Scene 1: The Corrupted Canopy
The forest seemed to change the moment Yudhir and Otyr reached its edge.
For hours, the two had followed the winding paths beneath the enormous trees, with the Mystic Kuna moving restlessly through the branches above them. It had become an almost constant presence during their journey, sometimes disappearing among the leaves only to reappear several trees ahead, and at other times stopping completely to stare into the distance before continuing. Yudhir had learned to pay attention whenever it did that. The little creature had already warned them when Avi disappeared, and although Yudhir still did not know whether it could truly understand what was happening around them, he had no intention of ignoring it.
Now, as the trees began to thin, the Kuna suddenly stopped.
It crouched on a branch and stared toward the village.
Yudhir immediately raised his hand.
Otyr halted beside him.
"What is it?" the boy whispered.
"I don't know."
Yudhir looked carefully through the trees.
The Mansi village lay beyond the forest clearing, but it did not resemble the lively settlement Otyr had described during their journey. The houses were scattered naturally between the trees rather than arranged in rigid rows, with narrow paths connecting them beneath the canopy. Many of the dwellings were built from timber, their walls formed from carefully fitted logs and reinforced with thick wooden supports. Several had steeply sloping roofs covered with bark, woven material and layers of natural insulation, while others were partially raised above the damp ground. Fur and hide hung beneath sheltered sections of the houses, and wooden racks held tools, hunting equipment and bundles of dried plants.
The village carried the unmistakable character of people who had learned to live with the forest rather than trying to drive it away.
Branches had been left growing around some of the homes instead of being cut down. Wooden poles decorated with simple carvings stood near the entrances, and several doorways bore patterns of flowing lines and branching shapes. The Three-River Mark appeared among them as well, worked into belts, wooden ornaments, and pieces of woven cloth. Even though the village was deep within Mansi territory, the symbol of the Circle remained visible everywhere, quietly reminding them that the forest belonged to one part of something larger.
But there was no ordinary village life now.
No children ran between the houses.
No hunters returned with their catch.
No smoke rose peacefully from cooking fires.
Instead, figures moved through the settlement in a strange, disorganized manner.
Otyr's face slowly lost its color.
"My village…"
Yudhir glanced down at him.
The boy had gone completely still.
Then he saw them.
Near one of the houses stood two figures he recognized immediately.
His parents.
They were moving among the other villagers, but something was horribly wrong with them. Their movements were stiff and unnatural, their expressions empty as they repeated the same words that Otyr had heard before fleeing the village.
"Everything will return to winter…"
Otyr's eyes filled with tears.
"Mom…"
He took a step forward.
Yudhir caught his shoulder.
"Wait."
"But they're there!"
"I know."
"They're my parents!"
Otyr tried to move again, but Yudhir held him back. The boy's breathing became uneven as he stared at the people he loved, unable to reconcile the sight before him with the memories he carried of them.
Yudhir lowered himself slightly so that he could meet Otyr's eyes.
"We're going to save them."
Otyr shook his head, tears slipping down his cheeks.
"What if we can't?"
"We can."
"How do you know?"
"Because we're not leaving them behind."
The certainty in Yudhir's voice made Otyr look at him.
Yudhir gently released his shoulder.
"We'll save your parents, and we'll save everyone else we can. But first, we need to get them somewhere safe."
Otyr wiped his face with his sleeve and nodded.
The Mystic Kuna suddenly gave a sharp chitter from above.
Yudhir looked up.
The creature was no longer watching the village.
It was staring toward the forest behind them.
Yudhir's eyes narrowed.
It was searching again.
For Avi.
He looked back toward the village.
Whatever had separated them was no longer an isolated problem. Avi was missing. Varun, Ruslan, Andry, and Taras were missing. The tribes were being affected by the same strange force, and now the people of Otyr's village were possessed.
Yudhir felt a cold weight settle in his chest.
They needed to regroup.
They needed everyone back together.
But first, they had to survive this.
A sudden scream erupted from the village.
Otyr flinched.
Several villagers turned toward the forest.
Their eyes were wrong.
The moment they spotted Yudhir and Otyr, they rushed toward them.
"Here they come," Yudhir said.
Otyr swallowed.
"I'll help."
"I know."
The first possessed tribesman charged through the trees with a wooden axe raised above his head. Yudhir stepped forward, his Prana already gathering around his body.
Wind spiraled around his arm.
He swung.
A concentrated burst of air struck the axe sideways, knocking it from the man's hands before a second current swept his legs out from underneath him. The tribesman crashed into the soft forest floor, and Yudhir immediately redirected the wind beneath him, slowing the fall before the man could seriously injure himself.
Two more appeared.
Yudhir moved backward.
"Otyr!"
The boy raised his hands.
He could feel them.
Their breath.
Their Zhivava.
The strange energy within the possessed villagers was distorted, but underneath it remained the familiar rhythm of living beings.
Otyr reached toward the nearest attacker.
Breath Stealing.
A faint pull passed through the air.
The man's breath suddenly became shallow.
His charge weakened.
His knees buckled.
Otyr immediately released the stolen Zhivava before the man collapsed completely.
Yudhir stepped forward and used a sharp gust of wind to push him safely aside.
"Good!" Yudhir called.
Another villager came from the left.
Otyr turned.
He was frightened.
But this time, he did not hide.
He reached out again.
