Fierce-Heart's eyes were constantly scanning the trees before her. Every inch of her kept expecting to see thick, black smoke weaving through the greenery, or to hear a distant screaming. There was nothing. All traces of the attack had vanished. The forest around her had completely morphed as well. She didn't recognise any of the plant life or rock formations in the slightest. It felt as though she was walking through a completely different jungle. The only thing that remained remotely the same was the steady chirping of the birds and distant whooping of the monkeys. The hollow ache in her chest widened. From her earliest years, she had known this forest like it was her best friend. She could run across its dirt paths giggling and screaming. It would display to her the finest prey to hunt. She could play in its bubbling streams and listen to its gentle lullaby. Now, it was nothing more than a stranger and those memories just that. A bubble of pressure developed behind her nose and her eyes were blushed with heat. Dropping her head, she tried desperately to think of anything else.

Ahead of her, Hugo Bastille was trudging through the thick undergrowth. Occasionally he would glance back at her with wide eyes and the moment she caught him looking would pretend to be surveying the forest around him. The girl with the fire for hair and the younger boy were dragging themselves ungracefully over the forest floor. It seemed every branch and bundle of vines was tripping them up. Fierce-Heart could only assume that they lived in a much flatter, and more spacious terrain. Blinking back the water that had collected in her eyes and glancing back over her shoulder towards them, she asked, "what can I call you?"

The fire headed girl was closer. Lifting startled eyes to meet Fierce-Heart, she nodded her head and took a wide step over a particular soggy puddle. "My name is Ginger and this," she jutted a finger over her back towards the boy, "is Remy." He sent her an awkward wave.

"What tribes are you from?" Fierce-Heart asked. The pair sent each other confused glance.

"What tribes are we from?" Ginger repeated slowly, cocking her head to the side. Fierce-Heart nodded. "We don't live in tribes anymore, but I have heritage that traces back to the Dar-Tonak tribes of the northern sea."

"So do I!" Remy cheered, picking up his pace and falling into step beside Ginger. Cocking a brow and sending her a wry grin, he added, "must mean that we are meant to be."

"Sure, if inbreeding is your thing," Ginger rolled her eyes and stepped ahead of him. Fierce-Heart watched their exchange in mild confusion, she understood the words but not the meaning. The smile fell from Remy’s face and he trailed behind them.

"Beast-Folk don't live in tribes anymore?" Fierce-Heart asked, rearing back slightly. How would they live if it wasn't with a tribe? Perhaps they had taken to living in stone structures like the humans.

Ginger visibly winced and Remy glowered from behind her. "You shouldn't call someone Beast-Folk nowadays," the fire haired girl told timidly as the lifted a hand and scratched at the back of her head. "Some people could be very insulted."

A frown completely warped Fierce-Heart's face as she ducked beneath a thick, fallen tree trunk. Waiting on the other side for the pair to clamber under, she scratched at her chin. "But that's what we are," Fierce-Heart commented and crossed her arms over her chest. There was no shame in being half animal, it was the way they were born. If anything, they should be proud.

"Actually," Ginger grunted as she pushed herself to her feet. "Just a few centuries ago it was discovered that Beast-Folk, Humans, Elves and Fairies are all the same species." Fierce-Heart scrunched up her face and grasped at the curve of her ears. They were not pointed like a fairy or an elf. As far as she knew they didn't have animal spirits either, although she had only heard of such creatures through the tales told around the village fires. "It turns out, we are all just different races of human that have developed over time to tap into different types of magic."

Fierce-Heart supposed that explained why they all had human forms. Her father always said magic was like the steady flow of a stream, it could branch off countless times and each new split would give life to a different set of people. "Like us, we are born connected to the spirit of an animal and we can use its magic to take on its form. If we were more specific I'd say that I am a fox-natured human and Remy is a rat-natured human." Ginger explained. Pointing a finger to Hugo Bastille, she added, "he has the ability to tap into the magic that powers wind, granting him control over it." They resumed their trek through the thick forest. Although she was a little shocked, she could see the logic behind this claim. "The fairies can tap into the magic of plant life and nature, gifting them sway over the smallest flowers to the tallest of trees. The elves are able to access raw magic, meaning they can create powerful enchantments and curses." Fierce-Heart nibbled her lip. All of Ginger's words were backed by some form of knowledge that Fierce-Heart already had, so she realised it was probably very true.

