Fierce-Heart awoke with a pounding headache. The half of her body pressed against the ground was alit with pain. Grunting, she pulled herself unsteadily to her feet. Huge flames engulfed the forest floor and crawled up the length of the wide tree trunks. Black plumes of smoke poured through the air, making everything a hazy mess. It nipped at her eyes and burned in her throat. Everywhere she turned, she could see the dead. Bodies were splayed across the ground, hanging from trees, shoved under bushes, thrown over rocks and bent into unnatural positions. Some were tribe members with their distinctive bone braided skirts. Others were people shroud in dark robes wearing an Oxen skull over their heads. The mere sight of them made her stomach clench. A thick, glossy sheen of blood coated the mossy ground. Angry shouts ricochet between trees. One by one, all the wailing voices and terrified screams were being silenced with loud, barbaric war cries. The tiger within her was alert and cautious.

Fierce-Heart began hobbling through the underbrush, keeping herself low to the ground where the smoke wasn't so thick. Cradling one arm close to her chest, she held in a wince as she applied tender weight to her ankle. Still, she could flex her arm and wriggle her toes. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Every pair of lifeless, glassy eyes she saw turned her stomach and tore at her soul. The only thing her mind could focus on was finding her father.

The place of the Chieftain when the village came under attack, is always on the front lines. Clenching her jaw, she kept her eyes focused forwards as she stalked through the carnage and away from the heart of the tribe. With every dead body she passed, she could only muster a quick glance. The moment she realised it wasn't her father, she swiftly moved on.

Just as she predicted, she found him on the very outskirts of the village. When she spotted him, her heart stopped beating. The world froze around her. All the screams and wails became nothing more than distant noises that blew over her head. Old-Mind was lying on his back, the thin shaft of an arrow poking out of his stomach. His chest was slick with crimson blood. A thick, nobly tree root was propping up his head. A few hunters were scattered on the floor all around him. They too were peppered with arrows.

Fierce-Heart staggered forwards, collapsing to her knees by her father's side. His chest rose unevenly and every breath was accompanied with a wet rasp. "Father?" she whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders. The man's head tilted towards her, half lidded eyes landed on her face.

A weak smile quivered on his lips. "Fierce-Heart," he spoke with a strained voice and lifted a trembling hand up towards her head. It too, was covered in glossy blood. Stifling a whimper, she grasped his hand in two of her own. "I'm so sorry, I've failed you."

"We must flee, we have been defeated," she pushed herself to her feet and placed a hand on each shoulder, tugging him up with a strained grunt. Old-Mind let out a shout of pain, making her freeze in her tracks and delicately lower him back to the ground. His face was screwed up into a tight wince. "You must get up, we can't stay here. I think our attackers are still nearby." A distant war cry rose goose bumps on the back of her neck.

"No, it's too late for me," he puffed, the rasp of his breath chilled her to her very bones. Heat blushed her eyes and she shook her head violently. Dropping back to her knees by his side, she gripped on of his arms tightly.

"Please get up," her voice quivered, the liquid in her eyes made her vision blur.

Old-Mind stared at her with pained eyes. "The people who attacked us are members of a very dangerous cult," he told her. Fierce-Heart's brows pulled together. She clumsily took her father's blood crusted hand into her own. "They want an ancient curse that has been passed down from Chieftain to Chieftain for generations," he spluttered a cough, blood speckled his lips. A few tears rolled down her cheeks. "The time has come for you to lift this burden from me," his voice strained.

"What are you talking about?" She sniffled, frowning eyes scanned her father's body. Old-Mind raised his hand and wrapped it tightly around her upper arm. Fierce-Heart frowned, her mouth opened to question him again but a rush of tingling magic poured into her from where their skin touched. It was the kind of magic that made her feet queasy to her core. Dark and disgusting. It chewed up light magic and spat it out grey and lifeless. She tried to wrench her arm from his grip, but it was too tight. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull. His body began to fit a seize. A cry of alarm escaped her lips. A burning hot pain seared the skin his hand concealed. The flow of magic began to slow until the last few trickles seeped out of her father. With a wheeze, dropped his arm back to his side.

Fierce-Heart stared down at her upper arm in horror. Over the curve of her muscle, three black, overlapping circles had been burned into her skin. Raising a hand and tentatively touching it, a shot of pain raced through her body and prompted a hiss of air between her teeth. "What did you do?" She gasped, snapping her head back around towards her father. His chest was heaving, his body lying limp against the forest floor.

