The rainforest breathed in its endless rhythm—cicadas humming, water slipping over stone, macaws breaking the canopy with flashes of color. It was strange times and now there was whispers of strange sightings along the coast.

Yaretzi moved quietly along the riverbank, spear balanced lightly in her hand, collecting herbs her mother had once shown her. Then—an unnatural sound. Not bird. Not monkey. Thunder, followed by a sharp metallic clink. It felt as everything was silent for a moment before she could hear foreign voices twisting through the trees.

She froze.

Without a sound, she slipped behind a broad-rooted ceiba tree, pressing into shadow, lowering herself into the undergrowth. Through the leaves she saw them—three figures forcing their way through vines. Their chests gleamed with metal plates. Their faces were pale as if they were almost sick. They spoke in harsh, broken sounds that meant nothing to her ears.