A second breath.
Then another.
The villagers began losing their strength one after another, while Yudhir's wind kept them from striking Otyr directly. He moved with considerably more force than he had during their journey, his Prana forming invisible currents that struck from different directions.
One attacker swung a heavy wooden club.
Yudhir ducked beneath it.
The club passed over his head.
He drove his palm forward.
A compressed blast of wind slammed into the man's chest and sent him stumbling backward.
Before he could recover, Otyr marked him.
A faint trace of Zhivava settled onto the man's body.
Yudhir looked toward him.
"Why mark him?"
"So I can find him again."
Yudhir smiled.
"Good thinking."
The fight spread into the village.
More possessed Mansi emerged from the houses, forcing the two of them to move constantly. Yudhir used the wind to separate groups of attackers, knocking weapons aside and creating openings, while Otyr carefully used his Gathering Breath to weaken those who came too close.
He was still inexperienced.
Several times, he nearly took too much.
Each time, Yudhir corrected him.
"Enough!"
Otyr immediately released the breath.
"Right!"
Another villager lunged.
Otyr stepped aside rather than waiting for Yudhir to save him. He reached out, stole a small amount of breath, and then used the man's sudden weakness to pull him down.
Yudhir noticed.
He didn't interfere.
Otyr was learning.
And more importantly, he was beginning to trust himself.
They continued until the last of the attacking villagers had been subdued.
Yudhir stood in the middle of the village, breathing heavily.
Otyr looked around.
His parents were among those they had managed to restrain.
The sight made him lower his head.
"They're safe?"
"For now."
Otyr approached them slowly.
His mother was tied securely with rope, her expression still distant and unnatural. His father sat beside her, equally subdued, his eyes staring toward nothing.
Otyr knelt in front of them.
"Mom…"
There was no response.
He swallowed hard.
Yudhir remained nearby, giving him time.
After a few moments, Otyr stood.
"We should move them."
Yudhir nodded.
Together, they gathered the villagers who had been subdued and placed them somewhere secure, keeping them separated enough that they could not immediately attack one another or escape. Otyr insisted on making sure his parents were among the first taken to safety.
Once the villagers were secured, the village became eerily quiet.
Yudhir looked toward the houses.
"Where's the tribe head?"
Otyr looked around.
"I don't know."
They searched through the village until they reached the largest house, positioned slightly apart from the others. Its construction was more elaborate, but it still followed the same Mansi traditions: timber walls, a broad roof, carved wooden supports, and natural materials carefully incorporated into its structure. Bundles of dried herbs hung beneath the roofline, while carved wooden pieces depicting branches and antlers decorated the entrance.
Inside, Yudhir found several objects arranged with obvious care.
Hunting tools.
Old woven garments.
Ceremonial pieces.
And against one wall stood a weapon.
Otyr stopped.
His eyes widened.
He knew it immediately.
He walked toward it slowly.
"The Palma…"
Yudhir looked at the weapon.
It was a heavy polearm with a sturdy wooden haft and a broad, single-edged cleaver blade mounted at the top. It was built for powerful sweeping strikes rather than thrusting, its weight concentrated toward the blade so that a skilled wielder could use the momentum of each swing to cut through thick branches or bring down large predators.
It looked practical.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Yet there was something almost elegant about its construction. The wooden haft had been shaped carefully for the hands, with sections wrapped for a stronger grip, while simple Mansi patterns had been carved into the wood. Near the base of the blade was the Three-River Mark.
Otyr reached toward it.
Then hesitated.
"The head said I could use it when I mastered it."
Yudhir looked at him.
"And have you?"
Otyr stared at the Palma.
"I don't know."
Yudhir didn't answer immediately.
Otyr looked toward the doorway.
Outside lay the village where he had grown up.
His parents were among the possessed.
His people had turned against one another.
Their tribe head was missing.
And somewhere beyond the forest stood the oldest tree, the sacred place where the Mansi believed their Guardian watched over them.
Otyr slowly closed his hand around the Palma's grip.
"I have to."
He lifted it.
The weapon was heavier than he expected.
His arms trembled slightly under its weight.
Yudhir watched without stepping in.
Otyr adjusted his grip.
Then he raised the blade again.
This time, it stayed steady.
"I'll bring him back," Otyr said quietly. "I'll bring everyone back."
Yudhir smiled.
"Then let's go."
Before leaving, Yudhir glanced upward.
The Mystic Kuna was sitting on the roof beam near the entrance.
Its eyes moved constantly, searching between the trees.
Still looking for Avi.
Yudhir watched it for a moment before stepping outside.
The situation was becoming larger by the minute.
Whatever had happened to this village was connected to the strange occurrences that had separated their group. And if the other tribes were experiencing the same thing, then they couldn't afford to remain divided.
But first, there was someone they needed to find.
The Mansi tribe head had gone toward the oldest tree in the forest.
The sacred tree.
The place where the Mansi believed their Guardian, Vort, watched over them.
Otyr tightened his grip around the Palma.
Yudhir looked toward the enormous trees beyond the village.
"Ready?"
Otyr nodded.
This time, there was fear in his eyes.
But there was something else there too.
Determination.
Together, Yudhir and Otyr left the village and began walking toward the oldest tree, while above them the Mystic Kuna followed through the branches, still searching the forest for any sign of the missing Avi.