The bounty hunters and villagers, who had been scrambling back up the slope, were left staring in stunned silence. Their faces, once filled with hate, were now contorted with disbelief.
"What in the...?" Joram stammered, his eyes wide.
Gamba's face, however, was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. He screamed curses into the wind, his voice cracking with rage. "The boy! He's a… green aseborn!" He lunged forward, but the living tunnel was already collapsing, the roots and branches receding back into the earth as quickly as they had appeared. The great bird, and the reward it represented, was gone.
The bounty hunters' moment of stunned silence gave way to a renewed, more focused rage. "He helped the witch's bird! The little brat is with it!"
Leonotis's companions were at his side in an instant, their own faces a mixture of relief and dawning fear.
"We need to go, Leonotis," Jacqueline said, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the bluff. "Now. They'll come after us."
"That was… that was amazing, Leonotis," Low said, her tone a grudging mixture of awe and annoyance. "But you just made an enemy of the whole village. And those two… they're not going to let this go."
Leonotis, still panting from the exertion, looked at them, his eyes wide and bright. "We saved it. We helped it escape." He looked back at the bluffs, where the bounty hunters were screaming and gesturing at the empty sky. "We did the right thing."
He looked at his friends, his cheerful demeanor returning. "I know it's dangerous, but… but it was worth it, wasn't it?"
Jacqueline didn't answer right away. She looked at the faces of the villagers, their hatred now aimed squarely at the four of them. "We saved the bird, yes," she said quietly, her voice full of a sadness that Leonotis didn't understand. "But we didn't save them from their hatred. They will just find something else to fear."
Zombiel, in his quiet way, simply took Leonotis's hand, a silent gesture of support.
The storm began to roll away, the thunder a distant drumbeat, leaving behind a silence that was more terrifying than the chaos. The fear in the village was now a tangible thing, a simmering pot of vengeance.
The companions scrambled back to the van, but Joram and Gamba were already waiting. Joram's hand was on the hilt of his machete, his face a grim, stony mask. Gamba's scarred face was twisted into a cruel grin. He spat a gob of mud onto the ground at Leonotis's feet.
"You're fast, little garden boy," he rasped, his eyes burning with a cold, unforgiving light. "You got your prize out of our grasp. But this isn't over. We know we can't beat you now so run while you can, brats. Next time, it's your heads we'll take."
The van's engine rattled as Joram drove it in a wide, desperate arc, leaving the village of Pienaar behind and heading into the quiet, now-silent savanna. The storm had passed, leaving in its wake a sky scrubbed clean and a moon that cast a pale, forgiving light on the muddy plains. But the cold hatred in Gamba's eyes, the vile curses they had heard, lingered in the air like a ghost.
Leonotis stared out behind him, watching the last of the village lights disappear behind them as they walked out of the village. His heart felt heavy. "You're right, Jacquline. We didn't save them. They're still filled with all that… hate."
Jacqueline walked beside him, her arms wrapped around herself. The chill of the night felt even colder now, a stark reminder of the coldness she felt in her own heart. She, more than anyone, understood the pain of being judged for something you are. The villagers hadn't seen a magical bird; they had seen an abomination, a target for their fear. "They didn't want to be saved, Leonotis," she said softly. "They wanted someone to blame. The Impundulu was just a convenient target. And soon they will just find another one."
Low, sitting across from them, was silent, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. She was a fury of contained emotions, her werebear curse a low, simmering presence. She didn't speak, but her silence was a louder condemnation than any words. She had seen this before. It was the same story, just with different actors.
Zombiel, however, looked up at the moonlit sky, his gaze clear and serene. "It is free now," he said, his voice a surprising comfort in the tense silence. "The lightning bird. It's not their pet. It's not their curse. It's just… free." He reached out and gently touched Leonotis's hand. His skin was a warm steadying presence. "That's what matters."
The continued their journey. The four companions had faced down a storm, but they had also come face to face with the destructive power of human hatred, a force more volatile than any lightning bolt. They had saved a life, but they had also made a powerful, dangerous enemy. Joram and Gamba would not forget, and they would not forgive.
The road ahead was dark, and they were alone, four young travelers with extraordinary powers and a target on their backs. Leonotis's plant magic felt strangely muted now, the high of a magnificent creation replaced by a quiet sense of foreboding. He looked at Jacqueline, at her hidden sorrow, at Low, at her smoldering rage, and at Zombiel, at his quiet, otherworldly calm. They had survived this storm, but they all knew, in the deepest parts of their hearts, that storms born of hatred were never far behind.