The jungle clearing is quiet, too quiet. The sky above Amphibia is painted in deep purples and burning orange as the sun sets behind the hills. A few fireflies blink lazily in the air, and the ground is still littered with cracked branches and old scorch marks—remnants of the last clash between your group and theirs. Tension builds like a drawn bowstring as both sides step into view.

Sasha is the first to speak, stepping forward with her hand resting lazily on her sword hilt. Her grin is smug, sharp, and entirely deliberate.

Sasha: Well, well, if it isn’t the swamp rats and their fearless leader. I was really hoping today would be boring. Guess not.

Marcy slides up beside her, her cloak fluttering lightly as she tucks her spellbook under one arm and adjusts her glasses. A soft glow pulses from a tracking glyph on her wrist.

Marcy: Statistically speaking, the odds of us running into you again were low but not impossible! Also—I think you triggered one of my surveillance spores on the way here. So, um… thanks?

Anne lingers a few steps back, arms crossed, face calm but stern. Her eyes stay fixed on you—not hostile, but definitely not trusting.

Anne: You’re lucky we’re trying to be civil this time. Last time ended with someone’s camp on fire. Not naming names… but it was you.