The van's interior was a cramped, rattling sanctuary from the storm. Rain drummed endlessly against the metal roof, a constant reminder of the chaos outside. The smell inside was no kinder—stale cigarette smoke, damp cloth, and a faint tang of oil that clung to the walls.
Joram, the driver, was a thick-shouldered man with a handlebar mustache and a leather vest stretched taut over his chest. His face looked carved from stone, every line deepened by years of scowling. His hands gripped the steering wheel with grim precision, eyes locked on the treacherous mud path ahead.
Beside him sat the second man, Gamba. He was leaner, sharper, his features cut into something foxlike. He twisted in his seat now and then, throwing glances at the four soaked travelers crammed onto the grimy bench seat in the back—Leonotis, Low, Jacqueline, and Zombiel. Their dripping cloaks pooled onto the floor, leaving trails of muddy water that rocked with every bump of the van.
"Glad we found you," Gamba rasped, his voice roughened by smoke and years of dust. "Storm like this could swallow a man whole. We're headed to the outskirts of Piegep. Closest shelter you'll find for miles."
Joram grunted without looking back. "Wouldn't want to be caught out when the Impundulu comes hunting for supper."
The name fell like a stone into the van's air. Cold. Heavy. It lingered, darkening the warmth of their escape.
Jacqueline's head jerked up. She knew the name. She had grown up with stories of the Impundulu—the lightning bird, sacred guardian of the heavens, revered and feared in equal measure. But the humans' version of the tale was always different. To them, the bird was no guardian but a witch's familiar, a monster that carried plague on its wings, a soul-stealer that struck with blinding light.
Her skin prickled with unease. This wasn't just superstition; it was twisted reverence turned to fear.
Low's nose twitched. She knew the smell of greed, and it curled sharp and metallic in her nostrils now. The same stink she'd scented on hunters who once came for Leonotis and Jacqueline. She narrowed her eyes, her hand tightening over the stone she always carried.
Joram chuckled without humor. "Truth is, we're not just going to Piegep. We're on a job. Hunting." He tapped the long silver-tipped spear resting across the dashboard, its gleaming head catching flashes of lightning from outside. "The headman of Piegep put out a bounty. The bird's been circling, they say, bringing sickness in its shadow. It's only a matter of time before the whole village falls."
Leonotis's ears perked up despite himself. He leaned forward, water dripping from his bangs, his expression lit with cautious hope. "So you're protecting them? You're like… guardians?"
Gamba flashed him a quick smile, all teeth and no warmth. "Something like that. Protectors. Doing what must be done. That Impundulu is a menace, boy. A plague on two wings. Better to end it now before it ends them."
The words were painted noble, but Leonotis heard the cracks. He felt it—something sour in Gamba's voice, not courage but hunger. His root-sword rested across his lap, its quiet magic dull in the presence of men whose purpose was cold and hard as iron. He wanted to believe them, to believe that they acted out of duty. But the seed of doubt gnawed at him.
Still, his heart ached for the image they painted. A suffering village. Helpless people. The chance to be the protector he longed to be.
Zombiel had been silent, but his gaze never left the silver spear. The salamander spirit in his chest pulsed hotter, a flicker of warning. It wasn't fear. It was resistance—the recognition of something beautiful in danger of being destroyed. The Impundulu wasn't a plague. It was untamed, wild, necessary. And these men wanted to chain it, gut it, and sell its feathers. His fingers twitched with restrained fire.
Jacqueline caught Leonotis's eager expression and felt a chill crawl up her spine. She knew what was spinning in his mind—heroics, helping, doing good. She knew the dream of it, because she once dreamed the same. But she also saw what he didn't. The cracks in their words, the greed in their eyes.
Her voice cut through the hum of the van, steady and small but sharp enough to bite. "If the Impundulu is part of the natural order, a sacred creature… what right do you have to hunt it?"
Gamba's smile vanished. His tone hardened, clipped like the snap of a trap. "The right of necessity. The right of survival. The people are sick, girl. You'd value a bird's life over a hundred human ones?"
The question was a snare, and Leonotis fell into it without hesitation. "No," he said quickly, his chest swelling with the need to prove himself. His grip tightened on his root-sword, resolve sparking in his eyes. "If the village is in danger… then we'll help."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then—
BAM.
Low's fist slammed into the grimy seat, rattling the van's frame. Her voice was a growl, her eyes blazing. "Don't you dare."