The air in the communications vault was cool and clean, it was recycled endlessly through the mountain's life-support systems. A low hum filled the space—not loud nor grating, it is more like the steady breath of a thousand machines working in synchronized order. There were no flashy displays or buzzing drones here. Just rows of solid, analog equipment, thick bundles of fiber-optic cables crawling across the floor like roots, and control panels etched with intricate Ashari glyphs that only trained hands could decode. With wireless signals jammed by the Omniraith, this was where the Ashari got back to basics—everything tangible, grounded, real. A sharp contrast to the artificial world their enemies wanted to create.
Lio Venn was hunched over one of the stations, deep in focus. His brow was furrowed, his fingers moving with practiced precision. He was young, but it showed—years of hands-on training in the Ashari's no-frills, results-first education system had shaped him into a capable engineer. He was calibrating a hard-line transmission relay, trying to lock it onto a narrow beam that would reach the edge of Thornkin territory. Even sending a message across this broken, war-ravaged land wasn't simple. Everything had to be just right—aligned, powered, protected.
A few steps behind him, Micah watched in silence. His fingers brushed the wall—smooth, durable composite stone with embedded lighting that barely glowed beneath his touch. The space around him was efficient, functional—perfectly Ashari. But to him, it also felt cold, sterile. He missed the wild messiness of the surface—the wind, the trees, the unexpected.
His gear was top-of-the-line, designed for long-range missions and harsh environments. The suit adjusted to his body automatically, managing his temperature and feeding him real-time data only he could see. He moved like someone who had learned to survive more than once. A scout, always on the move. Always reading the now through the lens of the past—through old wounds, old scars, some of them still hidden under layers of high-tech fabric.
"Almost there," Lio muttered, eyes still locked on the console. "Just need to sync the harmonic frequency. The Thornkin use... different signals—kinda more alive, more natural."
Micah gave a quiet nod. The Thornkin weren't like the Ashari at all. They spoke in rustling wind tones, carved plant symbols, and even subtle scents. Their way of communication wasn't just unusual—it was a whole different mindset. Trying to connect with them wasn't about plugging in cables. It was about bridging two worlds that saw reality in completely opposite ways.
But Micah's thoughts kept drifting to the clock. Command had been clear—time was tight. Something had stirred out there, shaking the uneasy calm along the front. The Myrvane envoy had hinted at it just minutes ago, his voice deep and slow through the water-sealed exosuit. His metaphors had been vague, ocean-dark, and strange, but the meaning was clear enough: the Core Nexus was moving.
That was no small threat. The Core Nexus was the brain behind the Omniraith, buried deep beneath the planet, controlling every single machine in their ranks. If it was waking up, this wasn't a border flare-up. This was a major shift. A real threat.
Suddenly, the console in front of Lio jolted. A sharp tremor ran through it, and lights flickered across the wall—glyphs and data streaming in disorganized waves. The room filled with a burst of static, sharp and erratic, not like any regular signal.
Lio flinched back, hands raised. "What the—?"
Micah was already moving toward him. His senses heightened rapidly. "What just happened?"
"Static... interference?" Lio said, fingers flying across the keys. "No—wait. It's trying to say something. It's corrupted, but it's a message."
One of the smaller displays flickered to life. Most of it was a mess—garbled code, broken lines—but a few words pushed through the noise, repeated over and over like a glitching whisper: "...Verdant Heart… danger… breach…"
Lio stared at the screen, his face was pale. "The Verdant Heart? That's the Thornkin's heartwood—basically their capital, right?"
Micah's chest tightened. That name wasn't just a place. It was the soul of the Thornkin—their power, their sanctuary. If the Omniraith had gotten to it… they weren't just making a move.
They were aiming straight for the heart.
"Command needs to see this—now," Micah said, his voice sharp and low with urgency.
The Council Chamber in Elora was nothing short of impressive—a massive, domed hall with tiered seating circling a sunken center. Holographic walls glowed with layers of intel: maps, energy spikes, troop updates. Every flicker told a story from a different corner of Ashari life. At the heart of it all, the Apex Circle, backed by the Divisional Councils, managed everything—from defense strategies to holding the shaky alliance together. The air was filtered and cool, but tension hung in it like smoke.
Dr. Eland Voss, Lead Engineer and something of a mentor to Micah, stood by the central projection, face as unreadable as ever. Next to him was Captain Nyra Tal, head of Black Ops—standing stiff and sharp, every bit the soldier. The two of them were classic Ashari leadership: brains and strategy, cool under fire, focused on the mission.
"Lio Venn's transmission confirms what the Myrvane warned us about," Dr. Voss said, voice calm and even, in that typically emotionless Ashari way. "Omniraith activity isn't just deep-sea anymore. It's creeping toward the Thornkin border. Their surveillance grid's grown tighter fast—and Thornkin signals have gone completely dark."
Captain Tal stepped in. "Hardline comms aren't going to cut it anymore. If we wait, we might lose the Thornkin altogether. We need eyes on the ground—and the strategic capsule delivered directly." Her gaze swept over the small team gathered before her. "This has to be a hand-delivered mission. Through the mountain. It's going to be dangerous."
Micah felt that all-too-familiar pressure tightening in his gut. This was it—the assignment that changed everything.
"Micah Satya will lead," Dr. Voss said, locking eyes with him. "His scout training makes him the best choice to move unseen. Lio Venn will handle the tech—comms and countermeasures. Kaelin Vorr goes too. He'll cover the tactical side and make sure the team stays safe."