"That mark contains an ancient evil," he croaked, his voice a deathly whisper. "You must protect it at all cost, do not let it fall into the cultist's hands." A few loud shouts startled her. They were a lot closer than before. Fierce-Heart whipped her head around and scanned the bushes for movement. There was nothing yet.

Turning back to her father, she squeezed his hand tightly. A bonfire of anger was ignited within her. "I will make them suffer for what they have done," she growled.

"No," her father coughed, his eyes began to glaze over. "You must let go of your anger and hate. The mark will use it to whisper horrible things to you. You must never indulge it or you could be lost to its darkness and the evil will be set free." She clenched her teeth hard. "Revenge has never be our way of life," he croaked. "Stay true to the tribe's teachings. Violence only breeds suffering," despite how weak his voice was, she could hear strict instruction behind every word.

"How can I let them away with this?" She hissed, wide eyes flicking to the dead and dying tribe's men at her feet. "How can I turn a blind eye to the death of my people?" The voices were growing louder and louder.

"When you take responsibility of the mark, you don't just have a duty to your tribe, you have a duty to every living creature. Everything will die if you cannot keep the curse within you," his voice crackled and rumbled. A single bead of blood trickled from the corner of his lips. "Take my armband, use it to hide the mark." Hesitantly, she did as he said and unhooked the thick leather cuff from around his arm. The skin beneath was redden and rough. It shivered in her hands. This was no ordinary arm band. It was the Chieftain's arm band. She stared at it angrily for a moment, before hooking it around her arm and hiding her newly scarred skin beneath. "You must go to Death's shrine and seal yourself within. It's the only way to keep the mark safe." The voices were bearing down upon them.

Soul shook her head violently. "I can't leave you," she whimpered. "I won't." She could hear leaves and branches snapping as feet thundered towards them.

"Go," he spluttered and coughed. "And remember, I love you always." His voice broke off into one last puff of air. The light in his eyes dimmed to a dull reflection of the raging flames.

A few tears rolled done her cheeks as she shook his body. "Please get up," she whimpered, still clutching on tightly to his arms. "Father, please," her voice was broken and wobbling, but still demanding. It was too late, the life had been sucked from his body. Stifling a sob, her ears perked as a bush in her peripheral vision began to rumble and shake. There was no way she could allow her father's death to be in vein, so she sprung herself into the air in the opposite direction of the movement. Magic poured through her veins, tickling and prickling as it went. Plumes of steam blew out from her skin and by the time she hit the ground, a slender tiger had taken her place.

Keeping her body close to the ground, she bolted through the underbrush. Her tail whipped out behind her, steadying her every step. Sharp claws dug into the ground, propelling her forwards. Wind whipped at her face as she wove through trees and bushes. The forest around her became a blurred mess. The deep, booming shouts faded to distant murmurs. Had she been human, she would have been sobbing as she ran. Unbearable, inescapable pressure was weighing her down. Her mind was still reeling.

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It seemed it was not just the tribe that had been set alight. Huge portions of the forest were engulfed in flames. The beings wearing the long, draping black fabric were scattered in groups all around the place. Fierce-Heart had to employ every hunting tactic she knew to slip away from them undetected. No matter how much she wanted to pounce on them and rip their heads from their shoulders, she knew she would never last long against so many and her father had tasked her with a responsibility. One she hadn't dreamed she would ever have to bear, but she knew she had no choice other than to hide. The thought made her stomach churn.

It didn't take her long to reach Death's shrine. A large gaping, black hole that was cut into the side of a steep hill. Huge boulders and rocks were piled around its entrance. Two wooden posts were planted into the ground on either side, connected by a long string of vine and bones. Fierce-Heart skidded to a halt just before the entrance. If she sealed herself within, there was no telling how long would pass before someone found her. Around the shrine of death, time stood still. What might feel like a few moments to her could easily be years to the outside world. If she followed through with this, she was well and truly leaving her tribe to fend for themselves.

Dropping her wide head low, she padded into the darkness. The air was still and humid. A short, craggy passage way lead further into the pitch black depths. Her feline eyes were quick to adapt. The rocky walls were lined with moss. The gravelly stone crunched beneath her mighty weight. It opened up into a cavernous room. Huge circles of stone floor formed spaced out steps to a large, rocky alter. A single beam of light seeped in from a crack on the ceiling and shone onto a tall, overbearing statue that rose tall atop the alter. It was a man, with passive, solemn features and long flowing robes. His rigid hair was so long it brushed the backs of his heels.

