In the Early morning , the Samar Forest was alive with sound—chirping insects, rustling leaves, and the distant cries of unseen creatures. Dylan Jasper moved silently at the head of the troop, his rifle in hand, his sharp eyes scanning the underbrush. He didn’t indulge in the banter of the men behind him; words were unnecessary. For him, the hunt was a sacred moment, a communion with the wilderness that required complete focus.
As the troop ventured deeper, the oppressive shadows of the forest thickened. It was a predator’s domain, where the weak were consumed without hesitation. Dylan thrived in places like this.
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