Episode 2 : The River Of No Return

The sunlight felt like a blessing after hours in the dark tunnel. Tom squinted as he stepped into the open, brushing dirt off his arms. The thick jungle buzzed around him — insects chirping, birds shrieking from the treetops, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of rushing water.

The map around his neck crinkled as he unfolded it again. The path continued — but now it ran alongside a wide, twisting ribbon inked in blue. A river.

He made his way through tangled roots and tall grass, following the sounds of flowing water. After twenty minutes of hiking downhill, he broke through the final row of trees and stood at the edge of a cliff.

There it was: the river.

It cut through the jungle like a blade, broad and wild, its surface shimmering under the afternoon sun. But this was no peaceful stream. The current was strong, swirling with white foam. Jagged rocks stuck out like shark teeth. Fallen logs floated by, sucked downstream at incredible speed.

Tom stepped back in awe.

> “So this is the River of No Return…”

He scanned the area for a way across. No bridge. No boats. Just dense jungle on the other side and that raging water in between.

Then he spotted it — an old system of vines strung from a tall tree on his side, stretching out across the river. At the end, a second tree anchored the other side. It looked like a makeshift zipline — or what was left of one.

Near the base of the tree, he found a wooden handle tied with rope, worn and damp. A platform jutted out beside it, high above the water. Someone had built this long ago — explorers maybe. Or those who had never returned.

> “This could work,” Tom muttered, testing the rope. It was frayed… but still held.

His hands trembled slightly as he climbed the tree, took one last breath, and stepped onto the platform. Wind brushed against his face, and the roar of the river echoed below.

> “You’ve got this, Tom,” he whispered, and launched himself forward.

For a few seconds, it felt like flying.

He zipped across the river, wind howling in his ears. Trees blurred past. But halfway across — snap! One of the vines tore loose with a sharp whip.

The handle jerked violently, and Tom lost his grip.

He fell, tumbling through the air.

SPLASH!

Cold water swallowed him whole. It was like being hit by stone. The current grabbed him and pulled him under. He thrashed, spinning and choking, his backpack dragging him down.

Gasping for air, Tom kicked hard and broke the surface. He ripped the backpack straps off, letting it go. He couldn’t see the map — he couldn’t see anything but water and sky and foam.

But then — a log! It floated beside him, jammed against a rock.

He lunged and grabbed it, coughing up water. It scraped his arms, but he clung to it for dear life.

Minutes passed. Slowly, the river’s fury calmed. The log drifted to the edge, and Tom pulled himself onto the muddy riverbank.

He lay there, soaked and shaking, staring up at the sky.

His backpack was gone. His legs were sore. But around his neck, he still felt the pouch.

He opened it.

The map — soaked but safe — was still there.

And now, something new was visible. A faint red marking beneath the spiral sun. A waterfall symbol. Hidden behind it, a tiny drawing of a cave.

Tom smiled through his shivers.

> “It’s not over yet.”

He stood slowly, still dripping, and turned toward the sound of crashing water in the distance.

The next challenge was already calling.