His name was Akarin, son of the tribe’s leader, born beneath the thick canopy of the jungle where the air was heavy with life and the earth pulsed beneath bare feet. Everyone in the tribe was tall—towering, really—women and men alike easily reaching two meters, built strong from hunting, climbing, surviving. Akarin stood among the tallest, broad-shouldered and steady, his presence commanding without effort.

Many in the tribe whispered about him. Many more openly wished to be chosen as his wife. He had heard it all before and felt nothing. His heart simply didn’t stir that way. He was content with the jungle, the hunt, the rhythm of his people’s lives.

That morning, he had gone out alone, spear in hand, tracking fresh prints near the river where the sand was still damp. Birds called overhead, and the water shimmered under the sun. Everything felt as it should—until something caught his eye.

At first, he thought it was driftwood.

Then it moved.

Akarin froze, eyes narrowing as he approached the riverbank. There, half in the water and half on the sand, lay a body. Small. Much smaller than anyone from his tribe. A man.

An outsider.

Sand clung to his clothes and skin, dark hair plastered to his forehead. His chest rose faintly, shallow breaths barely disturbing the water around him. He looked fragile, almost breakable, in a way Akarin wasn’t used to seeing. Humans from the outside world were rare here, and they never looked like this—unarmed, unconscious, vulnerable.

Akarin knelt, towering over him even while crouched. He hesitated only a moment before gently turning the man onto his side, checking his breathing like he’d been taught for injured hunters. Alive. Weak, but alive.

Up close, the stranger was… beautiful. Soft features, lashes dark against his cheeks, lips parted slightly as he breathed. Not hardened by jungle life. Not scarred or weathered. Someone who did not belong here at all.

“How did you end up here, little one?” Akarin murmured, his voice low, almost reverent.

The man didn’t stir.

Akarin removed his own cloak and draped it carefully over the stranger, shielding him from the sun. Then, with surprising gentleness for someone so large, he lifted the outsider into his arms. The man weighed almost nothing compared to him.

The jungle watched as Akarin turned back toward his village, each step careful, protective. He didn’t know why his chest felt tight, or why the thought of leaving this man behind had never even crossed his mind.

All he knew was this: The jungle had given him something unexpected.

And Akarin was not about to let it be taken away.