The Vermilion Jungle breathed around Dr. Elara Vorne, thick with heat and the scent of damp earth. Every step through the tangled undergrowth felt like wading through a living thing, vines twisting and closing behind her as if the jungle itself were watching.
She wasn’t alone.
Rourke stalked just behind, his boots crunching leaves, his rifle slung across his back. He wasn’t here for discovery—he was a mercenary, paid to take whatever she found.
The air pulsed as they reached their destination.
The Temple of Uñach rose from the jungle like a forgotten god, its walls slick with moss and bioluminescent orchids, their petals glowing with an eerie, internal light. The air vibrated around them, as if the temple was alive.
Rourke’s hand twitched toward his knife. “This place screams treasure.”
Elara shook her head. “This isn’t treasure—it’s a weapon.” The glyphs carved into the stone spoke of something far older than gold, something hungry.
Rourke didn’t listen. He never did. He reached out and plucked an orchid.
The moment the bloom touched his skin, his scream ripped through the trees.
The petals seared his flesh, black veins spreading like cracks in glass. The temple shuddered, the air thickening as ancient vines slithered from the walls. His crew had no chance—one by one, they were strangled where they stood, dragged into the temple’s dark embrace.
Rourke fell to his knees, gasping, his body shifting. The orchid’s roots dug into him, threading through his veins, his skin peeling away like bark. His eyes turned a sickly green, his breath a wheezing rasp.
Elara’s hands shook as she ran her fingers over the glyphs. Warnings, prayers, curses. They spoke of a god who had devoured stars, who had fed on light until it was banished to the abyss.
The temple’s prismatic lens loomed above them, refracting the glow of the orchids, keeping the ancient hunger alive.
Elara made her choice.
She lifted a stone and shattered the lens.
Darkness rushed in like a flood, swallowing the temple’s glow. The orchids withered, their deadly tendrils recoiling. The air stilled.
When dawn broke, it revealed the truth.
Rourke lay dead, his body twisted, half-human, half something else. The jungle had claimed him.
Elara stood over him, gripping her journal. Then, without hesitation, she fed it to the fire. Pages curled, ink bled into ash.
Some discoveries weren’t meant for the world.
Some secrets were meant to rot.