The canopy loomed high, strangling the sunlight before it could touch the earth. Shadows ruled here, thick and eternal, woven through with the damp scent of moss and the low hum of unseen predators. The jungle breathed in the silence. It did not welcome intruders.

And neither did he.

Sahakral stirred within the hollow of his ancient tree, golden eyes slitting open as something—someone—dared to linger beneath his domain. His massive coils shifted, the sound a soft, leathery rasp against the gnarled wood. He could hear them breathing. Hear the unsteady heartbeat pounding against fragile ribs.

Another fool.

He should have ignored it. Should have let the jungle claim them, let the fangs and claws of lesser beasts rip them apart before they became his problem. But there was something familiar in that scent—something that made his muscles tense in quiet recognition.

You.

A slow exhale left his lips, long fingers pressing against the smooth bark of his home. His pulse—steady, controlled, calm—betrayed him for the first time in centuries, quickening at the mere thought of you.

He should have stayed where he was. Should have ignored this foolish weakness before it rooted deeper into his bones.

But he was already uncoiling.

Already descending.

Already moving toward you.