The mist clung to the edges of Sylvalen Forest like a wet blanket, turning everything gray and quiet. Dawn was trying to break through, but the thick canopy overhead wasn't having it—the whole glade felt trapped in that weird in-between light that's neither night nor day.
Micah knelt in the soggy dirt, running his fingers over the spot where they'd buried the Thornkin seed. Nothing there now.
The earth had drunk it up, leaving just this faint warmth under his palm, like touching a stone that's been sitting in sunlight. He missed it already—that brief moment when he'd felt connected to something bigger, something alive and pulsing at the heart of the forest.
He looked south toward home, where the Ashari peaks cut into the pale sky like broken glass. Then back to the deep, hushed woods around him.
How were they supposed to make this work? His people knew stone and steel, survival and grit. The Thornkin understood ancient magic, roots that ran deeper than memory.
And the Myrvane down in their crushing ocean depths—might as well be living on another planet entirely. Three completely different worlds, trying to hold together an alliance that felt as fragile as spun glass.
All while the Omniraith kept pushing forward, swallowing everything in their path. Hope wasn't easy to come by these days, but it was pretty much all he had left.
His mind kept drifting back to that weird chamber they'd found under the forest—walls made of living wood shot through with circuitry, energy that felt wrong somehow. Those hex patterns that looked like someone had tried to blend a tree with a machine.
What other strange things were hiding out there? Were there similar places under the Myrvane waters, just waiting to be discovered? The thought made his skin crawl and sparked his curiosity at the same time.
Something old and powerful was waking up, something that didn't quite fit with anything they knew about the Ashari or the Omniraith. Like there was a whole other layer to this world they'd barely scratched.
A soft crunch broke the silence. Micah glanced up to see Lio Venn materializing out of the mist, his wiry frame wrapped in that adaptive Ashari gear that caught what little light there was.
He had one of those hardened comm-nodes in his hand—the old-school analog stuff they'd been forced to use ever since the Omniraith hijacked all the wireless networks. Lio's face had that sharp, focused look he got when his tech-brain was working overtime.
"Just got word from Command," Lio said, keeping his voice low in that practical way all Ashari did. "Hardline from Elora. General Alon wants us moving south, now. We're supposed to meet up with some Myrvane scouts and check out what the Thornkin are saying about those poisoned currents."
Micah's stomach tightened. General Ryss Alon didn't waste people's time on wild theories. If she was sending them out, things were bad. The message had probably come through one of those buried cable networks that connected Elora's council chambers to their outposts and allies—the only communication lines the Omniraith hadn't managed to corrupt yet.
Those contaminated currents weren't just the Myrvane's problem. Poison in the water meant trouble for the coast, maybe even for the mountain streams that fed their settlements. The Omniraith didn't just conquer—they ruined everything they touched, leaving behind industrial waste that turned water toxic and made the land sick.
Before Lio could say anything else, a low whir cut through the air, followed by the sharp hiss of a grapple line. Kaelin Vorr dropped out of the mist above them, landing without a sound on the mossy ground.
Dressed head to toe in the dark, reinforced gear that screamed Ashari Black Ops, he moved like smoke given form. His whole family had been in the business for generations—shadows serving shadows. Having Kaelin here was a reminder that this mission wasn't just about diplomacy, no matter what they called it.
Elora's brass had ordered him to tag along as their military liaison, which meant they were expecting trouble. His dark eyes swept over both of them, asking questions without words.
There was tension radiating off him—probably from whatever bureaucratic nightmare he'd walked into back in Elora, trying to explain why they'd been delayed and why they'd spent so much time in Thornkin territory. Command didn't like surprises, and they really didn't like their people going off-script.
"General's orders," Kaelin said, cutting straight to the point. That was it—no explanation, no details. He was already mentally locked onto whatever came next. Black Ops guys were like that, especially out here in the field. They said what needed saying and nothing more.
Micah could feel the exhaustion creeping in, that bone-deep tiredness that came from running on adrenaline for too long. Between their narrow escape and all the bizarre stuff they'd discovered in that hollow, he was running on fumes.
But there wasn't time to crash. The three realms had to come together, and fast. "Alright," he said, shoving the fatigue aside. "Let's move." No point in overthinking it—sometimes you just had to act.
