Fractured Pride

(The chapters that follow this one will be more like spin-offs — they won’t follow our main protagonists, but they take place at the same time.

I wrote them while a friend of mine was driving during a recent trip. Since I only had my phone with me, I didn’t want to work on the main storyline.

Anyway, I have a few of these side chapters, and I’ll revise and post them before returning to the main characters.)

The stifling forest whispered with the hum of insects and the slow creak of leaves. The principal caste couples, freshly departed from Velkaris, had settled in a clearing near a spring — too confident, too careless.

Thenara was riding Torven, her movements fierce and rhythmic, her gaze sharp with irritation as she toyed with a dagger between her fingers.

— “That bitch from the secondary caste has no honor,” she growled through clenched teeth. “Attacked me when I wasn’t even looking. And had the audacity to celebrate. I bet she cheated.”

Torven, sprawled beneath her, smirked lazily, enjoying the rhythm.

— “Secondaries always cheat. It’s what they do — they know they can’t win.”

Thenara moved harder, eyes gleaming with a dangerous mix of anger and desire.

— “She should be branded again — right across the forehead,” she snarled.

Torven moaned, his fingers digging into Thenara’s flesh as he climaxed, breathless and slick with sweat.

Myren, stretched out near the spring, watched her girlfriend furiously ride Torven past the peak and scoffed with disdain.

— “Her shame’s already a scar. The brand’s just decoration now.”

Zareya rolled her shoulders, clearly bored.

— “Talk less. The jungle hasn’t even moved yet and you’re already chewing on failures.”

Torven chuckled, sharp as ever.

— “Failure is thinking the forest demands respect. We’re the ones who enforce it.”

The laughter resumed. They spoke carelessly about who would return with the most trophies, who would lead their own group. They’d grown up believing the Principal Caste stood above all — even the jungle itself.

They were wrong.

Silence came first. Dense, heavy, unnatural.

Jarn stopped laughing.

— “Something’s wrong.”

The shadows slithered from the trees like serpents. Men and women without banners, without honor — but with eyes that had stared down ****. They wore rough pelts, teeth, and scars — and their gazes were soaked in hunger and lust.

At the center, she emerged.

Tall. Her eyes burned with restrained fury. Her body was marked with the ink of war, and she wore a cloak made from the hide of a Goliath — the symbol of the First Caste still faintly visible, stained with mud and dried blood.

She said nothing. Just watched. Like someone who had seen this scene before — overconfident youths, with their caste marks gleaming on their right shoulders and left calves. Arrogance etched into skin.

She tilted her head slightly, assessing. Then spoke, voice low, dry, too calm:

— “You stink of pride. Thought it was the forest... but no. It’s you. Thinking the jungle bows to the mark you wear.”

Zareya rose slowly, eyes locked on the woman.

— “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

— “No. And it doesn’t matter.” She nodded toward the burned symbol on her cloak. “That used to mean something to me. Now... it’s just a reminder.”

Some of the intruders shifted. Three bore the faded marks of the secondary caste — their symbols scarred over, rejected or reclaimed. Others were wild men, ravenous, with restless hands and devouring eyes.

The woman stepped closer, facing Myren, Zareya, and Thenara.

— “You think you’re untouchable. I’m sure those crusty old fools warned you, but you were too arrogant to listen. Out here, you’re just fresh meat.”

She made a subtle hand signal.

They were seized in moments — Torven, still panting and soaked with sweat, was dragged away by the arms; Jarn was **** to his knees, a boot grinding into his back.

The leader delivered her verdict:

— “The jungle doesn’t bow to symbols. Out here, you’re no nobles. You have no names. You are nothing.”

It was the last thing they heard before the world went black.