The van shuddered to a halt, the squeal of its brakes a sharp complaint against the roaring storm.
The air outside was thick with a new kind of sound, a chaotic symphony of human panic. In the pale, flickering light of torches and bonfires, the village of Pienaar appeared as a tableau of fear. Men and women, their faces drawn and pale, moved with a frenzied desperation, shouting warnings and dragging children indoors.
Joram and Gamba, the bounty hunters, were already out of the van, their faces alight not with fear, but with a grim, predatory excitement. They moved with a purpose that was both chilling and efficient.
Joram unsheathed a wide, brutal-looking machete from his belt, its blade reflecting the firelight.Gamba ran a whetstone along the edge of his silver-tipped spear, the soft shink, shink of steel on stone a counterpoint to the village's hysteria.
They shared a look, a silent understanding of the reward that awaited them if they could bring down the mythical beast.
From their perch in the back of the van, the four travelers watched the unfolding chaos.
Low's expression was a mix of righteous fury and grim resignation."I told you so," she muttered, the words a bitter taste on her tongue.
The hunters' greed was so blatant, so sharp, it felt like a physical thing in the stormy air.
Jacqueline's eyes, however, were wide with a different kind of concern. She watched the people, their frantic movements, and saw only a collective, overwhelming fear. They weren't just afraid of a mythical beast; they were afraid of disease, of famine, of a world they couldn't control.
The cry of the Impundulu had pierced their very souls, a sound unlike any they had ever heard. It was pure, unbridled power, a call that was both a challenge and a statement of existence.
And now, they saw its effect on the village.
A child on a rooftop pointed a shaking finger at the churning storm clouds."The witch's bird!" he screamed, his voice a terrified shriek. "It has come for us!"
Leonotis saw the scene with a crushing sense of despair. His heart, usually so buoyant and full of hope, felt heavy and leaden. He looked at the hunters, their faces hard and unyielding, and then at the villagers, their faces contorted with a blind, destructive terror.
They were so focused on the monster in the sky that they had become monsters themselves, willing to do anything to quell their fear.
He knew this kind of fear. He had seen it on the faces of people who had been afraid of his plant magic, afraid of what they didn't understand.
Zombiel, silent as ever, saw the scene through the clear, unemotional lens of the salamander spirit. The fear of the villagers was a jagged, ugly thing. He saw how it twisted their faces, how it made them sharp and violent.
He saw the firelight glinting off the hunters' weapons and knew that their true enemy was not in the sky, but in the panicked hearts of the humans below.
He placed a small, surprisingly warm hand on Leonotis's knee, a silent show of support.
Jacqueline's thoughts raced, and she whispered to Leonotis, her voice a low urgent hum."Leonotis, they're not just hunting the Impundulu. They're hunting the village's fear. That's what they really want. They want to be the ones who calm the villagers. They want the reward, and they'll do anything to get it. They won't care what happens to the village after."
But Leonotis barely heard her. His eyes were fixed on the sky, where the thunder cracked and the clouds boiled.
He saw a great tragedy unfolding, a magnificent creature being hunted down not for a crime, but for a superstition. He felt a deep, profound injustice.
He had to do something. He had to help. He had to prove to himself, to his friends, and to these hunters that there was another way.
He felt a familiar green pulse in his palm, a tingling sensation of his plant magic waking up, eager to be used.
The sky ripped open with a blinding flash, a bolt of lightning so brilliant it turned the world into a stark black-and-white photograph for one terrifying moment.
The strike was not random; it hit the craggy, rocky bluffs that loomed over the village, a sharp crackle of pure energy.
And in the incandescent afterglow of that single, searing bolt, a vast, shimmering shadow unfurled.
Two enormous, feathered wings, vast and dark, were outlined against the storm, a majestic and terrifying vision of power.
The Impundulu was here.
It was real.
And it was magnificent.