Micah gave a small nod, silently accepting the mission. Kaelin Vorr was already there—arms crossed, tension carved into his features. Known for his blunt attitude and doubts about the alliance, Kaelin wasn't the easiest to work with, but when things got rough, there was no one better to have watching your back.
"The route's rough," Captain Tal said, gesturing at a glowing path snaking through the northeastern peaks on the map—right into Thornkin territory. "The Omniraith have scattered probes through those mountains. We think some are using passive thermal and sound sensors. So we're giving you something new."
Dr. Voss motioned to a nearby tech, who stepped forward with a small, metallic disc cradled in both hands.
"This is a prototype cloaking field," Voss said. "It bends light and sound—makes you practically invisible for a short time. But it's unstable, and the battery's limited. Use it wisely."
Micah took the device, its cool surface humming slightly in his grip. Every bit of experimental gear came with strings attached—uncertainty, risk, and that nagging question of whether they were pushing the line too far. This wasn't just a courier run; it was a stress test for everything they believed in—their alliance, their tech, and their ability to keep their humanity intact under pressure.
"Syron'tal," Micah muttered under his breath. Priority: survive. More than a motto—it was the core of everything they did. A survival instinct passed down through generations of struggle.
The prep was fast and methodical, as always with the Ashari. In a plain debriefing room carved into the mountain, the trio got ready. Kaelin moved with sharp, almost aggressive precision, locking power cells into place and double-checking his rifle's settings. He looked like he was itching to leave—like the mountains were closing in on him and he couldn't wait to break free and dive headfirst into the fight. The safety of Elora had its perks, but for soldiers like Kaelin, it could feel more like a cage than a sanctuary.
Micah double-checked his gear, fingers running over the familiar grooves of his personal device, making sure every mechanism snapped into place like it should. He slid a fresh pack of solar-charged rounds into his side rig. The weight of it all—not just the gear, but the mission—pressed down on him. Was this just a delivery run… or bait? A trap set by the Omniraith? Or worse, someone on their side? In a fractured alliance where loyalty could shift like sand, that question was always there, clawing at the back of his mind. Memories of his destroyed home, the people he couldn't save, flickered through him like afterimages. Trust was hard, pain made sure of that.
Lio, usually a steady stream of commentary and questions, was silent. He moved carefully, double-checking his gear, tucking away nutrient bars, making sure the seals on his oxygen system were airtight. This was his first time beyond Ashari borders—outside the clean, ordered chambers of his world. He was a tech prodigy, no doubt, but even geniuses had moments when doubt crept in. He believed in Micah's leadership, but that didn't make the unknown feel any less daunting.
They packed in silence, the quiet filled only by the soft click of clasps and the hiss of vacuum-seals locking down. In Ashari culture, silence often spoke louder than words. This was one of those moments.
Kaelin broke it. Of course he did.
"You sure you're ready, kid?" he asked Lio, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Lio snapped his pack shut and met his gaze. "I built half the gear you're using," he said coolly. "Try not to slow me down."
Micah stepped between them, calm but firm. "We're not here to fight," he said, eyes moving from one to the other. "We're here to find answers. And to make sure we all come back."
Efficiency is love, he reminded himself. That was the Ashari way. Protecting your team wasn't just duty—it was how you showed you cared.
The tension broke a little. Not gone, but manageable. They were a unit now, ready or not.
They left Elora through a hidden exit carved high into the mountain. The door vanished behind them, seamless as stone. Outside, the air hit hard—thin and bitter, slicing through clothes like needles. The world beyond was brutal: jagged cliffs, razor-edged ice, ledges dusted in treacherous snow. The sun looked distant and dim, barely punching through the gray, as if even light had to fight to exist here.
They moved quickly, every step deliberate, shaped by years of training for this exact kind of terrain. The wind screamed around them, drowning out everything but the scrape of magnetic boots on frozen rock.
Micah took point, his instincts tuned to every shift in the landscape. He scanned the horizon, eyes sharp for anything out of place—something too straight, too shiny. The Omniraith didn't rest. They didn't care about the cold or the climb. To them, organic life was just another flaw to be corrected.
Lio followed close behind, focused on his scanner. It pinged quietly, tracking energy spikes and changes in the atmosphere. Kaelin watched their backs, rifle ready, every movement efficient and tight. They communicated with hand signals—fast, quiet, precise. No words needed.
Time passed. Hours, probably. The light changed, muscles burned, breath grew shallower. They were high up now, deep into the cold, empty wasteland. The kind of silence that lived out here wasn't peaceful—it was ancient, vast, and unforgiving.
Then Micah felt it.
Not a sound—something deeper. A low vibration, humming through the rock beneath his feet. Mechanical. Massive. Wrong.
He raised his hand. Everyone froze.
Eyes closed, Micah listened. Not with his ears, exactly—but with something deeper. That sixth sense born from years out here, always on the edge of danger. Something was nearby. Watching. Waiting. The feeling slithered through the air, coming from the southeast.
He opened his eyes. Ice reflected pale sunlight back at him.
"We're not alone," he said quietly. The wind grabbed the words and scattered them, as if even it didn't want to hold onto them.
Whatever was out there, it wasn't just a drone or a stray scout. Something bigger had woken up. And it was looking right at them.
"It's starting again."