Then Collins coughed. It was a small sound. Dry. Almost missed. Harry's head snapped up. "He just coughed."
Every boy froze. Aaron did not look surprised. He pressed two fingers to Collins' neck, eyes closed. "They will wake," he said calmly. "They are still healing."
Hope rushed through the group like a sudden wind. Some laughed. Some wiped their faces. Someone whispered thanks to gods they barely believed in.
They slept that night clinging to that hope. Harry did not sleep well. The forest felt closer after midnight. Sounds carried farther. Every crackle of fire, every rustle of leaves tugged at his nerves. When pressure finally woke him, he sat up slowly, heart already racing.
He stepped away from the camp, careful not to wake anyone. The night air was cold. He relieved himself quickly, pouring the urine from his balls. His eyes scanning the darkness out of habit.
That was when something moved above him. A branch creaked. A shape dropped lightly to the ground. A monkey stood a few steps away, small and thin, its eyes reflecting firelight that didn't reach this far. It tilted its head, studying him.
Harry frowned. Animals were common here. He turned to head back.
"Benjamin Salim," the monkey called.
The whisper froze him mid-step. His spine stiffened. That name. Again. Slowly, Harry turned.
The monkey walked closer, its movements unnervingly deliberate. "It is truly you," it said. "You have returned."
Harry's breath caught. His pulse hammered in his ears. "Who is Benjamin Salim?" he asked. "Why do you keep calling me that?" The monkey stopped.
For a moment, it only stared at him. Then its face shifted, something like confusion passing through it. "You do not remember?" Harry shook his head. "No. Please. Tell me."
The monkey's lips curled, not quite a smile. "Then there is no need talking about it." It turned and leapt back into the trees.
"No, wait!" Harry stepped forward, panic flaring. "Please do not go. I need to know." Branches shook as the monkey vanished deeper into the forest.
Harry took two more steps, then stopped. The darkness ahead felt thicker. He could almost feel eyes on him. Old. Patient. Fear gripped him hard enough to root his feet to the ground.
He turned back. The campfires glowed faintly through the trees. Human sounds. Breathing. Life. Harry returned and sat near the fire, knees drawn up, staring into the flames until dawn crept in pale and quiet.
Benjamin Salim.
The name burned in his mind, refusing to fade.
When morning came, Collins groaned. Sammy followed minutes later. Relief broke through the camp like sunlight. Aaron stepped back, watching as others rushed forward, helping them sit up, offering water, steadying shaking limbs.
Harry stayed where he was, eyes distant. The forest had begun to whisper. And it knew him.
"What happened?" Collins asked.
Aaron crouched beside him, fingers still stained gray from ash and herbs. He spoke quietly, but every word landed like a stone. The fire. The venom. The waiting. Collins stared at his own hands while listening, flexing them as if unsure they still belonged to him.
When Aaron finished, Collins said nothing. His jaw tightened. His eyes dropped. Whatever fire once lived there had drowned in something damp and heavy. Humility crashed on him as he realized that only unity will keep them far.
The sun pushed through the trees, thin blades of light cutting the mist. The boys rose slowly, sore, stiff, silent. No one joked. No one argued. "We have to keep going?" Harry said.
He unfolded the map. The parchment crackled in the morning air. His finger slid across inked lines and stopped. Northwest.
They moved.
Boots sank into wet soil. Leaves brushed their legs. A narrow stream cut across their path, water murmuring softly, deceptively calm. They crossed one by one, splashes swallowed quickly by the forest.
Above them, unseen, something watched. At the far bank, the trees thickened. The light dimmed as if swallowed whole. The air turned cold. Heavy. The boys slowed without meaning to.
A sound rolled through the forest. Low. Deep. A lion's roar. Several boys spun around, weapons half-raised. Before breath returned to their lungs, the sound twisted. Bones popping. Breath hitching.
A bleat followed. Confused. Wrong. They turned again. Then a voice spoke.
Human. Too close. "They sent you here to die once again." The words slid through the trees like a blade through cloth.
Every boy froze. Fear crawled up their spines, prickling skin, locking joints. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath. "Who is there?" Sammy cried out.
His voice cracked. The sound echoed once, then died.
Silence pressed in.
A shadow shifted between the trunks ahead. Not fully stepping out. Just enough to be seen. Tall. Still. Watching.
Harry's fingers tightened around his weapon. His heart slammed so hard it hurt. He scanned the trees, the ground, the shadows above. The voice had come from everywhere and nowhere.
Leaves rustled behind them. Then to the left. Then overhead. The boys slowly turned in a circle, backs nearly touching, breath shallow, eyes wide.
Another step. Closer. Branches creaked under deliberate weight. The shadow moved again. And this time, it smiled.