Grand Olympia: Further Horizon - Chapter 24: Harmony
The temple loomed before them, a forgotten relic swallowed by time. Vines twisted up its cracked stone walls, their tendrils crawling into every crevice like nature's slow conquest. The worn carvings that lined the temple's face were faded, nearly unrecognizable beneath layers of grime.
Entire sections of the roof had caved in, leaving jagged stone beams exposed like rotted ribs. The air was colder here, heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying wood.
"It's in rough shape," George muttered, adjusting his grip on his rifle. "Doesn't look like anyone's been here for centuries."
"Should we check inside?" Jeanne asked. Her voice was steady, but her eyes flicked toward the temple's shadowed entrance — wide, dark, and unwelcoming.
"Let's not," George said flatly. "It's too big. Exploring that whole thing could take hours, maybe longer. And with how drained we all are, it's not worth the risk."
"But we could find something," Lapulapu countered, stepping closer. His gaze lingered on the faint carvings — faint, yet deliberate. "A golden medallion could be in there."
George scoffed. "And it could be a death trap. Remember the last time we walked into something blind? We barely made it out alive." He shifted his rifle's strap on his shoulder. "We need to be smarter this time."
"Smart doesn't mean ignoring potential gains," Lapulapu shot back. "The others are still recovering. If we find something here — medicine, weapons, or a medallion — it could change everything."
Jeanne sighed, stepping between them. "At the very least," she said firmly, "We shouldn't go in alone. Not like this. If we're going to check it out, we should regroup with the others first. Plan it properly."
George and Lapulapu exchanged a look. Both knew Jeanne had a point. They weren't in fighting shape. Lapulapu's body still aches from the poison — his strength wasn't what it should be. George's nerves were stretched thin, and fatigue had dulled his reflexes.
Jeanne, despite her calm demeanor, was just as worn down. If something — or someone — was inside that temple, they weren't prepared for it.
"Fine," George said, exhaling. "We get the others first. We'll scout the outside on the way back, and get a better look at the layout."
"I'll mark the path," Lapulapu added. "We don't want to get turned around if things go wrong."
"Agreed." Jeanne stepped back from the temple's entrance.
"Let's move."
They turned away from the temple, but none of them felt safe. Each step back into the forest carried a sense of unfinished business — as if something inside those crumbling walls had been watching them the entire time.
Branches crackled beneath their boots as they retreated down the path. The faint carvings etched into the temple's walls seemed to shift slightly under the dim light — symbols almost resembling eyes that watched them disappear into the trees.
The trio moved quietly through the dense forest, their footsteps muffled by damp earth and layers of leaves. The temple's shadow still seemed to cling to them, a lingering sense of unease. For a while, none of them spoke — they were too tired, too drained from everything that had happened.
Eventually, George broke the silence.
"You know," he muttered, "I still can't believe I ended up here."
Jeanne glanced at him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." George let out a dry chuckle. "I was ready to die. Lying in bed, just waiting for the end. I thought I'd go quietly — figured that's how it was supposed to happen. Then that… thing shows up." His face twisted slightly at the memory. "That glowing bastard, talking like he was handing out candies to children."
"I know what you mean," Jeanne said softly. "When the Watcher appeared to me… I thought it was a dream. I didn't even question it at first — just accepted the offer. Guess part of me wanted to believe I had more to do."
Lapulapu's face remained stoic, but his voice carried a hint of reflection. "I accepted without thinking. I spent my life protecting my people — dying was… part of it. When I woke up here, I thought I'd been sent back to finish what I started. Maybe I still do."
"You've got that 'leader' thing about you," George said with a crooked grin. "Feels like you're the guy people look to when things get ugly."
Lapulapu gave a small shrug. "I just do what I know."
They walked in silence for a few more minutes before Jeanne spoke again. "I was afraid," she admitted. "Not of dying — I accepted that a long time ago — but of being forgotten. Of fading away like nothing I did mattered."
"I get that," George said. "It's weird. I spent my life trying to keep things together, building something that could last… and when I finally had to leave it all behind, I wondered if it was even worth it."
Lapulapu slowed his pace. "If you're still wondering… that means you've still got something left to do."
George let that sit for a moment before shaking his head with a smile. "Maybe."
They reached the edge of the camp a few minutes later. Smoke drifted from a weak fire, the faint crackling of burning wood filling the quiet. Musashi sat nearby, sharpening his wooden blades with calm precision. Billy lounged against a tree, half-asleep, his hood tipped over his face.
