The silence that followed the arrow's strike was heavier than the fog itself. Amazal's breath came in ragged gasps, his lungs feeling as though they were filled with sharp stone shards. He scrambled behind a moss-covered boulder, pressing his bruised back against the cold rock.

  ?He clutched his chains, desperately trying to stifle their metallic clinking, but the iron felt like a beacon, calling out to whatever death lurked in the mist.

  ?"If you keep trembling like that, the rattling of your chains will wake things that have been sleeping for centuries," a voice cut through the gloom—low, gravelly, and bone-chillingly calm.

  ?Amazal's head snapped up. His eyes searched the grey veil until they landed on a figure perched atop a jagged limestone pillar. The man looked less like a human and more like a ghost of the forest. He was draped in weathered furs and tattered leather, his skin tanned to the color of old parchment.

  ?This was Ikida. He didn't look like a victim of exile; he looked like the island's master.

  ?"Who... who are you?" Amazal managed to choke out, his voice cracking from thirst and terror.

  ?Ikida didn't answer immediately. He hopped down from the pillar, landing on the sharp rocks with the silent grace of a mountain cat. He moved with a confidence that Amazal hadn't thought possible in Tizra. In his hand was a longbow of dark wood, and his eyes—piercing and cold—scanned Amazal not with pity, but with a hunter's calculation.

  ?"Five years," Ikida whispered, stepping into the dim light. "Five years I've watched men fall on these shores. Most don't make it past the first hour. They run until their hearts burst, or they scream until the giants find them. You... you just keep rattling those chains."

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  ?Amazal looked at his shackles, then back at the man. "You've been here for five years? Alone?"

  ?"Survival isn't about company, soldier. It's about silence," Ikida said, reaching out a calloused hand. He didn't help Amazal up, but instead grabbed the heavy chain between his wrists, inspecting the Aglid seal on the iron. He let out a short, bitter huff. "Aglid still sends their 'best' to die in the dirt. Pathetic."

  ?Suddenly, a low, guttural vibration shook the ground beneath them—a distant, rhythmic thud that made the pebbles dance. The color drained from Amazal's face.

  ?"They're coming, aren't they?" Amazal whispered, his eyes wide with renewed panic.

  ?"Not yet. But they can hear your fear," Ikida replied, his expression hardening. He pointed his dark bow toward a narrow path where the trees were draped in a strange, silver-grey moss.

  ?"We head that way," Ikida commanded, his voice as cold as the iron on Amazal's wrists.

  ?Amazal hesitated, staring at the dark path. "But the arrow came from there... the tribe that is hunting me, they are already closing in."

  ?"The tribe knows these woods better than you know your own name," Ikida said, a grim shadow crossing his face. "They want your blood. But they won't follow us past those silver trees. For some reason, they avoid that territory as if it were cursed. Even the fiercest warriors of Tizra stop at the border of the silver moss. They fear what lies beyond more than they crave your death."

  ?Ikida notched another arrow, signaling the way. "Follow my shadow. Stay low. And if you value your tongue, don't make a sound. In Tizra, the walls have ears, and the ground... the ground is hungry."

  ?Amazal struggled to his feet, his legs shaking. He had no choice. He didn't know if he could trust this ghost of a man, but in a land of giants and death, a survivor was the closest thing to the Lord of Tizra he had.

  ?As they disappeared into the suffocating green of the jungle, Amazal realized the captain was right: the island had already begun to unmask him. But with Ikida leading the way, he might just live long enough to see what was underneath.