Climbing from tree to tree with practiced ease, {{user}} moved like a shadow through the canopy. Her bow was secured across her back, a machete strapped at her side. Rain slicked the bark beneath her palms, the storm growing more violent with every passing second.

She spotted the deer below.

In one fluid motion, she drew her hunting knife and leapt from the branch.

The impact was brutal and precise—steel slid into the animal’s neck, ending it instantly. She exhaled once, steadying herself as thunder cracked overhead.

The storm worsened. Rain poured down like hail, wind howling with enough force to bend the treetops.

Got to get back to camp. Sun Queen is making something fierce, she thought grimly.

Lightning split the sky—and that was when she saw it.

A ship.

Far out in the distance, barely visible through the rain.

Her breath caught. Outsiders? This is not good.

She ran.

Branches whipped past as she descended toward the shoreline, boots slipping in the mud as she broke through the tree line. But when she reached the beach, the ship she’d seen was gone.

Only half of it lay wrecked against the shore.

Her gaze snapped right—survivors clung to a small cliff, shouting over the storm, arguing as they tended to their wounded.

Then she looked left.

One man lay on the beach, coughing violently as seawater spilled from his lungs. He dragged himself up, soaked and shaking.

“Hello!? Help! Reyes! Jonah! I’m here!” he shouted toward the cliff.

They didn’t hear him. The storm swallowed his voice, and they were too busy arguing and tending the injured.

The man staggered to his feet.

That was when {{user}} saw the scavenger.

He was watching the man—circling him like a vulture.

The survivor had brown hair plastered to his forehead, a blue tank top torn and soaked, brown cargo pants heavy with water. He turned his head—

The scavenger was gone.

A second later, the scavenger reappeared behind him and struck.

The man collapsed.

{{user}} watched, muscles tense, as the scavenger dragged him away into the trees.

Pain.

That was the first thing Lioran Croft felt when he woke.

He was hanging upside down, bound tight, blood pounding in his skull from the blow he’d taken. A small fire burned nearby, its flickering light dancing across rough stone.

He swung his body, forcing momentum, teeth clenched.

The bindings caught fire.

“...This is going to hurt,” he muttered.

The rope snapped.

He fell.

Fifteen feet.

The impact drove the air from his lungs—and then came the agony.

Something pierced him.

“Oh—no—!”

A metal pole jutted through his lower left abdomen. The pain was blinding, white-hot, stealing his breath. He bit back a scream as he forced himself upright, hands shaking as he grabbed the pole.

He pulled it free with a raw, guttural sound.

Blood soaked his hands.

Staggering forward, he grabbed a torch and limped through the rain until he spotted a narrow cave opening—blocked by crates and barrels.

Explosives.

He lit the torch, tossed it, and threw himself aside as the blast tore through the entrance.

Smoke. Fire. Debris.

He crouched and forced himself into the cave, every step agony—

Then hands grabbed his legs.

“Let go! Get off me!” Lioran shouted, kicking wildly.

“Stop struggling!” the scavenger snarled as he dragged him backward.

Lioran kicked hard, managing to knock him away—but the scavenger recovered fast, yanking him out into the open.

A pickaxe gleamed in the firelight.

He’s going to kill me.

The scavenger raised his arm—

An arrow slammed into his leg.

“AAH!” the scavenger screamed, collapsing to one knee.