“Then what would you call beast-folk now?" Fierce heart asked quizzically.

"We are all humans now, but when referring to race we decipher between them by talking about which kind of magic they are naturally inclined to," Ginger spoke. "Us three are all animal-natured humans, but Professor Bastille is a wind-natured human, or an element-natured human."

"I understand," Fierce-Heart nodded, scrunching up her nose when she noticed a slightly salty tang in the air. It reminded her of the beaches south of the forest. Either she was really disoriented, and they were a lot closer to the sea than she thought, or something was amiss. Pulling her mind back to the conversation, she responded, "Fairies are nature-humans. Elves are raw-humans?"

"Enchantment-humans, but close enough," Ginger responded.

"If you want to know more about it, Professor Bastille is the person to ask," she pointed ahead at the old man who was marching on ahead and had nearly vanished into the tree line. "I'm sure he'll answer any question you have after we get back to TAPS."

Fierce-Heart jutted her jaw to one side. There was that strange word again. Perhaps it was the name of their sort-of-village? "What is TAPS?" she enquired, dodging a low hanging branch.

"Only the highest ranked protection agency in the world!" Remy cheered, walking head on into the branch Fierce-Heart had just ducked under. Ginger placed a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle, but her eyes were still grinning. Readjusting himself and dusting debris from the branch of his face, his cheeks tinted red. Fierce-Heart knee she would normally have found such a situation amusing, but the expanding hollowness in her chest was cutting off any entertainment she might receive before it got to her.

"TAPS is short for 'The Association of Public Safety'," Ginger explained. "They specialise in catching and subduing dangerous criminals as well as dealing with any reports of laws being broken or illegal events." Fierce-Heart wasn't sure she knew what they meant. A lot of those words were foreign to her, so much so she had initially thought they were speaking a different language. Once again, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Basically, they are in charge of keeping everyone in Orrephia safe from themselves," Remy informed her. That made more sense to Fierce-Heart. It had often fallen to her to sort out petty squabbles and disagreements between tribe members because her father was too busy handling and managing the tribe's survival. A stab of pain was plunged into her heart. Keeping her head trained forwards, she blinked back the warm liquid that had seeped into her eyes. "Ginger here is a Foundation Enforcer and our protection for this expedition," his voice adapted a playful tone.

"Foundation Enforcer?" Fierce-Heart repeated slowly, straining to keep her voice steady and focusing her gaze on the shifting forest floor around her feet. The forest was beginning to thin out and wane. The tree trunks were growing sparse and thin.

"I'm not a full Enforcer yet, but Enforcers are the people responsible for eliminating threats and keeping the people safe," she hummed wistfully. Just off in the distance, she could make out Hugo Bastille's short, stout form standing over something on the ground with his head tilted down towards it. Fierce-Heart stepped out of the tree line and onto a strange pebble beach that cut through the forest. The hairs on her neck stood on end. On either side of her, the pebble beach was completely straight and extended as far as the eye could see. In its centre was a narrow river of water that churned over the grey, rounded rocks. It was only deep enough to submerge her to her knees and maintained the same width for its entire, rigid length.

"We made it to a jugular stream," Ginger cheered. Fierce-Heart cautiously edged forwards. There was something very wrong with this river. It looked awkward and unnatural.

