The rain-soaked jungle clung to me like the memory of betrayal. Every step through the thick, humid air was a reminder of the moment my son’s hand shoved me toward the river — his eyes cold, his wife’s fake tears still glistening in the moonlight. I had trusted them both. Loved them both. And they had tried to erase me for my fortune.
As I pushed through the dense undergrowth, my body ached, but my will only hardened. Each sound of the rainforest — the shrill cries of birds, the whisper of unseen creatures — seemed to echo the same truth: You are still alive. Keep moving.
By the time the sun began to set, my legs trembled, and the shadows grew long across the emerald floor. Just as my strength began to fade, I stumbled upon a small village tucked deep within the wilderness. The villagers gasped at the sight of me — torn clothes, bruised skin, eyes filled with determination. They took me in without hesitation, offering dry garments, a bowl of stew, and quiet shelter.
That night, as I spoke with the village elder, a woman whose gaze felt ancient and all-knowing, she studied me silently before speaking. “You have powerful enemies,” she said. “But you also have a powerful spirit. Do not return as prey. Return as the hunter.”
Her words were simple, but they cut through the fog in my mind like lightning. My son and his wife thought they had buried me with their greed — but I was very much alive. And now, I had time, distance, and silence on my side.