The fissure had transformed into an autonomous territory within the savanna.

  Alexander stood at the edge of one of the tunnel mouths, red fibers clinging to his claws. The air was thick with the metallic-sweet scent of the mushrooms. The smell never faded. Even when the wind shifted, even when rain fell, it remained, dense and constant.

  They no longer needed to hunt, and they had already grown accustomed to the comfort that brought.

  Within a few weeks, the pack had grown stronger. Muscles had filled out, movements had sharpened. Without hunger, they were always at their peak. Even the Queen’s mental presence felt heavier now, more focused, more intense.

  Alexander lay on his side, his belly heavy and warm against the damp earth. The taste of his last meal still lingered on his tongue.

  It had been perfect. Dense. Satisfying. Better than flesh torn from bone. Better than fish dragged from cold water. He could still feel it spreading through his muscles and into his marrow.

  And yet, he was already waiting for the next meal.

  There was always more.

  That certainty reminded him that greedily overeating to the point of sickness would be pointless.

  His gaze drifted to his flank. The deep wound that had once torn his side was gone. No thick scar slowed his movement; no stiffness resisted when he shifted. The new tissue was clean and strong. He was noticeably larger than he had been weeks ago.

  Faster.

  Everything was because of the mushrooms.

  Without them, he would not have healed so completely. He would not be growing like this. Hunger would have held him back. The thought settled in his mind as an obvious and logical truth.

  "Everything is because of the mushrooms..."

  For a brief moment, his thoughts drifted to the old camp, the shallow pits they had left behind when they moved toward the river to search for prey. Several eggs had remained there.

  "Shouldn’t we go back for them?"

  "Maybe the eggs have already been broken..."

  The question surfaced suddenly.

  They would not survive long on their own, and this time the Queen had left no hunter behind to guard them.

  For a moment, he almost rose.

  Then he stopped.

  "That is the Queen’s responsibility. Not mine."

  Alexander exhaled slowly and allowed the thought to dissolve.

  He did not want to leave this place.

  Not for eggs. Not for anything.

  Here there was food. Strength. Stability.

  This was better for him.

  And he knew it.

  Of course. There would always be those who wanted to steal something beautiful. Anything valuable, sooner or later, would draw the attention of other eyes.

  The deep, resonating roar that rose from one of the upper sections of the fissure struck the stone walls and multiplied as it echoed, vibrating its way down through the narrow passages; the sound was not merely a threat, but a challenge. In that moment, the Queen’s mental presence sharpened, shedding its brief haze, and her command spread through the minds of the entire pack like a crashing wave.

  "Protect the mushrooms!!"

  Fullness instantly became secondary. Heavy bodies snapped upright, claws searching for purchase on the slick ground as muscles tightened. They poured out of the tunnel mouths; red fibers mixed with mud beneath their feet, their breath steaming in the cold air.

  As Alexander moved with the pack, they pushed through the narrow, winding corridors, at times shoulder to shoulder, at times forced into single file. Along the way lay scattered corpses: a fox-like scavenger with its skull split open, a massive serpent with cracked scales, a hyena-shaped predator with its throat torn apart, and a large bird whose wings had shattered against the rock. None of them paused to look; the thick scent of mushrooms overpowered everything, even drowning out the metallic taste of blood.

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  When they reached the sloped path leading upward, they saw the massive silhouette beyond the curtain of rain.

  The saber-toothed predator stood braced against the rock, its muscular body poised at the rim of the fissure, its muzzle stained red from the crushed mushrooms at its feet. Rain weighed down its fur, and in its eyes burned a mixture of hunger and possessiveness.

  The Queen’s mind ignited.

  Kill.

  The pack moved as a single will. The predator struck first; it seized one Nuxali and slammed it against the rocks, the crack of breaking bone swallowed by the roar of rain. But it was alone, and that was its greatest weakness.

  Alexander arced wide to the rear, watching the predator’s movements and waiting for the moment it exposed itself. Three Nuxali kept lunging at the tiger’s face, raking claws across its muzzle and snapping at its throat. Seizing the distraction, another clamped onto its hind leg, and a second hurled itself at its flank. The saber-tooth twisted in fury, its massive fangs tearing through hide and flesh, yet the pack did not retreat.

