Ape of the Wilds

The final door stood open before them.

Not carved from stone. Not built by hands.

It was wrong, an opening that didn't belong, like a wound torn into reality itself. There was no frame, no hinges, just a perfect, smooth archway leading into darkness—a space that was waiting to be entered, waiting to be filled.

Kuro stared at it, his breathing steady, though every instinct in his body screamed that this was not a path he was meant to walk.

But he already had.

The moment he had touched the black sphere, he had been marked by something deeper than memory.

And now, there was no turning back.

The silence that followed was heavy. No one spoke.

They had seen the door open, but they had not seen what Kuro had seen.

They had not felt the weight of a forgotten name pressed into their mind, had not fallen through a past that was not theirs.

And yet, they all felt the change in the air.

Sia stood with her bow half-drawn, her fingers resting lightly against the string—but there was no target to aim at. Only a doorway that should not exist.

Kota stood slightly behind Kuro, his posture relaxed, but his daggers were still in his hands, his golden eyes unreadable. He was waiting. Watching.

Boru exhaled, cracking his knuckles. "So, are we walking through that thing or are we burning it down?"

Ruka scowled. "You don't burn something like this."

Varek didn't speak at all.

Kuro didn't answer immediately.

Because there was no answer.

Only a choice.

Kuro took a step forward.

The moment his foot touched the threshold, the ruin reacted.

The golden symbols lining the walls flared violently, not in warning, but in recognition.

As if the ruin itself had been waiting for this moment.

Waiting for him.

The others followed, but cautiously.

Kota moved first, silent, unreadable, but his daggers stayed ready. Sia followed, her breath slow, measured, though her fingers still hovered near an arrow.

Boru stepped in with a grunt, unimpressed. "Nothing's happened yet."

Ruka gave him a sharp look. "Yet."

Varek came last, his spear tapping lightly against the ground as if testing whether the floor beneath them was even real.

Kuro kept walking.

Because this place had been waiting for him.

And now he had to find out why.

The space beyond the door was not what they expected.

It was not another ruin, not another tomb or chamber carved from stone.

It was a hall.

Massive. Endless.

The ceiling stretched so high that the light from their torches barely reached it, the walls lined with monolithic structures that hummed faintly, their surfaces engraved with symbols that moved when they weren't looking directly at them.

It was old.

Not like the ruins above.

Older.

Before the jungle. Before time.

And at the center of the vast chamber—

A throne.

Or what remained of one.

It was cracked, its surface worn, but it still stood, defiant against the weight of forgotten centuries.

And seated upon it—

A figure.

The moment Kuro saw it, he knew.

It was not alive.

But it was not dead.

It had waited here, trapped within this place, long before the ruin had been sealed.

Its form was vaguely Maw'Tanu, but twisted, its limbs too long, its head bowed beneath a cracked helm, its arms resting upon the stone arms of the throne, as if it had not moved in centuries.

But it was watching.

Not with eyes, not with breath, but with something deeper.

And then it spoke.

"You have come."

The voice did not echo.

It simply existed, filling the chamber with a presence that had no source, no weight, no origin.

"You have remembered."

Kuro's fists tightened, his breath steady.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

A pause.

Then—laughter.

Not from the figure itself, but from the hall itself, a deep, echoing sound that shook the foundations of the ruin, as if the very stone was amused by his words.

"Lies mean nothing here, forgotten one."

"You have already seen the truth."

Kuro's claws flexed, but he did not attack.

Not yet.

Because for the first time, he wasn't sure if he could win.

Not in a way that mattered.

The figure moved, its head tilting ever so slightly, though its body remained seated, unmoving.

"You carry a name that is not yours. A life that was not meant to be."

"The jungle calls you Kuro. But that is not the name this place remembers."

The air shifted, and Kuro felt it again—that deep, sickening weight in the back of his mind, the remnants of something forgotten, something buried within him.