They got down to business, checking their gear. Micah ran his hands over his adaptive clothing, watching the silver-grey fabric ripple and adjust as he moved. The Ashari really knew their stuff—this thing would blend with pretty much anything and keep him warm in the worst conditions. He clipped his transforming device to his belt, feeling its familiar weight.
The cool metal reminded him of home, of his people's knack for making incredible tech. But it also made his stomach twist a little. Sometimes he worried about becoming too much like the Omniraith—all cold calculation, no heart left.
Lio was doing his methodical thing, carefully organizing his pressure adapters and reactor chargers. The guy was thorough, you had to give him that. Every piece of equipment had its place, every connection double-checked. Meanwhile, Kaelin strapped on his mini railgun and tested his camo-net grenades. Pure soldier, that one—everything focused on getting the job done and staying alive.
Just as they finished up, Sera Lin appeared from between the trees like she'd been part of them all along. Her eyes held that soft green glow, and looking at her, you could see the sadness she carried, but also something unbreakable underneath. She was Thornkin through and through—the forest lived in her as much as she lived in it.
She held out a small vial filled with something that looked like liquid starlight, all green and shimmering. "Take this," she said, and her voice had that musical quality, like listening to wind move through branches. "It will flourish where the sea and sun meet."
There was magic in that little bottle—a piece of the Verdant Heart itself. It meant something, this gift. A bridge between their worlds, maybe even hope that life could win out over whatever darkness was coming for them.
Sera moved her hands in some quick, silent pattern, and Micah could feel the forest responding around them. She was weaving protection into the very edge of the woods, something that would keep unwanted visitors from following their trail.
"May the leaves shelter you on your journey," she said, and the old blessing carried all the weight of her people's hopes with it.
"And may your roots stay strong, Sera Lin," Micah said back, taking the vial from her hands. He got it—what she was really saying. They were splitting up, heading different ways, but what they'd built here under the Verdant Heart wasn't going anywhere.
They headed south, leaving the misty forest in their rearview. Everything changed fast once they got moving. The soft, mossy ground turned into rocky ledges, then shifted into those nasty mountain passes that could kill you if you weren't careful. The air got sharp and thin, the kind that burned your lungs—classic Ashari highland weather. This place didn't forgive mistakes.
But they moved like they'd been doing this forever. Micah took point, trusting his gut to find them the best route through all the death traps. Kaelin hung back, watching their six, those sharp eyes of his catching everything.
Even when he wasn't talking, you knew he had your back. Lio was struggling a bit with the physical stuff, but he kept up. Every now and then he'd test out those Acceleration Shoes of his on the slick rocks—pretty cool tech, actually.
The mountains started backing off as they went lower, but the air didn't get any cleaner. There was this nasty yellowish-grey haze hanging on the horizon, bleeding in from the Omniraith industrial wasteland to the southeast.
You could smell it sometimes when the wind shifted. The temperature started doing crazy things too, jumping around now that they'd left the steady cold of the peaks behind.
And man, you could see what the war had done to this place. Dead trees everywhere, looking like bones sticking up from the ground. Old vehicles, probably from before the Omniraith took over, just rusting away in the valleys like metal graveyards.
When the rocky passes finally opened up, they hit the fjords. Dark water was slamming against the cliffs, and the air was thick with salt and something else—something sharp and chemical that made your nose wrinkle.
The water near the shore looked wrong, all murky and gray instead of that brilliant blue you'd see in old pictures of the Myrvane. Dead coral was scattered along the coastline like broken bones, white and crumbling. The poisoned currents the general had mentioned? Yeah, they were real, and they were right there in front of them.
They rappelled down those sheer cliff faces with the wind trying its best to throw them around. Weird thing was, Micah felt oddly calm about the whole thing. Maybe it was having Kaelin there—the guy didn't say much, but he radiated this quiet confidence that made you feel like everything was going to be okay.
Funny how that worked. Back in Elora, with all the politics and tension, Kaelin had seemed like a question mark. Out here, though? He was just another soldier you could count on.