Fierce-Heart's golden eyes scanned the room. The noise of tiny feet scurrying over the floor made her large ears twitch. Lowering herself into a crouch, she crept towards the noise. Every move forwards she took was silent. The quite footsteps halted not too far away from her, behind a small cluster of boulders. Her breathing was shallow. A tiny, dark shape shifted before her eyes. She pounced, her jaws clamping around a tiny, furry creature. It didn't even have the chance to scream. A loud crunch echoed throughout the room. The tiger dropped its small prey to the floor. Steam began fizzing along her skin and puffing out into the air. Magic crackled along every nerve in her body.

Fierce-Heart reassumed her human shape. She crouched on the ground, a mangled, dead mouse lay at her feet. Picking it up by its tail, she turned her attention back to the grand alter. Striding towards it with the mouse still dangling in her grasps, she laid her kill at the feet of the statue. "Death, please seal me in this chamber under your protection until it is breached once more." The little critter began to glow. It's body dissolved into a fine, golden dust. The plume of sparkling remains blew up into the air and was sucked into the statue's nose as if the stone had taken in a mighty breath. The statue's eyes flickered a brilliant golden colour for only a few moments. A loud rumble from behind made Fierce-Heart whip around. Before her very eyes, a large boulder rolled in front of the tiny crevice she had entered the chamber in.

Fierce-Heart let out a weary breath and lowered herself to the floor. Leaning her back against the cold alter, she felt the rush of fear slowly draining from her body. It was quickly replaced by horror. Tightly gripping the sides of her temples, she tried in vein to push the image of her father's lifeless eyes out of her head.

Before she could fall too deeply into her grief, the sound of churning rock rumbled through the room. Fierce-Heart lifted her her head and narrowed her eyes at the large boulder sealing the door. It was beginning to shift. Her heart began to pound within her chest, but she didn't shift from her spot on the ground. Wind was whistling through the new gaps. She lifted her brows. Light seeped around the corners of the boulder. The wind was growing steadily more intense. It became so powerful, that from so far away she could feel a harsh draft on her face. The thundering whoosh roared all around the cave. The muscles in her leg went tense as she lifted herself steadily to her feet. No wind that strong could ever be summoned naturally, but the humans never came this far into the Rodeshton jungle. At least not in her time. The tricky thing was, she had no idea how long had passed since she sealed herself into Death's shrine. A lot could change in a few years, she supposed.

Finally, the boulder gave in and rolled back from the entrance. Three distant, human silhouettes were standing in the white light of the passageway. An old, male voice crackled in delight and wonder. His awe echoed around the chamber. From the occasional word, she recognised the human tongue.

A young female voice, speaking the same strange language, hissed beneath her breath. One of the dark shapes lifted a hand and pointed towards the alter where Fierce-Heart stood. A harsh gasp sounded from the three shadows.

Upon realising she had been noticed, Fierce-Heart began to creep towards them and cocked her head to one side. The three shadows shifted slightly. The closer she drew, the more detail she could make out. It seemed to be an older man and a younger boy and girl. They wore strange clothes that were patterned in unnatural ways and were layered several times. The older man stuttered out a few words. His skin was wrinkled and pale. Grey wisps of curled hair poked out from beneath a strangely flat, cross hatched hat that appeared to have been made from the soft under furs of some poor creature. He wore large, chunky shoes and had a woollen jacket that hung off his narrow shoulders. It's coloured patterning was the same as the hat. Fierce-Heart began to talk to them in her native language, but their faces screwed up in confusion. Her jaw set as she eyed them.

The older man reached into the folds of his clothing a withdrew a string that had a single, curly shell hanging from it. Reaching out, he cautiously offered her it. His companions shifted on their feet. Fierce-Heart hesitantly took it from them, staring down at the shell. He made a motion for her to put it on. Reluctantly, she followed his instructions. Magic crackled through her, buzzing in her finger tips. “Do you understand us now?” the old man asked. Soul nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing. The necklace must bridge the gap between their languages.

Realising she would have to speak as they did, she halted several feet away from the trio. "You speak... the tongue of the humans?" she asked, uncertain if they could understand her. For the moment being, she could ignore the cold numbness that was gnawing away at her internally. These people before her were truly an enigma.

"We speak Orrephian," the girl spoke. She had long, straight ginger hair that was sleeked back and held together in one place at the crown of her head. Her face was long and angular. Two intelligent brown eyes peered out from her light skinned, pinky eyelids. The hair was striking, Fierce-Heart had never seen anything like it. It had the colour of fire, yet it grew from her scalp? Perhaps even more peculiar, was the clothes she wore. It was all one piece of fabric that concealed her from her wrists down to her ankles. A strange metal left a gleaming trail down the centre of her chest. It's neckline was high and tight. The clothes themselves were black, but they had a strange blue lining that ran with the curve of her body and a band the same colour around her upper arm. This girl was completely alien.

