My Wild Beast

Pain throbbed at Yoa's temples again, his throat parched as he woke up to speckled sunlight blinding him slightly. With a low groan, he rubbed at his head as his mind blanked. What just happened? He couldn't recall anything after exiting the tunnels below Luna Lacus.

The sudden howls of monkey's shot him to his feet, almost costing him his balance and falling from the branch he'd been sleeping on. Any questions coating his tongue died as he looked around, discovering that he was in Vohraki lands. Yet none of the monkeys looked in his direction, scattered at his presence or tried chasing him away with aggressive roars, rocks, and spears.

It was almost like he was invisible. The howlers moved around, idle, relaxing in their nests, grooming each other lazily, their calls echoing through the canopy like any ordinary morning. There was no alarm about his presence.

One juvenile dangled by its tail from a nearby branch, peeling fruit and chattering softly as if Yoa wasn't there. Another let out a short bark before dozing off again.

Yoa blinked slowly, confusion drawing a deep line between his brows. Something wasn't right. The air shimmered faintly, like heat waves distorting the horizon, except it wasn't hot. This entire ordeal had been strange, yet he felt completely at ease.

He turned just as a ripple spread across the treetops. From the high canopy above, a figure descended—leaping, twisting through branches with the fluid agility only a howler monkey could achieve. His thick dark fur streaked with age, scars visible across his shoulders and chest. Yet his movements were purposeful, driven.

The monkey landed on a thick branch, staff in hand, raising it skyward as a burst of sunlight filtered through the leaves like a spotlight. Around him, other howlers grew quiet.

"Brahku," Yoa whispered, the name rising in his throat without knowing why. How did he know that name? And why did the name seem so relevant and important?

Just by watching the Vohraki, Yoa could tell he was powerful and all-knowing.

The elder guardian began to chant. It was unlike the howls the other monkeys voiced in the trees. His voice, deep and melodic, vibrated through the trees. Energy seemed to thrum along the bark, crackling through the air.

Down below, figures crept along the underbrush, quiet and lethal, agile, and their size indicating the tribe they came from before the usual spotted patterns beneath parts of their skin revealed their identities. Oncari. They were hunting on Vohraki land.

Not today. Brahku had stayed close to home, sensing trouble was afoot.

Wait. How did he know what Brahku thought? Yoa scowled. This sense of ease… it couldn't be real. He looked down at his hands—hands that were much larger than before he exited the cave below Luna Lacus. His gaze flicked back up as he paid more attention to the subtle signs that what was before him wasn't real.

In his peripheral vision, there was a rippling effect, like a pebble had been dropped into water. It flickered in and out for a few moments before disappearing, but it had been there. But the idea that this wasn't real didn't feel right either.

Every fibre of his being thrummed with the sense that this figure, Brahku, was real. That this was real. Or… Perhaps at one point it had been. It was almost like Yoa was watching a memory of some sort.

The abrupt silence among the howlers—creatures that would normally alert the entire canopy to a threat below—snapped Yoa's attention back to the scene unfolding before him. Silence was rare among the Vohraki, but now he understood why, for this moment, they acted against their usual instincts.

Brahku didn't shout a warning. He didn't charge. He tapped the end of his staff to the branch once—twice—and with each strike, vines surged from the tree trunks, curling like serpents. The forest moved for him.

Yoa watched, wide-eyed, as the invaders froze. Panic flickered through their ranks, weapons dropping as the jungle itself lashed out. Not a drop of blood spilled. Not a single death. Brahku routed them without raising a hand in violence.

Soft gasps rose from the Vohraki as Brahku revealed himself to his brethren. The other monkeys murmured to each other in awe, staring up at the guardian of the forest.

The vision began to fade, dissolving into golden mist.

Yoa reached forward, but the branch beneath him vanished. He fell gently through darkness.

When the mist cleared, he was somewhere else. Wet, heavy heat pressed in on him from all sides, and the scent of marsh and brine clogged his nose. Murky water lapped at stone walkways, and mangroves stretched their twisted roots like skeletal fingers across the bayou.

Thunder cracked overhead. The sky glowed green with storm light.

Ahead, a crocodile slid from the water and began to shift—massive limbs becoming humanoid, jaws receding into a broad, scarred face. He stood tall, armoured in rough-hide and bone plating, eyes golden and unblinking.

