The orange flash of the explosion expanded with violent speed inside the small room, casting long, frantic shadows against the dry wolf hides as the crackling heat began to consume the wooden timber frames. Zeven dropped his centre of gravity instantly, his massive frame moving by sheer instinct as the acrid smell of burning canvas, fresh blood, and raw kerosene filled the narrow space. The ancient parchment map lay partially singed on the wood, stained heavily by the tragic spray of the old technician's final sacrifice. Outside the shattered structure, the absolute silence of the dense forest was broken by the sharp, rhythmic cracks of high-velocity sniper fire penetrating the thin walls from multiple directions. Zeven focused his crimson eyes on the small window frame across the room, ca