"Alright, alright," Hugo Bastille beckoned them closer with a wave of his hand and stepped into the depths of the stream. Reaching into the folds of fabric on his jacket, he tugged out a rough green rock that dangled precariously from a string. "Everyone in," he instructed them. Ginger and Remy waded into the river and placed their hands on his shoulders. Reluctantly, Fierce-Heart followed and dipped her feet into the river. “Put a hand on my shoulder," Hugo Bastille told her. Reaching out, she did as he asked. The fabric of his jacket was rough and course beneath her fingers. She watched in silence as he dangled the rock over the stream. "To Turbobin," he called into the air. Fierce-Heart's heart jumped into her mouth when the green rock began to release powerful pulses of magic. The water at her feet began to boil and fizz, heating up uncomfortably quickly. Just as she was about to yank her hand to her body and leap from the stream, the water shot up into the air around. A yelp of surprise was drawn from her lips, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the cold water rained down on her. Magic raced over her skin, causing pricking goosebumps to stand to attention.

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The water settled around her and she wrenched her hand back from Hugo Bastille's shoulder. Peeling her eyes open, a hurricane of confusion blew any sentence she might have spoken straight from her mouth. They were no longer in the forest. They were standing in a round, circular pool. Water sloshed at their ankles. It wasn't cold like the river, but tepid like the top layer of the ocean under a warm summer sun. It glowed an eerie blue, illuminating the small, but strangely white, cave that was shaped like a dome around them. The air was damp and musky. Moss and algae clung to the dripping wet walls. A tiny path of flat, holed, white rock circled around the base of the pool and formed a ramp up to its edge. Before them, a small, narrow doorway was followed by a set of steps made from the same strange rock. The small amount of light that seeped in from the doorway was smothered by the room's blue hue.

Hugo Bastille swung a leg over the edge with a grunt and lowered himself to the floor. The green rock was still swinging from his hands. Ginger and Remy clambered over the pools edge. Numbly, Fierce-Heart hopped over the edge and landed on the strangely warm floor. The trio began filing out of the room. Any noise they made echoed around them. They seemed completely unfazed by the fact they were in a completely different location than the one they were standing in just moments prior.

Fierce-Heart followed them up the steps. It appeared as though the entire stairwell had been carved out of the walls themselves. Dragging her hand along it, she noticed it wasn't cold like stone and it was smoother with less granulation. It felt like running a hand over the soft face of a tree that lay underneath its hardened bark exterior. From what she could see beyond Hugo Bastille, there was another doorway filled with yellowed light at the top of the steps. The stairway itself was long, the longest she had ever seen in her life. It was at least four times her height at quite a steep incline.

They lumbered up the steps in silence. The higher they got, the louder a distant chatter and rumbling of footsteps became. When they reached the top, a tall, young man with crisp and dark clothing stepped in front of the doorway, blocking them from exiting. The man had a short exchange with Hugo Bastille who passed over the green rock. The new stranger stepped to the side and allowed all three to exit. When Fierce-Heart stepped into the hallway, her breath caught open her throat. A long corridor was stretched horizontally in front of her. A heavy stream of people wearing all kinds of wacky clothes poured past. Many of them were wearing the same full body suit as Ginger but there was a large variety of colours on their trims.

The corridor itself was built out of perfectly cut stone squares and it left a huge arching gap above their heads. Hugo Bastille dove into the crowds of people, Remy and Ginger followed behind him. Fierce-Heart kept herself close to their backs. All the people they were weaving through had stony faces. No one smiled or uttered them a greeting. Several were too absorbed in their own conversations to even notice the people around them. A few stared at Fierce-Heart, making her skin bristle. Many doorways were cut into the sides of the wall. Each had an individual standing in front of it that wore the same uniform as the man that had been at the top of their stairwell. They stood tall with strong, scowling faces and allowed people in and out of the stairwells whilst passing back and forth more of those green rocks Hugo Bastille had been carrying.

Fierce-Heart's heart thundered in her chest. Clutching her arms around her body, she kept her head down. Not even in her home village had she ever seen so many people packed into one tight space. Ginger glanced back at her, sending her a reassuring smile. Not quite able to muster the strength to send one back, she gave a meagre nod. Finally, they broke out into a less cramped area. Fierce-Heart's eyes nearly bulged from her head. It was the largest room she had even been in. A clear, yet visibly solid and angular roof let in the powerful streams of daylight. Little huts made of fabric and supported by wooden struts were dotted all over the places. People where everywhere over the square floor. They were tracking all over the place with no cohesion and forming short lines in front of the fabric huts. Tall, intricately carved, stone columns rose from the floor to support the invisible roof.

