I’ve only ever been in three different countries in my life thus far: my home of Thamia, Jagan’s home of Nebbana, and Carnashka since it is the closest route in between. The other two countries aren’t bad at all, but I can’t stand Carnashka. Actually, I mostly can’t stand the jungle. It looks beautiful, sure, yet it’s also a dangerous dank dump frivolously filled with ferocious fauna and flora that desperately desire to devour anything and everything. That’s right, even the plants want to eat you here. Okay, only a few of them, but that still bad enough. Because of this, there are almost no rest stops. Every single human town in Carnashka in along its shoreline where the weather most of the time and the terrifying creatures stay away. The only other villages I’d be able to rest at belong to the Goferna, or River Elves as we typically call them. They litter the entire continent of Fitsyoo and build their homes on lakes and major waterfalls that lie along the expansive river systems across the land. The only problem is the nearest stop is fifty miles away from where Anna left me. At least she dropped me off reasonably close to the route my father always used. If I can find the especially wide river than I can follow it all the way to the River Elves and hopefully make it there before nightfall.

“HELP! PLEASE, ANYBODY HELP!!!” From the distance, I hear a call to aid and screams of pain from what sounded like another child but if he had glass jammed in his throat. I don’t know why I have this instinct to run toward danger, but out here if I don’t help him who will? I finish scaling a nearby cliff face and before me lie more danger than I bargained for. Maybe fifty yards away there stands a group of seven bandit soldiers holding a badly injured Ishpah captive. The Ishpah may be the only species we are one hundred percent certain native to this planet. They can be found on every continent and many have integrated into society at large, but on average they still aren’t very technologically adept and are mostly bullied into the servant class of civilization. They range from around two the three feet tall and between fifteen and thirty-five pounds. Ishpah are the least humanoid yet sapient species having feline heads with tall, narrow ears, fur all over their slender simian body, hand-like feet with opposable thumbs, a long fuzzy tail, and mammalian wings that stretch more than twice as wide as they are tall. Oh, and there is a little glowing orb floating about their heads. No one knows what it is per se, but it seems to aid in magic and might act as a conduit for mana. This little guy looks to be wearing a leather overcoat and some khaki formal wear. Even in cities, it is rare to find Ishpah wearing human fashion, but he’s really out of place here.

This is where the trouble lies. These soldiers are Yuzeima, sometimes called Desert Elves despite not actually being Elven. Yuzeima are a desert-dwelling warrior race that raids other societies for anything they can’t get in trade. Their armies consist almost exclusively of women, but don’t let that fool you into thinking they go down easily. In their race, women outnumber men fifty to one. Due to this nature, they separate into communes with a single man who fought of other potential patriarchs and up to a thousand or so women performing all the necessary jobs of their cities. When it comes to athletic tasks even the average Yuzeima can put most human men to shame. Each one I see is nearly six feet tall with a sculpted body that looks more like a bronze statue than any woman I’ve ever met. And like any proper soldier, they are layered in armor and carrying an assortment of weapons to boot. Come on, think. I want to help this dude out, but what can I do here?

I think I have an idea! I’m just going to shove these rocks into my jacket. Oh, these coconuts, too. Anything small and blunt will do. Ten to twenty pounds should do the trick, I hope. I honestly don’t know how well this will work, but I better get up this tree anyway. At least if I am up here it’ll be harder for them to retaliate.

“Hellllllloooooooo, Ladies!” I jest to get their attention.

“What the- where did he come from!?” says the one with the brightest red hair, “Why don’t we have anyone on watch? Cut him down!”

Good, they are coming closer to me. Exactly what I wanted. From this high up, this should hurt a lot. Right as they go to draw their swords, I reach into my jacket and start bombarding them with the plethora of projectiles I collected. I nail one of them square in the nose and I don’t let up for a second.

“Retreat! Retreat!” the same woman screams. They turn and run away as fast as their legs could carry them. This pleases me yet also leaves me confused. This isn’t my first time encountering any Yuzeima in person and a swift retreat isn’t like them. The one time I saw a horde, they nearly wiped out roughly ten times their own numbers before being pushed back. Though, I’ve also never been told about them traveling in such small scouting parties like this. Whatever the reason, they are gone now.

