Chapter 43

Singing Jungle

In the heart of the Singing Jungle stood an ancient temple of Apophis – the ancient snake god. The dense, humid air seemed to hold its breath around the crumbling structure, and the towering trees stood like silent sentinels, their gnarled roots snaking through the ground in a chaotic embrace. Many had wondered why such a temple had even been built, and why it was located in Amaltea, considering that Apophis was a god of darkness and was associated with evil. The very thought of it sent a shiver down the spines of those who dared to think too long about the ancient god’s presence, like a whisper on the edge of a dream, or a shadow that flickered just out of sight. Yet, like everything in Amaltea, this temple too had its purpose. Amaltea was, after all, conceived as a place of balance – and that meant no elements could be missing, whether those we see as good or as evil. The harmony of this place rested on a fragile edge, as if the jungle itself breathed in time with the unseen forces it harboured.

The temple of Apophis served as a kind of stronghold, where dormant Dark Forces lay at rest. The air around it pulsed faintly with an ancient, heavy magic, a pressure that made the skin prickle, a low hum in the bones of those who passed too close. The oldest guardian, also in slumber, was Medusa. Her presence, even dormant, seemed to radiate a cold, coiling energy that lingered like a serpent poised to strike. The temple was also watched over by members of the Serpentari race – the so-called snake-people. They were shifters who, in everyday life, resembled humans, though they had some serpentine traits – faint scale-like patterns along their skin, a subtle gleam in their eyes, a grace that bordered on eerie. They could also partially, or even fully, transform into the form of massive snakes, their bodies fluid and sinuous, moving with a quiet, predatory elegance that unsettled outsiders who glimpsed them in the shadows.

That day, in front of the crumbling temple, Fidos was on watch. The air was warm and thick, filled with the heady scent of damp earth, blooming flowers, and the faint, resinous tang of tree sap. He didn’t mind these shifts – especially since usually, nothing happened. The stillness of the jungle, the way time seemed to stretch and fold in on itself beneath the dense canopy, was almost meditative. It gave him time to quietly admire the beauty of the surrounding nature, to observe the vines and mosses that gradually covered the temple walls, their tendrils creeping like silent fingers across the ancient stones. Sometimes, during his rounds, he would study the ancient reliefs that peeked out here and there from beneath the overgrowth, tracing the worn lines with his gaze as if they held secrets waiting to be unlocked. There was a strange comfort in the feeling of continuity, in knowing that these stones had witnessed things far beyond his understanding. History had always fascinated him, and like every Serpentaros, he loved nature. It wasn’t just affection – it was a deep, instinctive reverence, a sense that the jungle was alive in ways he could feel but not explain.

He was just finishing the second breakfast his mother had packed for him in the morning when he heard strange sounds coming from inside the temple. The jungle was never truly silent, but this was different – a faint, pulsing rhythm that seemed to echo through the stone, almost like the heartbeat of the temple itself. At first, he thought it must be some small animals that sometimes sneaked in and caused a ruckus – birds nesting in forgotten corners, or curious creatures sniffing at old carvings. But the noises didn’t stop – in fact, they grew louder. A prickle of unease began to stir in his chest, a weight that settled in the pit of his stomach. Soon, he could clearly hear a rhythmic tapping, steady and deliberate, each sound like a drop of water in a cave, echoing into the darkness.

Fidos knew it was his duty to check what was happening inside the temple he was guarding that day. A flicker of tension coiled in his muscles, but he swept his long hair to the side, exhaling slowly to steady himself, and bent down, stepping through the low entrance into the building. The air inside was cooler, still heavy with the scent of age and damp stone. He didn’t need to light a torch – the Serpentari could see perfectly well in the dark, their eyes adjusting seamlessly to the dimness that would have swallowed most other beings whole.

After a dozen or so steps, he realized that the source of the sound was far ahead, but also deep within the temple. The echo seemed to ripple through the walls, vibrating faintly underfoot. It seemed the noise was coming from the very heart of the structure. A chill danced along his spine, but Fidos wasn’t the fearful type, so he began to move slowly in the direction of the sound. His footsteps were soft, measured, each one a deliberate act of courage as the silence around him seemed to stretch, the only accompaniment to his breath and the steady, pulsing rhythm ahead. The closer he got, the clearer the rhythmic tapping became – deliberate, no doubt about it. It was like a signal, a code etched into the very air.