Hugo Bastille wasted no time plunging into the chaos. A loud chatter filled the room, louder than the long corridor she had just escaped. Fierce-Heart padded along the cold, stone floor. A tantalisingly sweet smell drifted past her nose. Her eyes tracked it back to a glowing tent that was decorated with red and white stripes. It had a small line of people waiting at its base. The man trapped in the hut behind a long wooden table was handing out something brown and floppy that was rolled folded together and slotted into a red, bendy material. A few humans were taking large bites of it, carefully avoiding the red material. Fierce-Heart scrunched up her nose, food sure had changed over the years. It looked like undercooked skin. She wasn't even sure it was edible.

Another, much larger hut had several people trapped within its glossy, solid surface. They were speaking to those in line in front of them with grave, solemn faces. Small, cylindrical objects that were clutched in their hands scribbled over a pure white square of material.

Hugo Bastille lead them into a much quieter corridor that before. It was still impossibly tall and had long, pointed windows that let in stripes of blinding light. A long rope was tied across the breadth of the corridor. A tall man in the same uniform as the people guarding the stairwell stood dead in the centre of the rope, where the only break in its length was. As people approached him, they flashed something shiny that was stuck onto black leather. One by one, he would step to the side and allow them to pass.

Hugo Bastille strutted up to the man and pulled out the same shiny object. Ginger and Remy did the same, but their metal was slightly darker with a reddish hue. "This one," Hugo Bastille jutted a thumb back towards her. "Is a person of interest." The man guarding the ropes scanned her with dark eyes.

"Then she should have a visitors pass," he responded gruffly.

"I'm taking her to see the minister," Hugo Bastille answered sharply. "I don't have time to wait hours for approval." The man clenched his jaw. With a heavy sigh, he stood back from the ropes and allowed all four of them to pass through.

The rest of their journey was unhindered. Despite all the weird and wonderful things around her, Fierce-Heart kept her head hung low. An ache stilled burned in her soul, so fierce she had to grit her teeth to bare it. They walked through cavernous rooms and tall corridors. Her feet slapped against the cold stone below. People were staring at her. They passed by a few rooms that were buzzing with people. She didn't waste much time observing them. This new environment made her hair stand on end. It was lifeless and cold. There was no greenery or foliage to break up the flat floors. It was new and exhilarating, but bland and repetitive.

Eventually they led her into a circular room after climbing up another winding set of stairs. It was small and tall wooden constructs lined the wall furthest from the doorway. Inside of its layered stomach were hundreds of leathery skins that bound together some of that white fabric she had seen earlier. In front of them, a rectangular wooden table sported hundreds of sheets of the white fabric that were covered in scrawls of dark black. Atop the desk was a glittering bronze statue of a roaring tiger. Sitting on a grand seat behind the table was a man wearing long, flowing, dark clothes that flapped with every move he made. A thin metal frame formed ovals in front of his eyes, curved over the bridge of his nose and slotted back into his short thick hair that was peppered with brown and grey. The man lifted his head towards them the moment they enter the room. "Professor Bastille," The man had a deep but soft voice. "I hope your expedition was a success," he said, his eyes flicking over to Fierce-Heart.

"Partially, yes," Hugo Bastille responded, tottering over to stop before the wooden table. Ginger and Remy linger just behind him, a respectful distance away. Fierce-Heart crept a little closer. Huge, rounded furs decorated the floor and more hung from the walls. They were soft beneath her feet and reminded her of the ones she used to sleep on at home. The muscles in her jaw tightened as she batted the thought from her mind before she broke down into tears. On either side of the doorway there were two square sets of strangely plush and long chairs. They looked a lot more comfortable that the wooden torture devices the humans of her time crafted. "This is Soul, we found her trapped in the shrine of death." The old man explained gesturing towards her with an open palm.

"You found the shrine?" The new man's eyebrows shot up and he leaned forwards.