And he realized, with cold certainty—

The name on the stone wall was not a mistake.

His name had been here long before he was born.

And whatever sat upon the throne knew why.

"What will you do, Kuro?"

The question was not a challenge.

It was an invitation.

Kuro exhaled slowly.

His instincts screamed at him to run, to leave this place behind, to seal the black gate forever.

But he had already stepped too far.

There was no going back.

He met the empty gaze of the figure on the throne, his muscles tensed, his body prepared for anything.

And he said—

"I want to know."

The hall shuddered.

The figure rose.

The ruins came alive.

And the test that had waited centuries to begin… had finally started.

The figure on the throne stood, its movements slow, deliberate—not the stiffness of something long dead, but the controlled precision of something that had been waiting.

Waiting for him.

Kuro's muscles tensed, his claws flexing, his tail twitching in agitation. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to prepare for an attack. But the figure did not strike.

Not yet.

Instead, it took a single step forward, and the entire hall trembled beneath its weight.

The others stood frozen, their weapons drawn but useless, because this was not a battle of steel and claws.

This was something deeper.

Something older than war itself.

"You have come this far. That is proof enough."

The voice did not echo. It did not fill the space—it simply existed, as if it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to be heard.

"You have passed the first trial, but this place does not test strength alone."

"It tests memory."

Kuro narrowed his eyes. "Whose memory?"

The figure stopped, tilting its head ever so slightly.

"Yours."

The weight of the air deepened, pressing into Kuro's bones, his breath, his mind.

Then—the visions returned.

Not flashes.

Not half-forgotten whispers.

But memories.

And they were not his.

The world shifted, and Kuro was standing in a different jungle, one he recognized and yet did not know.

The trees were taller, their canopies thicker, the air filled with the sounds of voices speaking a language that had no words.

And at the center of it all—

A city.

Not ruins. Not the crumbling remnants of a forgotten past.

A city that had not yet fallen.

It was carved from the same stone as the ruins above, but it was whole, alive, its towers reaching toward the sky, its streets filled with Maw'Tanu that were not beasts, but something more.

They moved with purpose, their forms larger, stronger, but their eyes burned with something deeper than instinct.

Awareness. Intelligence.

Kuro staggered back, the sheer wrongness of the vision shaking him, because this was not his past.

And yet, he knew this place.

Because he had been here before.

Even though he had never lived it.

"You were not meant to survive."

The voice returned, but now it was inside his head, merging with the weight of the vision.

"And yet, you were reborn."

"The jungle should not remember you."

"And yet, it does."

Kuro clenched his fists, his breath steady but sharp. "What does that mean?"

The city began to burn.

The sky darkened, turning from deep jungle green to a sickly, twisted gold, the same unnatural glow that had pulsed through the ruins.

Figures fell in the streets, their bodies twisting, breaking, warping into shapes they were never meant to take.

The stone towers collapsed, swallowed by shadows that moved on their own, tendrils of something older than the jungle itself.

Kuro saw himself standing among them.

Not as he was now.

But as something else.

Something more.

Something lost.

"You were one of them."

"And yet, you survived."

"But you were not meant to."

The city crumbled, the vision breaking apart—

And Kuro was back in the throne room.

His breath was heavy, his muscles coiled with tension.

Because he had felt it.

For one brief moment, he had been there.

And the jungle had known him.

But he did not know himself.

The figure on the throne watched him, its hollow eyes unreadable.

"You have seen the truth. But you do not yet understand it."

"You may walk forward, but from this moment, you are hunted not by men, but by time itself."

"You are an echo that should not exist."

"And the jungle will come for you."

The weight of those words settled into Kuro's bones.

This wasn't just a trial.

It was a warning.

And yet, the door ahead opened.

The final path lay before him.

Not to glory.

Not to victory.

But to answers.

And Kuro knew—

The deeper he went, the less of himself he would remain.

But he stepped forward anyway.

Because he had to know.

And the jungle was waiting.