After a long walk, through countless corridors, passages, ramps, and stairs, he reached the central chamber of the temple pyramid. The space felt timeless, untouched by the passage of years, as if it existed in a bubble of stillness where even the air seemed to hold its breath. Before him lay the ancient chamber, where Medusa slept, undisturbed by anyone. And it was from there that the persistent tapping was coming. The sound seemed almost alive, a steady heartbeat of the hidden force that lay coiled in the darkness. Fidos felt the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders, a shiver of ancient power brushing against his skin.

Fidos knew the procedures. The memory of the instructions, drilled into him during training, surfaced like a reflex, guiding his hands even as his heart began to race. He knew exactly what to do, even though it seemed utterly improbable. His duty was to check whether Medusa had perhaps awakened and was signalling her wish to be released. The idea itself was daunting, almost surreal – yet the ritual was clear, and there could be no hesitation.

He stood in front of the stone shield and tapped out the appropriate sequence of sounds, pressing on designated symbols. The stone beneath his fingers felt cold, ancient, and faintly thrumming, as if it remembered every touch that had come before. A moment of silence followed – deep, endless, stretching out like a held breath. Then came the rhythmic reply – a tapping response. The sound seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the chamber, vibrating in his chest. And even though it seemed impossible, it was exactly the answer they all feared: Medusa had awakened. The knowledge settled in Fidos like a cold stone, a truth that could not be denied. Fidos knew that now he was bound by duty to open the passage and let her out of the temple.

He did exactly what the law and tradition commanded. His fingers moved with a strange sense of inevitability, tracing the patterns he had learned, feeling the weight of history in every motion. The stone shield first rotated, grinding slowly, a deep rumble filling the chamber. Then it rolled aside, revealing the tall figure of a slender woman with serpentine hair and a tail instead of legs. Her presence seemed to fill the space, a pulse of silent power radiating from her like heat from the earth after sunset. Her eyes glowed with a green light, piercing and steady, like twin emeralds lit from within.

– Who woke me? – she asked, her voice a whisper that carried a hint of threat. The words curled in the air, as soft as silk and as sharp as a blade.

– I don’t know, my lady – Fidos replied. His voice trembled ever so slightly, but he stood his ground. – I am just the guardian. I responded to your summons, and I am here to help you leave the temple.

– Then lead the way.

Her tone left no room for hesitation.

Slowly, moving through twists and turns, corridors, stairs, and ramps, they finally reached the temple’s antechamber. Fidos could feel the weight of her presence behind him, each step an echo of something far older than himself.

– Good, young one. I will wait here until the sun sets. Even though the jungle is always dim, after such a long sleep, my eyes need to adjust to the light. Tell me, what is your name?

– I am Fidos, great lady.

– Your parents gave you a beautiful and strong name – she said with a faint smile, though there was something enigmatic in her expression, as if she knew more than she let on. – It is a wonderful reference to both your serpentine nature and the loyalty a guardian should show.

– Thank you, my lady. I will go call the Elder.

– Do so, young one.

Fidos turned and left, a slight tremor in his hands that he quickly clenched into fists. He headed toward the Elder’s hut, which stood a little distance from the temple. He wasn’t worried about leaving the ancient structure unguarded – he knew that Medusa, even after such a long slumber, was more than enough to stand watch. Besides, who would dare to attack or attempt to break into the temple, when so few even remembered it existed – let alone knew its purpose and what it truly concealed?

– Greetings, Elder. I bring important news – he said, standing in the doorway of the hut. His voice was steady, but inside, something twisted tight in his chest. – Medusa has awakened.

– Truly? How is that possible? After so many centuries of sleep… She awakens now, of all times? I wonder if there is a significant reason for it… – The Elder fell into thought, her gaze distant, as if she could see something far beyond the walls of the hut. Then she nodded slowly, her expression hardening. – Very well. You may return home for now. Your duty for today is over. But come back after nightfall – I may need you. I will go straight to the temple now, to speak with Medusa.

After returning home, Fidos told his mother everything that had happened. He wasn’t bound by any secrecy – especially since the Serpentari shared the responsibility of guarding the ancient knowledge, the traditions, and the temple itself.