  When the opening came, Alexander drove his sharp teeth into the shoulder joint and threw his weight forward. The beast’s balance faltered. Then three more Nuxali crashed onto it, and bodies piled together as claws struck again and again and jaws locked down.

  The fight was brief, but violent.

  Rain continued to fall as the predator’s blood seeped into the torn red mushroom fibers beneath them.

  They did not eat it.

  Without hesitation, they turned back, toward the tunnels, toward the mushrooms, toward safety.

  The Queen’s satisfaction spread through their minds like a heavy, fulfilled wave.

  Once again, the fissure belonged only to them.

  -------

  Night had settled over the forest like a heavy shroud.

  Mist drifted low between the roots of ancient trees, and the Urtu village was barely visible in the dim glow of scattered firelight. The wooden structures leaning against living tree trunks were almost indistinguishable from a distance. The air was humid; the scent of resin and wet leaves hung thick and unmoving.

  On this oppressive night, something that did not belong there clung to the trees above.

  Pressed against the trunk of a massive tree, a Nuxali remained motionless, nearly indistinguishable from the bark itself. Its skin mimicked the texture and color of the trunk, rough brown mottled with pale lichen patterns. Even its breathing was slow enough to go unnoticed.

  Even when it moved, the illusion did not break.

  As it descended, its flesh shifted tones, from bark to shadow, from shadow to dark soil. From the ground it slipped onto the edge of a rooftop built into a tree, then from the roof to another trunk. It flowed through the upper layers of the village like a ripple of darkness; no one saw it.

  Below, the village slept.

  The Nuxali paused within a deeper shadow between two structures. It studied movement patterns. Listened. Calculated.

  Eventually, near the outer edge of the village among densely packed trees, it found a suitable place.

  And it waited.

  Minutes passed.

  A door creaked open.

  A sleepy Urtu male stepped outside, rubbing his eyes. He briefly scanned the square; nothing seemed unusual. As usual, a few warriors stood guard around the central fire. Seeking privacy, he walked toward the trees. The forest was calm; only insects and the soft rustling of wind could be heard.

  He stepped between the trees and found a quiet spot where he could relieve himself.

  He lowered his clothing and began to defecate. As he stared at the tree in front of him, he thought he saw a ripple move across its surface, and a wave of unease crept through him.

  "Shit… I’m never letting my grandmother tell those forest spirit stories before bed again."

  Assuming his mind was playing tricks on him, the Urtu focused on finishing quickly.

  Until a dark silhouette launched itself at him from the tree.

  Nuxali lunged forward without making a sound. The force of the impact sent the man flying backward. Before he could understand what was happening, a heavy body collapsed onto his chest.

  Claws sank into his face, inflicting wounds that left him unrecognizable.

  The young man tried with all his might to push it off, screaming at the same time.

  But his strength was far from enough to dislodge the creature. Yet, his scream shattered the silence of the night.

  But immediately afterward, a jaw full of dozens of sharp teeth collapsed onto his mouth.

  Lights began to flare on one by one throughout the village. Doors burst open. Shadows climbed onto the platforms.

  On the ground, the man thrashed violently. The Nuxali was buried against his face, tearing at him in short, merciless motions. From the bite marks, a thick, translucent venom seeped outward, quickly entering his bloodstream.

  His limbs began to tremble.

  The poison acted fast.

  His scream collapsed into a muffled, choking rasp.

  His muscles locked, then began to convulse uncontrollably. His body arched like a drawn bow. His breath failed him. His fingers clawed at the soil, trying to dig into it, but his strength was draining rapidly.

  Within seconds, his resistance collapsed.

  Shouts rose through the village.

  The warriors had already seized their spears and curved sickle-blades and were running toward the source of the scream. Furzak was among them, his expression tight with urgent alarm.

  "There!"

  The Nuxali felt the vibrations of approaching footsteps through the ground. Its skin shifted once more, from earth tones to bark, from bark to leaf-shadow. It left the dying man where he lay and, in one fluid motion, scaled a tree and disappeared into the darkness.

  When Furzak reached the trees, he dropped to his knees.

  The man’s remaining eye was open, but empty. His chest rose once.

  Then fell.

  And did not rise again.

  Panic spread through the village in waves.

  Torches were lifted high. Weapons were raised toward the towering trees.

  But the forest had already swallowed the intruder.

  -----------------------------

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