That evening, the jungle was unusually still. If it were any other time, it hummed in activity.
But tonight, there seemed an unnatural pall cast over everything; the whole jungle was bated, as if even it was holding its breath. Micheal felt it too.
Micheal was sixteen, a boy who had never known another home but this jungle. His childhood growth had taken place under a thick green canopy; His black hair fell about his face in haphazard array, and his eyes were keen, bright with the mystery of the jungle he knew for his own.
Reared by the spirits of the jungle from the time his parents had died, Micheal learned to read its portents, to listen to its whispers. He knew every twist in the river, every scent on the wind, every change in the light.
That night, he knelt on the fringe of the Sivar River and let his hands drip in the cool, dark water. He couldn't get away from the feeling that something was off-kilter.
His fingers brushed the river's surface, sending ripples out, yet somehow the water was different, almost. alive. A feeling he couldn't really describe, like a throbbing life that hadn't been there before.
The jungle itself felt taut, almost as if it was waiting for something. Yet what?
Micheal closed his eyes and tried to focus, his breathing slowing as he attuned himself to the sounds-or lack of them-around him.
He tried to feel the subtle cadence in the magic of the jungle: the life flowing through every tree, every river, every blade of grass. It was old magic, powerful, and it had always been reassuring to him. But now, something was different.
In the water, Micheal's drifting fingers suddenly sensed movement-a small ripple at first, a gentle wave that made him blink in surprise. Then without warning, the water started to glow: a faint, shimmering green light, soft but unmistakable.
Micheal watched in an impossibly wide-eyed stare as the glow intensified, growing brighter and brighter until it pulsed in time with the beating of his heart.
He stepped back, and his mind was racing. The jungle had shown him strange things before-visions, dreams, warnings. But this light was very different.
It felt ancient, powerful; it felt like something buried deep within the heart of the jungle had stirred awake. In an instant, the light exploded in brilliance, blinding him.
Stumbling backward, blinking hard against its brightness, Micheal finally met with total darkness.
In the darkness, he began to see pictures-flashes, pieces of things he couldn't understand.
Flames, devouring the ground. Screaming, wild and desperate. Spirits forms roamed in the darkness; their eyes shone with strange light.
He saw the jungle, once lush and green, but smothered and shriveled; the rivers dried, the trees shattered, blackened, and dead.
He saw there the great tree Veralune, the "heart of the jungle's magic", standing tall but strangled in darkness, its leaves falling like dying embers, its light fading to shadow.
A feeling of dread coiled tight in his chest. War. Destruction. Death.
Just that suddenly, the vision vanished, and Micheal gasped, his feet sprawling as he found himself back upon the riverbank, blinking in the moonlight.
He was breathing hard, his heart pounding, while he tried to understand what he had just seen. The jungle was silent, but now the quiet was even more ominous.
He looked around half expecting the terrors of his vision lurking in the shadows. But there was nothing. Just the river, flowing quietly, as if nothing had taken place.
Micheal took one shaky breath and tried to calm himself. The jungle showed him something-a warning perhaps, or a glance of what was going to come.
He saw the future, or at least the possible future, and it terrified him. Whatever had threatened his home, the jungle, was close by.
Something dark was looming, something powerful enough to corrupt the magic that has kept this place safe for as long as he could remember.
He couldn't very well ignore what he'd seen. The vision had showed him Veralune, the tree that was sacred, and he knew what it meant.
If Veralune was under threat, then the whole jungle was in jeopardy. He thought about his mother, of the stories she used to tell him when he was small, stories of ancient prophecies and of great battles.
She had always said he was special, that he was connected to the jungle in a way others weren't. She had told him stories of one day, when the jungle would call upon him to protect it.
He had thought for years that it was just a story, something for him to make him feel good after his father died. Now, he wasn't so sure. Maybe his mother was right all along.
Micheal knew what he had to do. He was going to have to find Veralune. The sacred tree was deep within the heart of the jungle, really far from where he now was, but he had no other choice.
If Veralune was in danger, then the whole jungle would fall down soon enough. He couldn't let that happen.
Slowly, a creepy snarl sounded and Micheal turned, his eyes scanning the dark forest. At first, he saw nothing but shadows and trees.
But then, from beneath the underbrush, something emerged. It was huge, its glowing green eyes cutting through the darkness like cold knives.
The body twisted; wrapping around its limbs and body. Micheal stared, horrified.
He froze, his heart pounding, trying to remain perfectly still. The gaze of the beast fixed on him then, and it started to move forward, slow and deliberate, muscles tensed, creeping closer.
Micheal knew he couldn't outrun it, his dagger was futile against a form as powerful as this. He needed help, but he was alone.
Except… he wasn't. Micheal closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to connect with the jungle around him.
Always, the magic had been here-a quiet presence in the background of his life,but he had never tried to actually use it, not like this.
He reached out with his mind, searching for that familiar pulse of life, that rhythm which tied every living thing in the jungle together.
He felt nothing at first, only the weight of the creature's presence bearing down upon him. Then, slowly but surely, he had felt it-the soft thrum of the earth beneath his feet, the quiet breath of the trees, the heartbeat of the jungle itself. It was faint, but it was there.
The creature lunged.
Micheal opened his eyes and threw his hand toward the ground, reaching out to the magic with everything he had. A surge of power suddenly flushed through him, and the earth responded.
Thick vines shot up from the soil, wrapping around the creature's legs and tugging it down. The creature roared, thrashing and snapping its jaws, but the vines held firm, dragging it deeper into the earth.
In one swift motion, the monster was gone, swallowed up by the jungle.
Micheal collapsed again, but this time to his knees, breathing hard. He had done it, though. Finally, he reached deep into the heart of the jungle and touched some of that ancient energy. The jungle had saved him.
Saying there, catching his breath, Micheal knew that 'something is wrong somewhere'. And he needs to find solution as quick as possible.
The war for the jungle had already begun, and he was at the heart of it.
He needed to find Veralune. He needed to protect the jungle.