But what caught their attention was Fu Hao — pacing angrily near the fire, muttering curses under her breath.
Her clothes were still stained with green serpent blood, her tied back hair still messy and wild. She winced with every step, her body still sore from the battle, but that didn't stop her from venting.
"I swear, if one more thing happens… if one more damn thing moves near me—!" Fu Hao ranted, kicking a nearby log. The log barely budged, but she still clenched her fists, clearly furious.
"Can't believe I got dragged into this," she growled. "Should've stayed dead. At least ghosts don't get covered in snake guts."
Billy peeked out from under his hat, grinning lazily. "Feisty as ever."
The trio couldn't help it — they laughed.
Jeanne's quiet giggle turned into a snort. George doubled over, hands on his knees. Even Lapulapu, usually stone-faced, let out a rare chuckle.
Fu Hao whipped around, glaring at them like they'd just insulted her ancestors. "The hell's so funny?"
"You," George managed to say between breaths. "You look like you fought a bear… and lost."
"I feel like I fought five," Fu Hao muttered, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
"Relax," Jeanne added, still smiling. "You're alive. We're all alive. That's what matters."
Fu Hao shook her head but didn't argue. Instead, she flopped down by the fire, arms crossed. "Whatever," she mumbled. "But if you're expecting me to cook… you're outta luck."
"We wouldn't dare," Musashi said with a grin.
Fu Hao just raised her fist.
The mood settled after that. The tension that had wrapped itself around the camp since the serpent fight seemed to loosen, if only a little.
For now, there was no talk of medallions, no threats, no arguments.
Just tired warriors, finding what little comfort they could in the company of those who had survived beside them.
The mood settled after that. The tension that had wrapped itself around the camp since the serpent fight seemed to loosen, if only a little. The crackling fire became the camp's heartbeat — steady, warm, and constant. No one spoke for a while, and for once, the silence wasn't threatening.
It wasn't the quiet before another fight or the calm before an ambush — it was the rare silence that came after surviving something brutal. The kind of silence that reminded you that you were still breathing.
The air still carried the faint stench of poison and blood. Their bodies ached, their clothes were torn, and the taste of smoke clung to their tongues. But for now, they could sit. They could rest.
Even Musashi, who had spent the last hour sharpening his blades like a restless wolf, finally set them down. He leaned back against a tree, closing his eyes — not to sleep, but just to let the weight of exhaustion settle over him.
George stared into the fire, lost in thought. His mind wandered back to the Watcher's words — about second chances, about starting over. He knew they were nowhere near finished, but something about this moment — this fragile, fleeting peace — felt important.
Like a reminder that they were more than just fighters clawing their way through this twisted game. They were people. Tired, beaten people who had somehow managed to survive.
Jeanne sat close to Fu Hao, quietly checking her bandages. She didn't say anything, and Fu Hao didn't complain. Maybe she was too tired, or maybe — for once — she didn't feel the need to put up a front.
She just sat there, still breathing hard, watching the fire with dull, heavy eyes. Her usual fiery temper had cooled, leaving behind only exhaustion.
Lapulapu sat apart from the group, still and silent. His eyes were fixed on the dark forest beyond the firelight, scanning the shadows. He didn't relax — he couldn't.
Not yet. The memories of the battle still clung to him — the serpent's massive jaws, the stench of blood, the burn of poison in his lungs. His shield, which had saved him countless times, was now cracked. But still, he sat with his back straight and his sword across his lap, ready — just in case.
Billy perched high up in the trees, still keeping watch. His revolver rested easily in his hand, but his eyes were tired. His usual grin had faded, and he let out a quiet sigh. He didn't want to admit it, but the fight had rattled him.
He had seen things in that battle that stuck with him — the way the serpent coiled and struck like a force of nature, the way its onyx scales refused to break, the way Fu Hao had stared death in the face and laughed.
He hadn't fired that warning shot earlier just to break the tension — deep down, he knew that if someone had pushed harder… someone might not have walked away from that fight.
For now, there was no talk of medallions, no threats, no arguments. No one had the strength for it — and none of them wanted to be the one to break the fragile peace.
The medallions could wait. The fights could wait. For now, all they wanted was to sit by the fire, letting their wounds throb and their minds wander.
Just tired warriors, finding what little comfort they could in the company of those who had survived beside them.