Morning at Reed Riverbank, gray sparrows chirped and hopped along the branches as golden dawn filtered through the dense canopy, scattering mottled light across the Rotten Moss Tribe's camp.
Unlike the usual bustling mornings, Lizardfolk crowded around the campfire pit at the center of the tribe today, witnessing a young Lizardfolk prepare for his shaman trial.
The fire in the pit had long since gone out, leaving only dark red embers. Every tribesman wore a solemn expression, and even the noisiest hatchlings obediently stayed beside their mothers.
At the center of the crowd, the aged shaman Shazak was conducting a sacred ritual.
He chanted ancient, obscure prayers, crushed several specific leaves in a stone mortar, kneaded them into dark green juice, then carefully used his fingers to smear the liquid across a young Lizardfolk's face and bare chest, drawing simple yet mysterious patterns.
After finishing all this, Shaman Shazak slowly stepped back. His cloudy eyes fixed on Turk, and his voice was deep and solemn. "Turk, before the Ancestral Spirit and Putu, search your heart. Is your faith as firm as a rock? Are you ready to accept nature's trial?"
The young Lizardfolk named Turk straightened his chest. Though his heart pounded like a war drum, his gaze was exceptionally resolute. "I am ready, Shaman Shazak. For the tribe."
"Very good." Shaman Shazak nodded, leaned on his staff, and turned toward the outside of the camp.
The watching Lizardfolk silently made way for him, their eyes full of encouragement, worry, and anticipation.
Turk took a deep breath and followed the shaman's footsteps. Under the gaze of the entire tribe, he arrived at the edge of the Swamp Forest.
Facing the mist-shrouded unknown, Shaman Shazak stood still with both hands gripping his staff and gave another warning without looking back.
"Go,