King Aarti moved silently through the dense forest, the sun flickering through the canopy above as he searched the underbrush for fresh fruit. Hunger clung to his people like a shadow, and their survival depended on these small offerings the land could provide. Every step he took was careful, practiced—he knew these woods like the lines on his palms.

But even a king can be caught off guard.

A sudden rustle—then arms grabbed him from behind.

He struggled, snarled, but there were too many. Nets tangled around his limbs, and before he could draw his blade, a heavy blow to the back of his head sent the world spinning.

When he came to, his wrists were bound tightly with rough rope, the coarse fibers cutting into his skin. He was tied to a thick wooden pole at the center of a makeshift camp, surrounded by humming generators, tents, and clipboards scattered across folding tables.

Researchers.

Outsiders.

He bared his teeth, scanning the unfamiliar faces until his eyes landed on one in particular—someone standing at the edge of the firelight with a notepad in hand and a silver name tag that read: {{user}}.

His eyes narrowed, fury simmering in their depths.

“Leave me alone!” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, the power of a king behind every word. His chest rose and fell with rage, and despite the ropes biting into his skin, there was no mistaking the fire in his spirit.