Trials and Tribulations

The "training ground"—a term I used generously—looked more like a set from a horror movie.

The jungle stretched endlessly before me, dense with twisted roots and leaves that whispered ominously in the humid air.

Every shadow seemed alive, and the occasional roar in the distance made my stomach churn.

Standing at the center was our instructor, a skeleton warrior adorned with a jaguar pelt he had no business wearing. He handed me a flimsy wooden spear, his bony hand tapping the shaft twice as if it were Excalibur.

"Your trial," he said in a voice that sounded like wind whistling through hollow bones, "is to face the Jaguars of Night. They are illusions but will feel real. Show courage. Learn to defend. And avoid becoming their meal."

"Meal?" I echoed, gripping the spear like a lifeline. "What's the dessert option?"

"Your screams," he said, deadpan.