"Orrephia has many languages," Fierce-Heart argued back, her arms still rigid by her side. Magic bristled over her skin, leaving a hot trail of goose bumps. This girl was beast-folk. Fierce-Heart could practically feel the small, wily carnivore that was pacing back and forth within the girl's mind. "You are beast-folk, yet you speak like a human?" she tilted her head to the side.

"What did you just call her?" the younger boy took an aggressive step forwards. Fierce-Heart curled her upper lip towards him and let out a threatening growl. The boy's dark eyes widened. His hair hung in greasy clumps around his forehead. A large red nose was his most predominant feature. The boy's frame was small and skinny. She reckoned one swipe from her tiger's paw and he would be broken on the floor. The clothes he wore were very similar to the older man, including the flat hat.

"Hold on," the older man reached out and tugged the boy back into place. "My name is Professor Hugo Bastille, we were searching for historical landmarks under the jurisdiction of TAPS," he explained calmly. Several of those words she didn't really understand, but she was able to scrape some meaning from his speech. "Who are you?"

Historical land marks? She assumed that meant places built by humans that were long forgotten. There weren't any around here aside from Death's shrine, as far as she knew. She knew she still had the ability to dip in between her tongues. Gritting her teeth, she placed a hand over her heart and dipped her head. She gruffly told them her name as it would be pronounced by a tribe-member speaking the language of the beast-folk. The girl with the fire hair tilted her head to one side. "Soul?" she repeated the name slowly, scrunching up her features. The way she said it sounded more like the way a toddler would when they were just learning to speak, but Fierce-Heart supposed it was an okay attempt for someone who didn't speak the language natively.

"Well, Soul, how did you get in here? The door was sealed shut," the boy eyed her cautiously, crossing his arms over his chest. Just like the girl, he had an animal hiding within the depths of his mind. From its jittery nature, she could tell it was an animal preyed on by many.

"You came looking for Death’s Shrine, but don’t know its power?" Fierce-Heart's brows crumpled. Everyone knew the consequences of sealing themselves in this cave. It was one of the many tales mothers would scare their children with when they misbehaved.

The older man cast an eye along her clothing, resting his sight on her bare feet. "There is an old rumour that under the right circumstances, you could stop time in this cave," Hugo Bastille spoke softly. Fierce-Heart dipped her head in confirmation. The old man drew in a deep breath. "The clothes you wear, the crafting, I have only encountered its kind in some of the ancient burial sights of the Cra-Tonak tribe."

Fierce-Heart went ridged. Her tribe had places to burry the dead, but they were all fairly new. They had to stop dumping bodies in the rivers when the tribe grew to be too big. "I am the daughter of the Cra-Tonak chieftain," she responded hesitantly, fumbling over a few pronunciations.

The three strangers traded wide eyed looks. "My dear, you must be mistaken, the Cra-Tonak tribe was wiped out thousands of years ago."

Fierce-Heart took a shaky step backwards. Of course she had known time would pass with her sealed away, but thousands of years? What hurt even more was his admission that her tribe, her family, had been completely destroyed. Lifting a hand, she tightly gripped her jaw. "I’ve been sealed away for longer than I thought.”

"Are you trying to tell us, you have been locked in this cave for three thousand years?" the boy cocked a brow and planted a hand on his hip.

Once again Hugo Bastille leaned in closer. "I think she is telling the truth," a wide grin split his face. "The god shrines have been known to have magical effects on their immediate surroundings." The twinkle of delight that shone in his eyes was unnerving her. "I think we have found a living, ancient relic."

Fierce-Heart grasped handfuls of her hair on either side of her head. Her normally boiling blood had gone cold. So much could have changed in such a long period of time, and from the clothes these strangers wore it was clear it had. That might be a good thing. Perhaps she could live without fear of being attacked by the cultists. Maybe their disgusting order had run itself into the ground. That was a thought that greatly pleased her. "Would you come with us to TAPS, our head quarters. The information you have on the past could prove to be a great use to us."

"Head quarters?" She scrunched up her nose, repeating the words to the best of her ability.

"Like... our village," the fire haired girl offered.

Fierce-Heart dropped her hands to her side. There was nowhere else for her to go. Surviving in the jungle on her own, while possible, would be difficult. She supposed, the best way to learn about this new time was to travel with them. "I’ll come," she responded dipping her head.