"Indeed," Hugo Bastille hummed, clasping his hands in front of him. "It seems the rumours about the shrine's magic is true. This girl claims to be the daughter of the Cra-Tonak chieftain, a tribe that was wiped out over three-thousand years ago." That sentence hit her like a stab to her already bleeding heart.

"Interesting," the man hummed, pushing himself to his feet. Sauntering around the table, he approached her slowly and lifted a hand, offering her his palm. Fierce-Heart stared at it blankly, unsure of what he was trying to say. He was fairly short, only standing a few hairs breadths taller than her. The man allowed his arms to flop down by his sides. "My name is Alexander Puckett and I am the minister in charge of TAPS," he spoke in Fierce-Heart's mother tongue. A few of the words didn't translate well or were slightly mispronounced but it was strangely relieving to hear him speak like her. "People call me minister Puckett."

Fierce-Heart dipped her head in greeting. "My name is Fierce-Heart," she relished the feeling of her language forming in her mouth. "People of this time call me Soul." Ginger and Remy traded a bewildered glance. Even Hugo Bastille seemed a little thrown by the switch in tongues. When she peered closer into his brown eyes, she could pick out the distinct feeling of a large, hulking animal spirit within him. "You speak in the tongue of the beast-folk?" She asked, her mind quickly scrambling after she realised her mistake. "Sorry, the tongue of the animal-natured humans?"

A warm smile cracked his features and a few wrinkled formed around his eyes. "I am one of the few who speak in this tongue now. It is now considered a dead language." Fierce-Heart's stomach dropped from her body. A dead language? But it was alive and being spoken? It still had the spark of aggression and resilience she knew and loved so dearly. "Are you truly the daughter of the Cra-Tonak chieftain?" He asked. Fierce-Heart's eyes flicked down to the leather band that coiled around her upper arm. In truth, she was the chieftain now. Clenching her teeth, she fought back the emotion that boiled within her.

"Yes, that is me," she confirmed, dipping her head. After her affirmation, he stalked back around to his original position upon the chair and lowered himself to be seated. Leaning forwards onto his arms, he regarded her with a curious gaze. The other three in the room were watching the exchange with confusion warped faces.

"Why were you sealed in Death's Shrine?" He asked, still speaking in her tongue.

Fierce-Heart felt her face blush with shame. "I was the last one of my tribe still standing," she admitted, once again pain twisted inside of her. Hot water collected in her eyes, making her vision a blurry mess. Scowling off to the side, she blinked back tears. Although she said the words, it still didn't feel like the truth. In her mind, she was going to wake up from this nightmare soon.

"Yes, the Bardachian cultists were cruel and merciless," Minister Puckett sighed.

Fierce-Heart's head snapped around to face him, her eyes narrowing to tiny slits. Taking a small step forward, she asked, "what do you know of the cultists?" She assumed he was talking about the same creatures that had decimated her tribe. Her nose crinkled in disgust at the very thought of them.

"I know they were a very dangerous cult that worshipped violence," he responded, lifting a hand to scratch at his face. "But they have been extinct for a few hundred years. They were driven into the ground by TAPS," he gestured to the room around him.

Fierce-Heart supposed she should be glad the cult had been vanquished, but that wouldn't undo all the awful things they had done. The bones on the forest floor would always remain bones on the forest floor. An appreciation for the weird building around her and its cold inhabitants blossomed in her heart. It seems she had made the right decision to come with Hugo Bastille. "Good," she chuffed in response.

Turning to the other three in the room, minister Puckett clasped his hands together. "For the moment, with Soul's approval of course, I think it would be best to keep her within TAPS until she adjusts to her new environment," he hummed, watching her from the corner of his eyes. Fierce-Heart's shoulders dropped a little. They were back to speaking in human tongue.

"A wise choice," Hugo Bastille agreed. All eyes turned to her. She glanced between them with mildly confused eyes. It suddenly occurred to her they were waiting for her to agree. Fierce-Heart dipped her head in agreement.

"Brilliant," Minister Puckett coughed slightly. "Ginger, take her to one of the nightshift bedrooms until we can figure out best how to aid her."