Shimmying down the tree, I scurry over to check on the little fella. He’s got a lot of cuts and bruises on him, but nothing too deep. It looks more like surface level torture than any attempt to damage or kill the guy. It actually reminds me of the sorts of sadistic treatment Anna hands out. Not that she ever brought harm to me, but more that this seemed like the goal was psychological. I try to wake him asking, “Are you okay, little guy?” He’s barely even conscious and doesn’t respond more than a grunt. Then suddenly, a mammoth shadow casts over us both.

“Who said you could take my plaything away from me?” angrily asking the formerly missing leader of the Yuzreima party. “I wasn’t done torturing it yet!” Just seeing the feet and calves of this one I knew this was worse than before. The reason they were in such a small party and split so easily is because the women were the entourage of a particular psychotic man. Before even seeing his face, I recognize the armor and the build of the body it rested on as I slowly scroll sight upward. This is the one I met before.

“YOU!” we both shout in unison as our gazes interlock. This Yuzeima’s name is Volkov’lui ju Tala, or as we humans would say, Tala Volkov. This muscular, six and a half foot tall, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man draped in ebony and crimson colored armor is the patriarch of the Volkovich and the crown monarch of all Yuzeima. He is one of the most feared men on the entire planet with a bounty on his head so high that it is basically a blank check. Last time we met, Mak and I trapped him into a several-hundred-foot fall that he just walked off on his way home.

“Isn’t today my lucky day,” Tala chuckles out with a terrible grin, “Now I get to pay you back for what happened at the Selmii”hetriama.” Woosh! I narrowly dodge a punch he throws the second he stopped talking.

“Dude, that was like four years ago,” I reply nervously, “get over it!” He swings at me again and I take off running with the Ishpah in my arms. I’m a fast kid when I want to be. You wouldn’t believe the things Mak and I have outrun in our short lives. This time I don’t think speed alone is going to cut it. I quickly decide my small stature might be my savior. I jump over boulders, dip under longs, and whip around trees, hoping these obstacles will keep the distance between us healthy. Instead, I hear the explosive sound of things bursting and shattering behind me. Turning my head for just a second, I see Tala bashing through everything in his path like it was confetti paper. A juggernaut with four years of suppressed anger was seeking his vengeance for me. As I turn back to see where I’m going, I slam into a rock face. Cornered.

“And now,” he says grinding his teeth a little, “I’m going to give you many, many shallow cuts.” Tala pulls out his sidearm, a single-edge, mid-length sword unique to his people. “Then, right before you die,” he continues, “I’m going to toss you a couple hundred feet off a cliff. Then we’ll be even from last time.” Mere steps before he reaches us, the Ishpah regains full awareness and his normally red orb starts glowing like white-hot fire. Tala laughs and says, “No parlor trick is going to help you now.

“Shǎnmó’èrlì!” bellows the tiny creature. Sparks secrete from all over his body with greater frequency near his orb. In a blinding flash, a gigantic bolt of lightning explodes out his orb. Tala is sent flying through the air faster than when I was launched off my sister’s ship and for a hundred yards in front of us, around thirty yards wide, the jungle was fried away in total devastation. The critter stumbles to his feet and turns to greet me.

“That was the second most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!” I squeal with glee.

“S-sorry,” he stutters out. “I w-would have tried to help earlier, b-b-b-but they caught me in the middle of a n-nap. I’ve b-basically been tossed around since I woke up.”

“That’s alright, I’m just glad we’re both okay,” I say shaking his hand. “I go by Na. Do you want to be my friend!?”

“Beats being all alone l-like I was,” he says with fewer nerves than before. “My n-n-name is Corneilahhanbossilfindsertwich.”

“That is way too long and I’m never going to remember that.” I blatantly utter. “I’m gonna call you Trigger, cause you’re like a loaded gun.”

“A nickname? C-cool! I never cared for my given n-n-n-name anyhow.” Trigger spills out with excitement.

“Are you from around here?” I begin the most important line of questioning.

“B-b-born, raised, and exiled from my tribe all but t-ten kilos away,” he responds.

“Score!” I blurt out with relief. “Help me find something edible. I’m starving.”