Creating Civilization In My Private Island

"Help me!" Deya's voice cracks as she reaches out, clawing at the air, her body writhing against the ant's crushing hold.

Rylis turns, his heart pounding in his chest, but his expression is hardened. "Don't stop!" he orders, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Keep going!"

Tiran hesitates for a split second, but Rylis's command jolts him back into motion. The others sprint after Rylis, their faces grim, knowing they can't afford to slow down. They move with everything they've got, weaving through the narrow tunnels, hearts racing, ears pinned back.

Behind them, Deya's screams echo through the cave, growing fainter. The ant, however, doesn't bother to pursue the fleeing Vorrans. It has its prey. It doesn't need to chase the others—it's already satisfied with the one it has caught.

As they burst out of the cave into the cold night air, Tiran stumbles to a stop, panting heavily. "Deya... she—she died." he gasps, eyes wide with disbelief.

Rylis, chest heaving from the sprint, grips his blade tightly, staring back at the cave's entrance. "I know," he says, his voice hoarse. "We can't fight something like that."

The remaining Vorrans look shaken, their fear palpable. They've never faced an enemy like this—a creature that moves faster than they do, that hunts them as easily as they hunt prey.

But as Rylis steels himself, his mind already racing with thoughts of how to counter this new predator, one thing becomes clear: this forest is no longer theirs.

Rylis stands still for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. The night air is cold against his fur, and the weight of what just happened presses down heavily on his shoulders. Deya's screams still echo in his mind, but he shakes them away. Now isn't the time for grief—they need to act.

"We need to report this to the village," Rylis says firmly, turning to face the remaining hunters. His voice is steady, though his eyes betray the turmoil beneath. "They need to know what's out here. Let the elders decide what to do next."

Tiran, still visibly shaken, looks at him with disbelief. "Report? What about Deya? We can't just—leave her with that thing!"

Rylis clenches his jaw, eyes narrowing. "She's already gone." His tone is harsh, but not out of cruelty—it's out of necessity. "If we go back, we'll die too. You saw how fast it was."

Tiran's fists tighten at his sides, but he says nothing. The truth stings, but it's undeniable. Deya was gone the moment the ant's mandibles closed around her.

Nela, one of the other hunters, steps forward, her face pale but determined. "Rylis is right. We need to warn the village. If that thing's been here a while... it's probably not alone. There could be more."

Her words hang in the air, sending a shiver down the group's spines. The idea of more of those creatures lurking in the forest, silently hunting, is a nightmare they aren't ready for.

Rylis glances back toward the dark maw of the cave, his mind racing. "We have to make sure the village strengthens its defenses. We've been focusing on our usual predators—the hounds, the serpents—but this... this is something different. We'll need new strategies, new traps, and more eyes on the forest."

The group nods in agreement, their expressions grim. There's a silence between them, filled with the weight of Deya's death and the terrifying realization that the balance in their world has shifted. The Vorrans have always been the apex predators of the forest, but now, something new has emerged—something deadlier, something faster.

"Let's move," Rylis says, his voice brokering no argument. He starts toward the village, his steps purposeful, though his thoughts are clouded with uncertainty.

As they make their way through the dense trees, the usual sounds of the night forest seem distant, almost muted. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig makes their ears twitch, their hearts race, as if the unknown enemy could be watching them, stalking them in the dark.

Tiran keeps pace beside Rylis, his gaze fixed ahead but his mind clearly elsewhere. After a long moment, he speaks quietly, his voice thick with guilt. "If we'd been faster... we could've saved her."

Rylis shakes his head, his jaw tight. "Don't do that. It wasn't your fault. None of us expected this... thing. We couldn't have known."

"But we left her."

"We had to," Rylis says sharply, his eyes flashing. "If we'd stayed, it would've taken all of us. Deya wouldn't want us to die senselessly."

Tiran falls silent, his grief and frustration palpable. But there's no room for arguing now. Their focus needs to be on the village—on protecting everyone else from the threat that lurks in the darkness.

As the towering trees begin to thin and the faint glow of the village's fires becomes visible in the distance, Rylis feels a deep sense of urgency. The village is safe for now, but not for long.

When Rylis and his group finally reach the village, the sky is just starting to lighten, the horizon tinged with pale hues of dawn. The village walls, sturdy and built for defense, loom ahead.

As they enter through the wooden gates, they're greeted by a few night guards. The guards notice the group's missing member, their expressions quickly turning to concern, but Rylis doesn't stop to explain. "We need to speak with the chief, now," he says, his voice brokering no delay.

The guards nod and allow them through without question, sensing the urgency in Rylis's tone. They rush through the village, past huts and homes where Vorrans are still stirring from their sleep. Rylis's legs feel heavy, not just from the physical exertion but from the weight of what they're about to reveal.