The elf's arrowhead gleamed. Its eyes narrowed as if gauging the threat we posed. The wolves growled low. One misstep and they would be on us.
"Easy," the soldier beside me murmured. He slowly lowered his rifle to show his empty hands. "We're not here to fight."
The elf said something harsh and fast. I didn't understand the words, but the tone was cold. It pointed its bow at the soldier's chest and gestured for him to drop his weapon.
The soldier hesitated. His training told him never to disarm. His instinct told him not to die today. He set the rifle on the ground. The other soldiers followed, one by one placing their guns at their feet. The rest of us stood still, hands raised.
A young woman behind me whispered, "What are they saying?"
"I don't know," I whispered back.
Someone did. A thin boy who had been quiet since we left the facility stepped forward. His eyes were unfocused, as if listening to a distant radio. "They're… they're calling us trespassers," he said. "They say this glade is sacred. We've defiled it by appearing here."
"How do you know that?" a soldier asked.
"I can understand them," the boy said, sounding as surprised as we were. "It's like their words turn into English in my head."
The elf glanced at the boy, then spoke again. The boy translated haltingly. "You cannot stay. You will leave or be—" He paused, swallowing. "—purified."
"We can't leave," the soldier said, keeping his voice calm. "Our world is gone. We had no choice."
The elf responded sharply. The boy frowned. "He says that's not his problem. That your presence will bring corruption."
"This is going nowhere," another soldier muttered.
Tension thickened. Fingers twitched. A wolf barked.
Then, without warning, the earth shook. A roar rolled through the trees. The wolves' ears flattened. Elves and dwarfs turned, weapons raised.
Something massive crashed through the underbrush on the opposite side of the clearing. It was like a bear mated with a crocodile: thick fur, plated scales, claws as long as daggers, and a mouth full of teeth set in a crocodilian snout. It lumbered forward, eyes wild, foam dripping from its jaws. Behind it, smaller creatures skittered—hairless monkeys with bone spikes protruding from their backs.
For a split second, everyone—humans and natives alike—watched it with the same realization: whatever our disagreement was, this thing didn't care.
The bear‑croc lunged toward us. The elves loosed arrows. They thudded into its hide and bounced off. A dwarf charged, axe raised, and chopped at its leg. The axe bit deep but got stuck. The beast swung its head and flung the dwarf aside. The soldiers grabbed their rifles and fired, bullets tearing into flesh. The creature roared.
Instinct took over. I saw the lines again—energy threads connecting the beast to the ground and air. I reached out mentally and tugged. Its foot slipped in the mud. It stumbled, giving the dwarf a chance to yank his axe free and slash again. Another human, a woman from our group, screamed. The scream sharpened into a piercing note that shattered the bone spikes of the monkeys. They shrieked and fled.
An elf raised his hand and vines shot up, wrapping around the beast's muzzle. A soldier with a newfound strength punched its jaw, breaking teeth. Together, we brought it down. It writhed, then went still, green blood seeping into the grass.
Breathing hard, everyone looked around. The wolves panted. The elves stared at us with something like… respect? Confusion? The elf leader lowered his bow slightly. It spoke. The boy translated.
"You fight well," he said. "Perhaps… there is a place for you."