His mother listened with attention, a hint of worry appearing on her face. Her fingers trembled slightly as she folded a cloth, a faint crease deepening between her brows.
– Really? Medusa? Who would have thought… But maybe that’s exactly why… – she trailed off and glanced around nervously, as if she had said too much.

– Why? What do you mean? – Fidos asked, intrigued. A flicker of tension sharpened his voice.

– Nothing, nothing… I just said it without thinking.

Fidos wasn’t stupid, but he knew he wouldn’t get anything more out of his mother.

After nightfall, Fidos returned to the temple. The air was heavy with moisture, a thin mist curling between the dark silhouettes of the trees, and the sounds of the jungle felt muffled, as if even the creatures of the night were holding their breath. In the middle of the clearing, Medusa was sitting, her figure still and imposing, yet emanating a quiet, unsettling power that seemed to ripple through the ground. Her presence was like a cold wind brushing against the skin – silent, yet undeniable. Beside her stood the Elder, her posture straight but tense, a flicker of unease hidden beneath the surface of her composed expression. Three other guardians were gathered around, their faces shadowed, their stances alert, as if each of them could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on their shoulders.

– Listen carefully – the Elder began, her voice firm, but carrying a subtle undertone of gravity that made Fidos’ breath catch in his throat. The air seemed to still around her words, as if the very trees were leaning in to listen. – Medusa has something important to tell you. We don’t know everything yet, but it’s important that you keep your eyes and ears wide open.

Medusa raised. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if each motion carried the weight of ages. The small snakes on her head shifted in all directions, their eyes glinting in the dim light like shards of polished stone, as if they were observing the entire surroundings, scanning every shadow, every flicker of movement, every breath of air. The flickering firelight reflected off their scales, casting strange, sinuous patterns onto the ground, like ripples of dark water.

– Guardians – she began, her voice quiet but steady, a measured tone that seemed to seep into the bones of those listening, making their spines straighten. There was no fear in her words, but an undercurrent of something ancient, something vast and unyielding. – Our task is to protect both the secrets of the temple and what lies deep beneath it.

Her gaze, sharp and cutting like a blade, swept over those gathered, each person feeling the weight of her eyes settle on them like an unspoken command. A strange, pulsing energy seemed to hum beneath her words, an echo of forgotten times, as if the very stones beneath their feet remembered.

– We guard the temple from the outside world, but also the outside world from what is within.

Her words hung in the air, a solemn truth that seemed to resonate like a drumbeat in the quiet.

Her gaze swept over those gathered.

– My awakening is a troubling sign. It was not planned by me.

Her voice dipped lower, as if the admission itself carried a burden, and a faint ripple of tension crossed the faces of the guardians.

– If it happened, it means something has occurred.

The jungle seemed to shift subtly around them – leaves rustling, branches creaking, as if the very world reacted to her words.

– There must have been some significant disturbance in the balance – something that either threatens Apophis, or signals that he has begun to grow in power.

The final words hung in the air like a storm cloud, dark and heavy, casting a shadow over their hearts.

– And that can only mean one thing: something is happening. The balance of Amaltea is at risk.

For a moment, silence fell. It was a stillness that seemed to stretch, almost unbearable in its weight. The jungle held its breath, and even the small sounds of the night – the chirping of insects, the distant call of a bird – seemed to fade into a hushed, waiting quiet.

Then Medusa continued, her voice breaking through the silence with calm precision:

– So far, there are no major, alarming signs, but we must remain vigilant.

Her words carried a quiet urgency, an insistence that sent a subtle tremor through Fidos’ chest.

– If the temple has decided to wake me, it means that we must all raise our awareness – not only toward the temple itself, but also by watching the entire environment more carefully.

She glanced at the Elder. The exchange was brief, but in that glance, a silent understanding seemed to pass between them, a shared sense of responsibility that weighed heavy in the air.

– The Elder will assign two people who will begin studying the interior of the temple again, reminding us of the knowledge we protect.

Medusa’s gaze sharpened, her presence commanding, each word striking like the steady beat of a drum.

– We will also appoint two guardians to start patrolling an increasingly larger area around the temple – moving through the Singing Jungle, and if necessary, even leaving it to investigate what’s happening beyond.

Her voice rose, steady and powerful, like the rising swell of a storm.

