A Hard Lesson Learned

Deep within the Emerald Veil Jungle, where the air was thick with mist, and the leaves were as wide as sails, lived a creature unlike any other.

His name was Icarus.

He was not born with that name. Among his kind, names were earned, not given. Long ago, when he was young and reckless, he had leapt from the highest canopy tree during a storm, spreading his winged membranes wide and riding the wind higher than any of his kind dared to go. He had flown too close to the burning sky, his wings singed by the harsh rays of the sun. Icarus would only barely survive the falls.

“You fly like the old fire myth,” the elder had said afterward. “The one who rose too high and nearly fell forever.”

That was how he became Icarus.

Icarus was not human. He stood taller than a jaguar, walked on four strong limbs, and could rise onto two when needed. His skin was layered with dark, smooth plates like living armor, and from his shoulders stretched wide, webbed wings that allowed him to glide from tree to tree. His eyes—four of them—glowed faintly gold in the dark, able to see movement even through heavy rain and thick leaves.

The jungle was his home. It breathed with him, hunted with him, and hid him.

The jungle had one rule that mattered above all others: Never speak to humans.

Strangers, outsiders, were never good to our kind.

This warning came from Queng Lu, the oldest and wisest of their kind. His scales were dull with age, his wings scarred from battles long past, but his voice carried the triumph of survival.

“Humans do not come to the jungle to make friends,” Queng Lu often said. “They come to kill, steal, and destroy what we call home, for their own amusement.”

Icarus had heard this warning since he first learned to speak.

“Do not answer to their voices.” “Do not show yourself.” “Do not let them know what you are.”

Icarus listened, most of the time, but curiosity lived inside Icarus like a restless fire. He was bound to break the rules.

From high above the jungle floor, he often watched the strange creatures called humans move through the trees. They walked upright, wore hard skins, and carried sticks that spat thunder and fire. They spoke loudly, laughed often, and seemed blind to the danger all around them.

How can something so weak survive? Icarus wondered.

One evening, as the sky darkened and rain began to fall, he heard a sound he had never heard before. Fear. A human voice echoed through the jungle.

“Help! Someone, please!”

Icarus froze on a high branch. His wings twitched. The jungle fell quiet, as if holding its breath. Humans rarely cried out alone. When they did, it usually meant death followed close behind.

Icarus smelled blood.

He also smelled thorn-beasts, long-limbed jungle predators with needle teeth and fast legs. He knew what Queng Lu would say.

Turn away.

However, curiosity burned brighter.

Icarus glided silently down, landing behind thick vines. He saw the human—a young male, shaking, bleeding from his arm, eyes wide with panic. Behind him, thorn-beasts crept closer, their bodies low, their mouths open.

The human stumbled and fell. The beasts charged.

Icarus did not think.

He leapt from the shadows with a roar that shook the trees. The thorn-beasts hesitated just long enough. Icarus struck hard and fast. His claws ripped into one beast’s side. Another snapped at his leg, teeth scraping against his armor. Pain shot through him, but he fought on, slamming bodies into tree trunks and driving them back into the jungle.

At last, the beasts fled.

Icarus stood breathing hard, blood dripping from his scales. The human stared at him, then the human spoke.

“You… you saved me.”

Icarus felt something twist inside his chest. He answered. His response, very ironic.

“You were loud,” Icarus said. “You called death to yourself.”

The human’s eyes went wide.

“You can talk.”

That single sentence changed everything. The human reached slowly toward the metal stick on his back. Icarus was quick, reacting just in time, just before thunder exploded.

A burst of pain tore through Icarus’s side as the shot grazed him. He launched himself into the air as another blast shattered the tree behind him. Leaves rained down as he vanished into the canopy. Below him, the human shouted—not in fear, but excitement.

“They’re real! I found one!”

Icarus barely made it back to the deep jungle before collapsing. Curiosity had almost killed him. Queng Lu was waiting.

“You spoke,” the elder said quietly.

“I didn’t mean to,” Icarus replied.

Queng Lu lowered his head. “Intent does not change outcome.”

Icarus promised never to do it again. He meant it, but the his unusual curious and friendly nature would soon lead him down yet another dangerous path.

Days later, voices returned—more humans, more noise. Icarus followed from above, unseen. He told himself he was only watching. The humans carried nets and heavy weapons.

“They said it talked,” one said. “Command wants it alive.”

Fear crawled up Icarus’s spine. He turned to flee, but the subtle snap of a branch was heard by the humans. Nets flew through the air, wrapping around his wings, pulling him down. Icarus crashed into the forest floor, the breath knocked from his lungs. Pain exploded through his body as humans rushed toward him.

One raised a weapon. A scream cut through the air.

Thorn-beasts burst from the undergrowth, drawn by noise and blood. Chaos followed. Humans shouted. Weapons fired wildly. Icarus tore free of the net, ignoring the pain, and ran. A beast tackled him. Teeth closed around his neck.

Icarus slammed the creature into a tree again and again until it went still. Bleeding and shaking, he disappeared into his favorite napping nook, hiding him from the dangers that were now at bay. Curiosity had almost fed him to the jungle this time.

The next time, the humans came prepared.

They burned parts of the jungle. They tracked his heat. They chased him through ruins swallowed by vines and moss. Explosions tore open the earth. A blast threw Icarus from a cliff.

He fell.

The wind screamed past him. His damaged wings would not open. He remembered his name then.

Icarus.

The one who flew too high.

Just before the ground reached him, he struck the cliff wall, claws digging deep. His body screamed with pain as he slid downward, but he held on. The humans searched above for hours. Fortunately for Icarus, they never looked down.

When night fell, Icarus climbed into the darkness and hid until the jungle healed around him. Queng Lu found him days later.

“You live,” the elder said.

“I shouldn’t have,” Icarus answered.

They sat beneath the massive jungle trees as rain fell softly around them.

“I wanted to understand humans,” Icarus said. “I thought knowing them would protect me.”

Queng Lu placed a claw gently on his shoulder.

“Warnings are not meant to limit you,” the elder said. “They are meant to keep you alive.”

Icarus listened.

This time, he truly understood.

The jungle was still full of mysteries.

Curiosity still lived within him, but now, when he heard unfamiliar voices, he turned the other way.

The jungle, and mingling with his own kind, kept him safe, and alive.