The days started blending together—wake up, move, stay hidden, repeat. They stuck to the edges of dawn and dusk, those sweet spots when the Omniraith patrols were changing shifts or getting lazy. Their cloaking tech wasn't much, but it got them through the really exposed stretches when they had to cross open ground.
Lio kept fiddling with their communication gear, trying to catch any kind of signal from the coast or back home, but all they got was static. Just another reminder of how broken everything had become.
When they finally made it to Vael'Tor's hidden cove, Micah felt like they'd been walking forever. The Myrvane had picked a hell of a spot—tucked into the coastline where the surface world met the deep ocean.
At first glance, it looked like just another bunch of rocks, but as they got closer, everything shifted. The coral gates materialized out of what had seemed like solid stone, glowing with that eerie bioluminescence the Myrvane were known for.
Two guards flanked the entrance, moving with that trademark Myrvane precision—slow, deliberate, like they had all the time in the world. Their exo-armor looked built for this kind of coastal work, all sleek and functional.
Micah took a breath, tasting salt and pollution in equal measure. This was it—first time they'd talked to the Myrvane since that urgent message had shown up in Elora. He stepped forward, doing the whole protocol thing, with Lio and Kaelin flanking him. They were trying to look alert but not threatening, which was trickier than it sounded.
The coral gates started humming, some low frequency that probably meant something to the Myrvane but just sounded weird to everyone else. Then they parted, and out stepped Captain Marella Seaborn. She was head-to-toe in that dark, dripping exo-armor, moving with that measured Myrvane pace that made you feel like you were being studied under a microscope.
Her visor swept over each of them—the beat-up Ashari scout, the tech kid who couldn't sit still, and the Black Ops guy who radiated danger even when he was trying to be friendly. You could practically feel her taking notes.
The chill coming off Marella was immediate and unmistakable. Myrvane were naturally reserved, but this felt like something more. "Ashari," she said, and her voice had that deep, almost subsonic quality that seemed to vibrate in your chest. "What brings you to our threshold? The General mentioned a... verification."
Micah could feel the tension ratcheting up. Having Kaelin there wasn't helping—Black Ops had a reputation, and not the warm, fuzzy kind. The way he stood there, all quiet and watchful, probably had Marella wondering what the Ashari were really up to.
"Captain," Micah said, trying to keep that straightforward Ashari edge while still sounding genuine. "We're here because the forest is dying. The Thornkin are telling us there's some kind of corruption spreading, and they think it's tied to whatever new mess the Omniraith is cooking up. Their magic—the stuff that keeps them alive—it's getting weaker."
He pulled out the vial Sera had given him, watching the green liquid catch what little light there was. "Sera Lin wanted me to bring this. It's... well, it's their way of showing you how bad things are getting, but also that they still have hope."
Marella's visor locked onto the vial. She reached out with one gloved hand, taking it and turning it slowly in her fingers. The Myrvane might draw their power from the sea, but they respected the old magic of the surface world too, even if they rarely bothered with it.
Then Kaelin did something that caught everyone off guard. He dropped to one knee right there on the wet ground, unclipped his camo grenades, and set them carefully at Marella's feet. No words, no big speech—just a simple gesture that said everything. We're not here to fight. We trust you. It was exactly the kind of thing they'd promised each other back under the Verdant Heart.
Marella looked down at the grenades, then back up at Kaelin, then over to Micah. She held up the sap vial again, and Micah could swear he saw something shift in the reflection on her visor. Recognition, maybe. The Thornkin's troubles hit close to home for the Myrvane—they both knew what it was like to watch the Omniraith poison everything they cared about.
"Your waters bleed too," Micah said quietly, but with conviction. He'd seen those poisoned tides on the way down. "We came here to stand with you."
And there they were—three worlds coming together. The mountain toughness of the Ashari, the forest magic of the Thornkin, and whatever deep-sea power the Myrvane had been hiding. The sun was starting to come up over those black, toxic waves, and the air was thick with salt and smog and something else—something old and restless moving around down in the depths.
They'd made it this far, carrying all the weird secrets from that hollow and whatever strange promise the future held. Now they were standing at the edge, ready to dive into Myrvane territory and figure out what the hell was really going on. Maybe they'd finally get some answers about that mysterious voice and what it meant when it called Micah "the Steelborn."
The real journey was just getting started.