Deep in the jungles of Falyndar, there was little silence to be had. The dark nooks and crannies of the tropical landscape, filled to unhealthy levels with all sorts of plants—both normal and monstrous—were ripe with the grating growls of prowling wild animals and hunting parties of Myrians. Danger was abound, and there was little to be had save the prospect of death or injury.
The microcosm of its wonderful environment, however, seemed untouched by the spoils of man. Syliras was as far as can be from its interiors, and the only beings who would have dared venture forth would have been the savage daughters of Myri, or the monstrous constructs and agents of Rhysol. Both were infinitely more aware of the value which the ecosystem provided, as either covering from preying, marauding eyes or as a place of expectable death.
The forest floor, in particular, glowed with a bright emerald green, for the rains have always been plentiful in the region. There was nothing moving on sight, discounting the swaying of lush vegetation to the fierce channeled winds of the interiors. Yet upon careful observation, life was still there, side-by-side with everything its inhabitants stood for. Nothing was to be disturbed, it seemed, that is, until an unseen river of lifeblood started to gush into a system quite unlike that of the region's nether.
Much to the consternation of a couple of predatory beetles--who were having their way with a colony of jungle ants--the earth they were stepping on began to heave and shake asunder. Much like any critter would do whenever there is a disaster coming, they immediately began to seek shelter. Within the enclave of a strange-looking shrub, one of the insects tried to seek solace from the coming disaster...
Only for the 'shrub' to close with great force, crushing the pitiful creature in its vice grip.
Everywhere else in the wilds, there was no sign of panic, no fluttering of desperate wings eager to escape the carnage of a sudden terrestrial upheaval. The surviving beetle looked on with its multitude of eyes, its minuscule brain nowhere near the evolutionary fringe required to comprehend what was happening. It was only the small mound of 'earth' with a detached 'shrub' lying on by its wayside was moving. With the creature sundered partner still inside it, the 'shrub' slowly laid itself flat on the ground, crushing whatever life would have been left in the unmistakably dead thing. It was seemingly trying to lift itself upward, with great gusts of wind soon escaping out of the hole-ridden 'rock' adjacent to it. A very large 'root' began to strain, the green disintegrating as powerful muscles began to surface from within. Slowly, the thick vines and roots which covered it began to unfurl and rip apart, rising up on two elephantine legs.
The newly emerged creature squinted its deep blue eyes, the line of sight inflicted with a temporary blindness borne from a deep night's sleep. His ears were resonating with fresh new sounds; streams cascading, unknown birds cawing, yet the strongest sound was throbbing from deep inside of him. He could hear a vigor echoing within his heart, seemingly rejuvenated from the forgetful time he had spent in dormant seclusion. It was slamming back and forth between his chest and the damp, slippery moss covering his whole person.
Haggard breaths began to slip out of his nostrils, dammed in by vegetation in itself. Snorting to relive that annoying condition, his senses came back like a roaring flood.
“How long has it been, since…? Where am I...?”
By some unclear, inexplicable reason he was lying on the forest floor, moss and vines having grown around his massive limbs. The faded blue of his skin hardly could hardly even stick out of the jungle thickset, for leaves and thorns have overcome the rough canvass of scarred, wounded azure flesh dotting his body.
For what has amounted to an eternity, he was a prostate, nondescript piece of 'something,' feeding on nothing but time and space, with no identity, no personality, and no history. For an amount of time unknown, he was not Sorian, not Navis, but nothing.
As the memories began to swell in his mind, emotions began to surge back into his person. He had been sleeping somewhere else, somewhere very distant from where he was then. A real rock had been his resting place before he came to, before a mighty struggle, lost in his yet hazy thoughts, erupted between him and a pack of raiders who had decided he'd fetch a good price on the slave market. His routine afternoon naps outside of Sanctuary was disturbed by their trespassing. Sorian retreated into their inner sanctum, and the fiercer Navis sprung into action, leaving broken bones and bleeding gashes in his wake.
He could starkly remember something pointed piercing his body from behind, something thin and metallic, yet he kept on fighting, not knowing or caring what it was that managed to injure him. Then, everything went black. Perhaps he was overcome, perhaps he fainted from blood loss--it was too hazy to tell. But whatever the reason, he was sure that he had lost consciousness, losing to the horde of slavers desiring the price he'd fetch.
The next time he had even a semblance of clarity in his thought, he felt queasy, as if he was on something that was moving on a very fluid path. Before his half-closed eyes, he could make out the outlines of square boxes and iron cages, and the smell of animal dung sprayed by seawater filled his sensitive nose. He was lying on a dark and foreboding cargo hold, with only the sun rays peeking from the deck to give him light. He could hear the drunken reverie of humans, laughing amongst themselves above him, seemingly mocking him in his distress. It was a bright and sunny day, and gulls were flying overhead.
Then, before he knew again what was going on, his shelter was rocking more violently than before, and the cheering of those dirty humans had been replaced by the howling of the wind and rain. His sight was breaking against the surges of force offered by the sea, and the animals within the hold were hollering in maniacal terror. The sound of breaking splinters and shattering wood was disturbingly clear, and the frightful shrieks of men swallowed by the vengeful wrath of nature.
The sea tasted more sweet than bitter to him, for freedom was granted from his chains when the human vessel capsized amidst the raging storm. With his mind set on a single-minded drive--life--he pushed his body towards the far shore, lightning and mighty waves heralding the skies and taunting his bid for survival.
And then reality came returning. Sorian was no longer in the dry grasslands of Cyphrus, where glassbeaks and the horsemen of the fields reigned supreme, but in a verdant cage of trees and other unknown beings.
Two words escaped his lips as he went about searching for the shore. "Kavala... Mao..."
He had to find a way to get home. And find out how long it had been.
Sorian would not have been able to hear her however, as a new sound came into earshot: the steady flow of water splashing over rocks, swift but shallow. In no time at all, Rhysati brought them to a small stream, a watery pathway that cut through the jungle floor. It was cool and clear, and the small fishes darting about under the surface proved its potability. A small tributary from the Kandukta Basin, it was only about as wide as Rhysati was tall, and its deepest part would only come up to the knees of the taller Akalak.