No roar.
Just teeth and silence.
---
The man turned into it—
blade first.
It split in two with a wet crack. Blood sprayed.
Another leapt.
He ducked low. The blade swept up.
Bone met fang. Flesh split. He spun.
---
The third struck him hard, claws raking his ribs.
He didn't cry out.
He grunted—
and slammed it to the ground.
Knee. Fist. Elbow.
Until it stopped twitching.
---
The fourth was faster.
It clawed his thigh. He staggered—
but caught it in the air with both arms.
And bit.
---
Inside the cave, Ashur did not blink.
He sat by the fire, breath slow.
The flame shrank—
not in fear.
In memory.
It remembered this rhythm.
---
Outside, the fifth beast circled.
The man's foot slipped.
It pounced—
and he rolled into the mud.
They struggled. Teeth. Blood. Rage.
He jammed the fang-blade into its gut and twisted.
---
Only one beast remained.
It stood at the treeline.
Still.
Watching.
---
The man panted.
Covered in blood. Wounded.
But alive.
He raised the blade—
And the beast… turned.
And walked away.
---
It had seen the fire.
And heard something.
---
Inside the cave, Ashur drew a spiral in the soot with his finger.
Then breathed:
Three beats.
One deep.
One sharp.
One slow.
---
The flame pulled toward him.
A soft bend.
Not to warm him.
To listen.
---
The man did not understand what he had protected.
But he knew one thing:
It wasn't the tribe.
It was what had been born beside the fire.
---
He picked up a broken piece of his blade.
Looked at it.
Then walked back toward the cave—
Not victorious.
But changed.
---