The steam rose and curled in the bright morning light, cutting golden pillars through the shade of the jungle. Takimaru leaned forward, pressing a gentle hand along the long neck of Chomny and did his best low chortle that typically soothed the lumbering leviathan, and steered him at an angle for the descent into the valley. Rainwater streamed off the giant leaves as they were disturbed, showering them in bursts of cold, a reminder of the narrow reprieve of weather that permitted this mission.
  About halfway down, Chomny slipped as the muddy steps dislodged part of the hillside. There he was forced to climb again in long sliding attempts to gain purchase in the massed roots, which usually gave a sure footing, but now kept peeling off in mats of growth that quickly became dangerous mud-sleds. After a struggle, he had to lie on his belly and let out a troubled moan, as the pair slid now backward in the direction they’d intended to go. Takimaru was up in a crouch on his saddle, as ready as he could be to jump off and avoid being crushed without signaling the move to his companion or giving him cause to panic.
  “There, there,” he crooned, rubbing the beast’s side as they came gradually to a stop at the base of the hill, surrounded by tall reeds extending out of the swampy water that now engulfed them. Takimaru removed his bow and considered using it to find the depth on the shallow side to judge whether it was wise to dismount and help his friend out, but before he could decide Chomny had already found his footing and rose, forcing him back into his saddle.
  From there the journey grew hot as they made their way exposed to the sun along the banks of still black water. Takimaru became anxious as the most difficult part of the adventure approached—the point where he must separate from Chomny to leave his friend hidden and alone so far into enemy territory. Finally they reached the place where he pulled on the reins, dropped down, and began guiding the giant creature deep into the undergrowth. Reluctantly Chomny laid down as he was bid with a parting whimper, as Takimaru collected his gear and departed alone toward the cliffs of the mines.
  Though the sky had clouded over quickly on the solitary march, and grown dark in patches, Takimaru located the sun overhead—they had made adequate time, after all. There was still a chance of a return to camp only a short while after nightfall. The terrain grew rocky and he began hugging the cliff wall with the cover of greenery slipping out below until, rounding a corner, he found himself exposed and had to scale his way down to a retracted ledge, a crack in the cliffside, where he could rest for a moment and survey his adversaries in relative safety. He drank water from a pouch then and listened intently to the quiet, steadily hissing wind and waited.
  Overhead, the sky had become one deep shadow blanketing the unnatural cascade of cuts in the quarry, squared-off wounds gouged into the land, in a darkness that was well suited to it. The wind crescendoed and when, all at once, it hushed, there was a distant low groaning mixed with the murmurs and crunching of workmen. Not too far now, and approaching, was the monolithic fleet of loud machinery, sending up black smoke from its pipes, hauled by columns of enslaved dwarves and flanked by mammoths ridden by orcs. Takimaru positioned himself, readying his bow with one long thin scissor-bladed arrow, his signature invention. As the horde drew near, the rain came, first in large sporadic drops and then all in one loud constant torrent.

Written by a human without AI. Cover image made with Midjourney.

© Subcreation.design 2026. All rights reserved.