?The waves crashed violently against the jagged cliffs of Tizra, as if the island itself was warning him to turn back. Amazal's hands were bound, his body bruised, but his mind burned with defiance. The exile had begun.

  ?"You always had a big heart, didn't you, Amazal?" the captain sneered, his voice dripping with dark mockery as he shoved Amazal toward the edge of the rowboat. "The noble soldier who couldn't stand to see a peasant bleed. Tell me, does your 'justice' feel heavy now that it's forged in iron?"

  ?The other soldiers laughed—a hollow, cruel sound that died quickly in the heavy air of Tizra. "Don't die too fast, boy!" one of them shouted from the back of the boat. The captain leaned in close, his breath smelling of rot, and whispered with a terrifying grin: "They say the island doesn't just kill you. It unmasks you. You'll wish for the executioner's blade before the first moon rises."

  ?Amazal's mind flashed back to that cursed night: the stench of cheap wine on the General's breath, and the way that innocent citizen had crumbled under the commander's drunken fists. Amazal hadn't thought of ranks or consequences when he stepped in to stop the injustice; he had only thought of what was right. And for that "right," they had stormed his home while he was sleeping, dragging him from his bed like a common thief, stripping him of his uniform and his honor by the order of a leader who never forgot the insult.

  ?"Since you love defending the weak so much," the captain continued his mockery, "go to Tizra. Go and force the island to be fair. Perhaps the giants will appreciate your pathetic morals before they crush your skull."

  ?With a final, violent kick, Amazal was sent tumbling onto the rocky shore. The boat shuddered and groaned as the soldiers began to row back toward Aglid's warships, their silhouettes vanishing into the grey mist.

  ?Alone. Truly alone. Not even the wind dared whisper in his ear. And yet, he felt it—the eyes. Watching. Judging. Waiting.

  ?Amazal struggled to his feet, his breath ragged. His hands were bound in heavy iron shackles, but the chains were long enough to grant him a cruel mockery of freedom—just enough to crawl, but never enough to fight. He looked around, but there were no giants in sight. Only a suffocating, eerie landscape of twisted trees and jagged stone peaks that looked like ancient teeth jutting from the earth.

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  ?The cliffs loomed above him, their edges jagged like shattered glass, while strange, moss-covered stones littered the ground, glowing faintly in the thick mist. The wind carried whispers he could not understand, as if the island itself remembered the countless souls who had perished upon its shores. The smell of salt mixed with decay and an older, darker scent—something that smelled of blood and forgotten earth.

  ?As he began to trek into the dense, dark thickets of the island, a chilling sensation crawled up his spine. He felt eyes upon him. Every shadow seemed to shift, every crack in the stone felt like a watching eye. His heart pounded faster, but his mind raced even more. Is this the island playing tricks? Or is something alive, something that has waited for him?

  ?Hours of walking under the oppressive fog left him parched. His throat burned like hot coals. His tongue was dry as sand. He stumbled upon a stagnant, dark pond nestled between grey rocks. Desperate, he knelt, his chains clashing against the stones, and scooped the cold water into his mouth, quenching his thirst just enough to survive.

  ?As he pulled his head back, wiping the moisture from his lips, a sharp thwack sliced through the air.

  ?A black-feathered arrow hissed past his ear, missing his skull by mere inches, and buried itself deep into the tree trunk behind him. The vibration of the shaft hummed against the wood—a death song that had missed its mark by a heartbeat.

  ?Amazal's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Cold terror washed over him. He didn't look back. He didn't wait for a second shot. Panic drove him forward. They're hunting me. But who? What? The chains rattled frantically with every step as he stumbled deeper into the suffocating jungle, his mind racing through every possible scenario.

  ?The fog grew thicker, swallowing his vision. Trees bent unnaturally, their branches twisting like the fingers of ancient spirits, scraping at him as he passed. Shadows lengthened and shifted with an almost sentient intent, and for the first time, he truly understood the soldiers' warnings—this island did not simply kill. It toyed with the mind, it tested the soul, it whispered doubts that no man should bear alone.

  ?Every step felt heavier than the last, every breath burned. But amidst the fear, a spark of defiance remained. I will not die here. I will not be claimed by this cursed land.

  ?And then he sensed it—a faint, subtle rustle, deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. He froze. Every instinct screamed to run, yet he could not stop now. He had survived the voyage, survived the fall, and if Tizra wanted to break him, it would have to do so knowing he had not yet bent.

  ?In the shadows of the jungle, behind the twisted trees and jagged stone peaks, something waited. It was neither friend nor foe, yet its presence was undeniable. A heartbeat in the mist, a watchful gaze that measured every motion, every breath. For a fleeting second, the island itself seemed alive, breathing around him, aware of his intrusion.

  ?With a cry torn from the depths of his being, Amazal scrambled forward, chains rattling like iron drums in the oppressive silence. The jungle closed in around him, thick, suffocating, alive. Every shadow seemed to follow him, every stone seemed to remember him. But he ran anyway, driven by fear, defiance, and a singular, burning will to survive.