Most of Ark's 'bandmates were asleep, and he should have been too. They'd been marching all day through the jungle, felt like getting cooked alive in their armor. But lying here in their makeshift camp, Ark wished he could have marched through the night anyway - so he wouldn't have to face those dreams again.
Maybe it was just the heat messing with him. His thoughts kept wandering back to that moment when everything went wrong: When their friends and allies suddenly turned against them, and their airship crashed into the jungle. All of his warband had survived, with a few cuts and bruises, but in those dreams...
In those dreams he turned against them. Again and again, he killed them all - every single night.
(First part of a little "choose your own adventure" thing I'd like to try. My wonderful patrons get to decide what happens next, and I'll try to come up with a story along the way. Let's see where this goes.)