MATH BLAST
🌿 THE JUNGLE

Deep in the Verdant Canopy — a vast jungle where ancient trees touched the clouds — lived the Sprockets: small, clever creatures whose whole civilisation ran on one rule. Everything must be shared equally.

"Okay. That was not how I planned to land. Give me five seconds." Blaze looked around — treetop village, small blue creatures staring, and she appeared to have landed in someone's berry basket. "I've already calculated that this is going to be an interesting day."

A tiny creature with a leaf crown stepped forward. "Welcome, explorer! I am Chief Pip of Branchwick. Tonight we share the harvest — as we have for ten thousand years. But our berry counter, Doz, has wandered off again. We cannot begin until the harvest is divided correctly. It is the Sprocket law."

Blaze followed Chief Pip to the harvest platform — a wide surface woven from branches high in the tallest tree. Two enormous baskets sat waiting.

"Four Sprocket families," Chief Pip explained, gesturing to the baskets. "Each must receive exactly the same amount — not one berry more, not one less. It is the Sprocket way. We have done this for ten thousand years."

"Got it," said Blaze, peering into the first basket. "Twenty-four glow-berries. Four families. Let me work this out."

Blaze went looking for Doz. She found the berry counter in the very next tree — perched on a branch, staring at something extraordinary.

"Oh! Oh oh oh — the vines! Did you see the vines?! They're all tangled up and I couldn't count the berries because I kept losing my place and — wait, who are you?!"

"The vines," Blaze said calmly. "And yes — I can see them. That is a very large tangle. But first — the Sprocket medic needs help."

The feast preparations were almost complete. Smoke rose from the cooking platform. The whole village of Branchwick gathered. But the cook, Burble, was stuck — the final ingredients weren't divided yet.

"Right. I've got this," said Blaze. "What do you need divided?"

Chief Pip gestured grandly. "The fire-nuts — thirty-six, for nine Sprockets at the main table. The bark-bread — thirty-two pieces, for eight Sprockets at the elder table. And... what if there had been five families instead of four tonight? How many glow-berries each, from the original twenty-four?"

The feast was everything Chief Pip had promised. Every Sprocket family received exactly their equal share. But Blaze couldn't stop thinking about those vines.

She went back after the feast to look. "Seven bundles," she murmured, crouching down. "Someone — or something — arranged these. Twenty-eight vines in total, grouped into seven neat bundles. That's not random. That's intentional."

And then she looked down. In the soft mud — an enormous footprint. Bigger than Blaze's whole body. Whatever had been standing here was very, very large. And it had been watching the village.