Yoa knew who this had to be before the rest of this vision, this memory played out before him. This crocodile shifter was another guardian. Tayun's guardian. He released a breath, awe curling around his chest, even for an Apatka. But this particular Apatka was a guardian, like him.

Wait, was he a guardian? That thought bounced through his mind as a hollowness crept into his stomach, and his limbs suddenly felt heavy and weak. The pain at his temples returned, along with that awful dryness in his throat.

Something kept niggling at the back of his mind, trying to gain his attention. But he couldn't quite figure out what it was, especially when the scarred man with such an imposing presence marched towards a burning village.

His name rang in Yoa's ears. Kaari. That was the guardian's name. Yoa didn't question this new knowledge that filled his mind like water trickling into a never-ending pool.

Cries rose through the smoke billowing towards the darkening skies. The darkness spreading and merging with the pale clouds. The rippling effect of the memory shimmered along the sky just as Yoa was yanked by an invisible force and abruptly appeared in the centre of the village falling to destruction.

A massive beast—half-man, half-boar—stalked through the flames, swiping and howling, tusks covered in gore. Warriors fell before it, their spears shattering uselessly.

Yoa's breath hitched as the crocodile guardian charged at it.

He didn't roar. He didn't threaten. He tackled the beast into the mud with his crushing weight. Unlike Brakhu, Kaari used his physical strength and intelligence to outwit the boar-man. Each strike shattered bones, both the threat and Kaari's.

The fight was savage and long but while the guardian dealt with this threat, the village worked together to douse out the angry flames that could eat up the entire island if they didn't act fast.

The boar-man fell with a loud thud, and Kaari stood victorious, barely breathing, one arm torn and useless at his side, his body splattered with blood and soot, but his eyes shone with pride and triumph.

From the shadows, tribal chiefs watched.

"He holds the river's patience," one said.

"And the storm's fury," said another.

"He is Yiska."

Just as Yoa tried to move closer, lightning flashed, and everything changed again.

He now stood in silence.

Dense jungle surrounded him, quiet save for the steady beat of rainfall on leaves.

Mist rolled in over sacred stones—monoliths etched in ancient glyphs, pulsing with faint blue light. A battle had already taken place. The ground was littered with remains of shadowy figures, smoke curling from claw marks along the bark and soil.

Then, she stepped forward.

A jaguar—sleek, golden-eyed—shifted in the mist. Her body reshaped as she walked, becoming a tall, lithe woman with skin the colour of rich umber, hair in braids wrapped with bone beads and feathers. Her gaze burned with purpose.

She knelt beside a fallen warrior, whispered something, and pressed her forehead to his. A glow pulsed once from their touch, and the warrior stirred—alive again.

Yoa's chest constricted.

That wasn't power. That was soul magic.

She turned toward a group of injured scouts, still shielding children behind them. Raising her arms, she summoned a quiet wind that lifted the veil of fear from the air itself.

"She walks with Tayun," a woman whispered from the trees.

"She speaks with the dead."

"She is Yiska."

Her name echoed, like something sacred.

Zanika.

Yoa fell to his knees. Not from weakness, but reverence. These were no longer dreams. These were visions. Truths. Lessons. No matter what the threat was, they showed up and fought to the very end, even if it cost them their lives.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, mist curling around his arms, visions flickering across the back of his eyelids. He accepted them all, taking in the knowledge of each guardian shown to him.

But when he opened his eyes again, Luna Lacus was above him again, and the ground beneath him… real. His mind spun with knowledge crammed into his skull as it pounded like a headache needing release.

The distant echo of dripping water reached his ears, each drop only sharpening his sudden thirst. Or was it sudden? The twisting, cramping pain in his stomach spoke another story. He raised a trembling hand, wincing at the weakness in his limbs, and noted it was smaller.

Yoa blew out a breath. He was back. Weaker, smaller, yet everything had changed.

'Yisssska….' The stars whispered to him as golden particles, like stardust, whooshed towards him in a flurry and swirled around his body, coiling around his arms, sweeping along his shoulders and neck while his eyes shimmered brightly like the burning sun.

His back arched, arms strained, stretched out by his sides as his lungs expanded. Then abruptly, his body was released and he collapsed in a panting mess. Sweat beaded at his head and his stomach clenched tightly from lack of food.

Zahul's cloaked head appeared above him. "Thank the gods it's you."