The jungle seemed to breathe with Micheal as he walked deeper within its folds. Every step had meaning, as if the path itself was urging him forward.
The air shimmered with magic thick and inviting, and Micheal could feel the jungle's energy humming through his veins.
The silence was no longer oppressive, but watchful, as if the jungle watched his every move.
Micheal paused for breath. The encounter with the Keeper had drained him, yet he couldn't allow exhaustion to stop him now.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tightened his grip on the staff.
"You're doing well," a voice said.
Micheal whipped around, his eyes scanning. The voice wasn't loud; soft, almost gentle, but it echoed through the trees as if the trees themselves had spoken.
"Who's there?" Micheal called out, his voice even as the unease crept into his chest.
The jungle didn't immediately respond. Then, from the shadows of the biggest tree forward, a figure emerged. It wasn't like the Keeper. This figure was smaller, more human.
Micheal's breath caught.
The figure was a young man, perhaps a few years older than Micheal, with sharp features and a calm expression.
His dark hair was tied back, and his simple clothes were well-worn, as if he had been in the jungle for a long time. His eyes glowed faintly green, the same color as the jungle's magic.
"You've come far," the man said, his voice calm but edged with something Micheal couldn't place. "Most don't make it past the Whispering Grove, let alone the Keeper."
"Who are you?" Micheal asked cautiously.
The man smiled faintly. "A traveler, like you. I've walked these paths before, though it seems the jungle has chosen a different path for me now."
Micheal frowned. "A traveler? You've been to Veralune?"
The man chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No. The jungle deemed me unworthy long before I reached it."
The admission was a surprise to Micheal. "Unworthy? Then why are you still here?"
The serious tone sombered further onto his face. "Because the jungle does not let go of those it chooses. Whether you succeed or fail, you remain part of it
"He stepped closer, his gaze locking on Micheal. "Tell me, why is it that you seek Veralune?
Micheal hesitated. He thought about the shimmering woman by the pool, about the growing darkness spreading through the jungle, and about the weight of duty that was pressing on his shoulders.
"To protect it," he said finally. "To stop the darkness."
The man studied him a moment, then nodded. "A noble answer. But the jungle will demand more than nobility. It will ask for everything you are.
Before Micheal could say anything, the man lifted his hand. A surge of energy propelled outwards and changed the surrounding jungle.
The trees contorted and moved, their roots rising to form a circle around the two of them. Micheal's stomach fell.
"What are you doing?" he asked, taking a step back.
The man didn't answer. Instead, he grasped a staff of his own-one carved from dark wood and pulsing with green veins of light.
"The jungle has sent me to test you," he said simply. "Prove you are ready, or turn back now."
Micheal's pulse quickened, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Another test? I just fought the Keeper!
The man's smile returned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "The jungle doesn't care about fairness. It cares about strength, resolve, and your ability to adapt.
Before Micheal could utter further arguments, the man sprang into action. He was quick—quicker than anyone Micheal had ever seen.
In a trice, he closed the gap between them, swinging his staff in a wide arc. Micheal barely managed to block the strike, the force of it reverberating through his arms.
"Focus!" the man said sharply, his voice piercing through Micheal's thoughts. "The jungle doesn't forgive hesitation!"
Micheal gritted his teeth, stepping back and raising his staff defensively. He focused on the magic coursing through him, let it guide his movements.
When the man struck again, Micheal met the blow head-on, pushing back with a surge of energy.
The clash sent a wave of light through the circle, causing the roots around them to glow.
"Good," the man said, his voice near approving. "But raw power isn't enough. Control it!"
Micheal didn't say anything. He focussed on his breathing, on the rhythm of the jungle's energy.
When the man attacked again, Micheal did more than block-he moved with the strike, redirecting the force as he countered with a burst of magic that sent the man stumbling back.
The man laughed, a sound containing amusement and respect. "Not bad," he said, steadying himself. "But can you maintain that focus under pressure?"
With a wave of his hand, he summoned the jungle to his aid. Vines shot up from the ground, twisting up toward Micheal like living snakes.
Micheal spun his staff, slicing through them with bursts of light, but more kept coming.
He surged more and more, channeling the magic with everything he had. The jungle responded, the energy coursing through his veins like a tidal wave.
He dodged and struck, counterattacked, his movements becoming more fluid with every passing moment.
Finally, with a shout, Micheal released a wave of energy that shattered the vines and sent the man sprawling to the ground.
He panted heavily, his staff falling as his arms began to shake with effort.
For a while, the man remained still; then he sat up, chuckling. "You surprise me, Micheal. I didn't think you had it in you."
Micheal frowned. "Why are you testing me? What does the jungle want from me?
The man stood, dusting himself off. "The jungle doesn't just test for strength. It tests your connection, your will to grow. You have shown potential, but don't let that make you complacent."
He stepped closer, laying a hand on Micheal's shoulder. "This path you've chosen, it will break you before it builds you. Remember that."
And with that, the man turned and started to fade into the dark of the trees.
"Wait!" Micheal shouted. "Who are you?"
The man stopped and looked back with a weak smile. "A failure. May that not be your fate."
And in the blink of an eye, he vanished.
Micheal stood there, his mind whirling. The tests in the jungle were getting grimmer and more personal.
Yet, amid the exhaustion, there had finally come a kind of determination: he would not fail-not now, never.
With a readjustment of his grasp on the staff, Micheal stepped forward. Before him, the pathway was endless; he was ready for whatever would happen next.