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The jungle was loud with the hustle and bustle of living as the leaves fluttered with air.
The darkness was cut through by light as the sun found its way here from fluttered leaves.
The banners of the warring clans snapped violently in the wind, but Dreleon barely heard them.
His mind was a labyrinth of calculations, his thoughts spinning around the "Bucket of Water" metaphor the Crane had used.
He was so deeply submerged in his own internal logic that he didn't even notice the approach of the royal messenger.
"Sir Dreleon," a voice chimed, cutting through his trance.
"Her Highness has finalized the selection of participants for the Bug River Hunt.
She demands your presence at the assembly grounds immediately."
"Okay," Dreleon replied.
It was a hollow, distracted response.
He followed the messenger mechanically, his feet moving over the uneven terrain while his spirit remained miles away, questioning the very nature of his mortal clock.
As they walked, the chaotic, wild foliage of the jungle outskirts began to recede, replaced by a sight of striking, regal splendor.
The assembly ground was unlike anything Dreleon had seen in the animal kingdoms.
It was a vast expanse of white stone and perfectly cultivated earth, so clean that not a single speck of dust disturbed the air.
It was a place where nature had been forced into submission by the sheer presence of the powerful gathered there.
Dreleon looked up and felt his pupils contract.
Suspended in the sky, defying gravity with casual ease, was a creature of vibrant, impossible colors.
It was a bird, yet its wings spanned the width of a small house, shimmering with shades of deep purple and brilliant orange.
Atop its head sat a crown of blood-red feathers that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic light.
Its eyes were two orbs of polished obsidian, reflecting the thousands of warriors gathered below.
"I am the Host of this year's competition," the bird spoke, its voice carrying an unnatural resonance that bypassed the ears and vibrated directly in the chest.
"I welcome the Predators gathered here today.
As you are all aware, the Bug River is a sacred boundary.
We are here to hunt, to cull the weak, and to—"
"Old bird, why all this nonsense?"
The voice didn't come from the stage.
It didn't come from the ground.
It was a heavy, tectonic sound that seemed to pour directly out of the sky itself.
The Host bird stiffened, its feathers ruffling in a sudden surge of agitation.
Dreleon's spatial perception instantly flared to life, his mind scanning the clouds for the source of the interruption.
He found nothing.
To his shock, the sky was empty, yet the weight of the speaker's presence was so dense it felt like the atmosphere was being compressed.
Higher-level stealth, Dreleon realized, a cold sweat forming on his brow.
He is right there, yet I am blind to him.
"In our era, did we waste time on such flowery explanations?" the invisible voice continued, dripping with a rough, predatory amusement.
"And you lot," he addressed the gathered crowd, his voice booming like distant thunder.
"All you need to understand is this: there is cunning prey waiting for you in the mud of the Bug River.
Consider that information my first gift to you."
"You..." the Host bird hissed, looking toward a patch of seemingly empty blue sky.
"Why must you meddle in the formal proceedings?"
"Ahem!
Ignore the bird," the heavy voice laughed.
"As a second gift, I will provide a tip.
A rule for the feast.
Whoever falls in this trial—whoever is not strong enough to survive the three months—will become the meal for the survivors.
The winners eat the losers.
It is the only law of the jungle."
A ripple of unease spread through the assembly.
Thousands of warriors looked at their neighbors, their eyes shifting from allies to potential food.
"Try not to die," the voice added with a sly, unseen smile.
"Oh, and the hunt will last exactly three months.
Accumulate as much as you can.
Harvest the shadows.
Claim the river."
The invisible speaker paused, the air itself seeming to hold its breath.
"Any questions?"
For ten agonizing seconds, the assembly was a graveyard of silence.
Not a single warrior dared to challenge the entity that could hide from the world's senses while dominating its atmosphere.
"Good," the voice thundered, followed by a roar of booming laughter.
"You are worthy Predators.
I am proud.
But remember this: a Predator never trusts another Predator.
There is a lie hidden in my sentences.
I truly hope that when you finally uncover the deception... you won't spend your last breath cursing my name."
The laughter echoed across the Bug River, fading slowly into the distance, leaving Dreleon standing in the silence of a grand spectacle that had suddenly turned into a death trap.
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