She raised her voice, her tone growing stronger:

– We must stay up to date. We must keep our finger on the pulse so that, if needed, we are prepared for all eventualities.

A subtle shiver coursed through Fidos as he listened, the weight of her words sinking deep into his mind like ink into paper.

– One thing I am sure of: something is happening.

Her voice was like the toll of a distant bell, low and resonant.

– And something big is coming. The only question that remains is – when.

The words seemed to reverberate through the clearing, lingering in the air long after they were spoken.

Fidos was assigned as one of the two guardians tasked with gradually exploring the surrounding area, moving in a spiral pattern – starting from the temple, gradually outward, into the depths of the Singing Jungle. His breath felt tight in his chest as the responsibility settled over him like a cloak, a heavy but necessary burden. They weren’t looking for anything specific, no particular enemy. Yet the unknown loomed large, a silent question hanging in the air. Their task was to spot what was wrong, what was out of place, what caught their attention as something that didn’t belong in the environment. Every leaf, every branch, every breath of wind could hold a clue. They also had to listen carefully to what other inhabitants of the jungle were saying – whether they had noticed any unusual or alarming signs, events, or things. The thought of it sent a ripple of anticipation down Fidos’ spine, a mix of caution and a strange, fierce sense of purpose.

As natural-born guardians of wisdom and secrets, they were attuned to such matters, which is why they were usually quick to notice patterns in the world around them and to identify irregularities. This gift felt like both a blessing and a curse – a heightened awareness that could save lives, or drown them in the weight of what they saw.

Fidos’ sister, Pythia, was appointed as one of the two Readers – that’s what the girls chosen to study the knowledge inscribed on the temple walls were called. Her name carried weight now, and Fidos felt a flicker of both pride and worry. The choice was no coincidence: Pythia possessed vast knowledge, had an exceptional ability to learn, quickly connected facts, and on top of that, had a brilliant memory. Her mind seemed to drink in information like parched earth absorbing rain, and Fidos knew she would rise to the task – but that didn’t stop the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest.

Their mother couldn’t hide her pride, but there was also a shadow of worry in her eyes. The lines around her mouth tightened, a subtle tension betraying the calm mask she wore. Yet she knew these were very important tasks – not only for them, not only for the Serpentari community and the Singing Jungle, but in fact, crucial for all of Amaltea. That was simply their role.

On the first day, Fidos mostly patrolled the area close to the temple, slowly widening his path with each circuit. The jungle around him seemed to breathe in time with his movements, the air warm and heavy, laced with the scent of damp earth and the faint, spicy tang of unseen blossoms. Although his attention remained fully focused and vigilant at all times, it didn’t stop him from soaking in the beauty of the nature surrounding him and marvelling at the wonderful world he lived in. The sense of purpose thrummed quietly beneath his skin, but it mingled with an almost childlike awe at the richness of the world around him – as if he were walking through a living tapestry, woven from colour, scent, and sound.

Fidos walked slowly, placing careful steps on the soft, moss-covered ground. Each of his movements seemed almost ritualistic – deliberate, measured, as if his body instinctively knew that every step in this place mattered. His breath synchronized with the pulsing life of the jungle, a rhythm that was both ancient and intimate, as if the very air whispered a forgotten language to those who listened closely enough. His senses absorbed every aspect of it, as if they were trying to understand the hidden secrets within. His skin tingled faintly with the charged air, every sound felt sharper, every scent more vivid – a symphony of stimuli that seemed to bypass thought and speak directly to his bones.

The Singing Jungle spread out before him like an ocean of sensory experiences. It felt endless, like a dreamscape that folded in on itself, lush and untamed. It smelled intense – the air was thick with the aroma of juicy fruits, the sweetness almost cloying, balanced by the rich, loamy scent of damp earth and the sharp resin of tree trunks. There were flowers that exhaled a heady perfume – exotic, sweet, almost dizzying, like a siren’s call in the undergrowth. Fidos felt it all so strongly that every breath was like a sip of thick nectar, filling him with a strange, buzzing energy that seemed to shimmer beneath his skin.

