The blinding sunlight struck their faces like a wave as the wooden grate above was slid open. Dust and leaves swirled in the air as rough hands pulled them out one by one, the heat and noise of the jungle above crashing over them like a tide. The drumbeats were louder now, pulsing through the air like a heartbeat—steady, ritualistic, and inescapable. Chanting voices followed, raw and primal, echoing in the canopy above.
The group was forced to walk—no, paraded—through a narrow jungle path worn into the earth, flanked by towering trees wrapped in vines and symbols etched into bark and stone. They soon entered a clearing—a large, circular hollow surrounded by ancient trees and overgrown ruins, stone monoliths cracked by age but still bearing the jagged carvings of unknown gods.
And there they were.
The natives.
