The jungle's still hummin' after that ambush, the air thick with rot and tension. My arm's throbbin' where that undead nicked me, but the bond with Sable's heatin' it up, sealin' the cut some. I'm standin' there, breathin' hard, scales half-out from the fight, glancin' at Elara leanin' on me, her face pale but them green eyes fierce. The panther tribe's regroupin', Sable bindin' her side with a growl, and that scout's escape stings like a slap—betrayal's a bitter pill. The amulet's burnin' 'gainst my chest, its hum roarin' now, and that whisper—"The throne demands"—ain't just in my head no more. It's pullin' me, deep and urgent, like a rope 'round my soul.
Elara straightens, heartstone glowin' weak in her hand. "We're close," she says, voice shaky but sure. "The throne's call—it's stronger here." I nod, rubbin' the amulet, feelin' its runes shift under my fingers. Sable limps over, her panther eyes narrowin'. "Jungle's alive with Valthor's stink," she growls. "We push on, find that throne 'fore he does." I grunt, grip pin' my claws, the beast stirrin' again. The tribe forms up, spears and claws ready, and we head out, vines partin' like they know we're comin'.
The trail winds deeper, trees growin' gnarled, their bark carved with scales that glow faint green. My gut twists—feels like the jungle's watchin', judgin'. The amulet pulses harder, and I see it—flashes in my mind—ruins, a throne of black scales, a dark figure laughin'. I shake my head, cursin' under my breath—crossed it out, damn it—tryin' to focus. Elara's beside me, her runes flarin' as she scans ahead, and I feel that pull from the glade, the ritual—guilt and want mixin' up. Ain't the time, but the beast don't care.
We hit a clearing, and hell, it stops me cold. Ruins rise 'fore us—stone walls covered in vines, toppled pillars carved with lizard gods, their eyes glintin' like jewels. At the center sits the Scaled Throne, massive, black scales shimmerin' with a sickly green light, power radiatin' off it like heat. My breath catches, and the amulet burns so hot I grunt, staggerin'. "That's it," Elara whispers, awestruck. Sable hisses, tail lashin'. "Feel the magic—old and hungry."
But the air shifts, cold and wrong, and shadows move—undead, more than before, led by that scout, red eyes glintin'. My heart sinks. "Ambush!" I roar, transformin' full—scales coverin' me, claws out. The tribe charges, Sable leapin' as panther, claws rippin' through bone. Elara chants, heartstone blazin', a ward flarin' to hold 'em back. I swing my tail, smashin' two undead, but they keep comin', swords clankin'. The scout laughs, and I spot him—cloaked, standin' by the throne, hand on it. My gut clenches—traitor's claimin' it?
I charge, roarin', claws tearin' through the horde. The amulet screams in my head—"Touch it!"—and I feel the power, wild and callin'. An undead lunges, sword grazin' my side, and I roar, smashin' it down. Elara's light weakens, and I see her strainin'—fear flashin'. I push to her, shieldin' her, roarin' as I rip another apart. Sable's warriors hold the line, but blood's spillin', and the scout's chantin'—dark magic coilin' 'round the throne.I break through, facin' him, and he grins, red eyes mockin'. "You're late, lizard," he hisses, hand glowin' on the throne. I lunge, claws slashin', but a blast throws me back, crashin' into a pillar. Pain sears, and I growl—crossed it out, hell—staggerin' up. The throne pulses, green light spreadin', and I feel it—power tryin' to claim me, the beast roarin' to answer. Elara's ward fails, undead closin' in, and Sable's down, bleedin' hard. My heart pounds—losin'?
I force myself up, amulet burnin', and charge again. The scout's magic flares, but I dodge, tail whip pin' his legs. He stumbles, and I tackle him, claws at his throat. "Who sold us?" I growl, pressin' hard. He laughs, blood tricklin'. "Not my tribe—yours," he gasps, and dies, eyes fad in'. My gut drops—Elara? Sable? The doubt stabs deep.
The throne hums, unattended, and I feel it pullin'—irresistible. I stagger over, hand shakin', and touch it. Power floods me, scales glintin' brighter, a roar tearin' from my throat. Visions hit—lizard gods, battles, the throne's history—and I see it—Valthor's face, comin' fast. The cave rumbles, undead retreatin', and Elara rushes to me, heartstone dim. "Job, stop!" she yells, but I'm lost, power surgein', the beast takin' hold.
Sable limps up, shiftin' human, blood on her side. "Control it," she growls, hand on my arm. The bond steadies me, and I fight the pull, breathin' hard. The throne quiets, but its light lingers, markin' me. Elara's eyes meet mine, hurt and fear there. "Was it you?" I mutter, voice rough. She shakes her head, tears wellin'. "Never," she whispers. Sable glares, but nods—trust thin.
The jungle's silent, but I feel Valthor's approach—dark, heavy. The amulet hums, throne's call softer, but I know it's awake now, and I'm its keeper. I grip my claws, standin' tall, doubt and power warin' in me. This ain't over—hell, it's just begun.