Sounds came from everywhere – not just birdsong, but entire symphonies of creatures: the high, trilling notes of birds hidden among the leaves; the soft, steady rustling of foliage as something unseen passed by; the distant, low calls of animals, each with its own rhythm, each layered into the grand, living composition of the jungle. The soft buzzing of insects with transparent wings seemed to weave delicate threads into the soundscape, a constant, subtle hum. There was something else, too – as if an invisible melody resonated in the background, flowing through the heart of the jungle. It couldn’t be captured, couldn’t be pinned down, but Fidos felt its pulse in his chest, like the beat of a drum buried beneath the earth. It was as though the ground beneath his feet beat with its own rhythm, a slow, ancient cadence that whispered of things beyond words.

The colors of the jungle were dazzling in their intensity. Every hue seemed sharper, more alive, as if the world itself had been soaked in vibrant pigments. Green wasn’t just a color here – it was a thousand shades and tones, from juicy lime to deep emerald, from cool mint to a muted turquoise of dew-dusted leaves. Each leaf seemed to pulse with its own breath, catching the faint light in ways that shimmered and shifted. Against this backdrop bloomed flowers with petals shimmering like silk – purple so deep it seemed to glow, orange like the core of a flame, navy blue like the twilight sky, and sometimes white like moonlight caught in the dew. Some flowers seemed to glow with their own gentle light, pulsing softly like breath – and as Fidos walked by, they subtly quivered, as if stirred by an invisible current, as though they were alive in ways no one could truly understand.

The jungle was full of life. It wasn’t just a place – it was a presence, a being that watched and listened and pulsed with its own heart. Tall trees, draped in vines with leaves like long tongues, formed a canopy so dense that only here and there did beams of light break through, falling in scattered patches on the ground like golden coins. In those clearings, colorful butterflies flitted by, their wings delicate and iridescent, and some had wings that shimmered like the surface of opal water, catching the light in ways that seemed almost impossible. Insects with gleaming, metallic shells crawled over the tree trunks, their movements precise, as if they were tiny sentinels of the forest. Tiny, luminous beings – like miniature spirits – floated in the air, leaving behind glittering trails that shimmered and dissolved in the humid air, adding a subtle glow to the shadows.

Fidos felt the humidity in the air – dense, sticky, wrapping around his skin like a second skin, a damp caress that clung to him with every step. He also felt the air’s touch on his shoulders – delicate, yet strangely electric, as if every breeze carried a hidden message, a whisper just beyond the reach of his understanding. In some places, the ground beneath his feet trembled ever so slightly, a subtle vibration that made the fine hairs on his arms stand on end, as if the jungle was breathing in the rhythm of its own heart, a pulse that resonated in his bones.

There was magic here, too – subtle, yet palpable, like the scent of rain before a storm. It lingered in the air, invisible but undeniable, woven into the very fabric of the jungle. Some trees seemed to whisper, their leaves shifting without any wind, their trunks emitting faint, deep sounds, like the beating of drums far beneath the surface. High among the branches, thin mists drifted, sometimes taking the shapes of faces, animals, or abstract forms – shimmering, fleeting, like images from a dream, dissolving as soon as the eye tried to focus on them.

Fidos’ journey was slow, almost meditative. Each step felt like a silent conversation with the jungle, a communion of breath and heartbeat. With every step, he felt the jungle enveloping him – its scents, sounds, colors, touch, the taste of moisture in the air – it all blended into one vast, pulsing life that wrapped around him like a living cocoon. Fidos was alert, his senses sharp, but also captivated by this world. He felt that the Singing Jungle was not just a place, but a being – alive, aware, watching him, and in some way… communicating with him. Every crackle of leaves, every flicker of movement, every shift in the light seemed to hold a message, a story half-told, waiting for someone patient enough to listen.

Somewhere in the distance, a melodic sound echoed – it was unclear whether it was a bird or something else – and Fidos shivered, a wave of awareness sweeping over him as he realized that in this jungle, every sound could be a sign, every change – a warning. But there was no fear in him. Instead, there was a sense of humility before something greater, older, and wiser than himself – a quiet reverence that filled him like the warmth of sunlight after a storm. This was a kingdom of the senses – a jungle that sang not only with sounds, but also with scents, colors, the vibrations of the air, and invisible impulses that couldn’t be described with words, only felt.

Fidos felt that he was just a small cog in the great machinery of life, a part of a greater whole. And though he had a mission, he knew that, above all, he must listen. Listen to the jungle – its song, its pulses, its silence, and… its secrets.

During the first day of his journey, he encountered nothing alarming.