Neil stood at the edge of the camp, the early morning light catching on the dew-covered leaves. The forest was still in its half-slumber, drowsy with fog and the scent of damp earth. Behind him, the elves moved quietly, preparing for the day's slow march toward the green dome that still loomed far in the distance. He had traveled with them for weeks now, had shared their fires, their silence, even their grief. But the restlessness in his chest had returned.
He turned toward Elara, who stood not far from him, speaking with another elf in hushed tones. Her long blonde hair caught the wind, and she glanced over as if sensing his approach before he made a sound.
"I'm going ahead," Neil said without preamble.
Elara's gaze sharpened. "Why?"
"I move faster alone. I'll scout the path ahead, make sure it's clear. I won't be gone long. A few days at most."
She studied him. Her eyes betrayed concern, though she masked it behind her usual calm. "You'll come back?"
He gave a small smile. "Didn't I come back last time?"
That earned him a faint exhale. Maybe it was a laugh. Or maybe just resignation.
Without another word, Neil turned and disappeared into the forest.
---
The world unfolded beneath his feet like a painting in motion. Trees sped past in bursts of color—greens, browns, the occasional flash of red or yellow where wildflowers clustered in clearings. With his newly awakened Mind's Crucible, the world seemed more vivid, sharper at the edges. Sounds layered themselves into intricate tapestries: the wingbeats of birds far overhead, the rhythmic scurry of rodents beneath the underbrush, the creaking sway of trees. He could feel the pulse of energy in the land, the way it rolled like ocean tides beneath the surface of things.
What once had been hidden from him now shimmered faintly along the periphery of his vision.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen the floating dust—those glittering, weightless particles of energy suspended in the air like a second atmosphere. He had seen them before, in the place that had tested him, reshaped him. But this was the first time he saw them out here, in the wild, far from the touch of civilization or ancient ruins.
They danced lightly in the air now, carried on the wind like golden pollen. He slowed to a stop, narrowing his eyes.
They were faint. Almost hesitant. But unmistakable.
They drifted toward the east.
Neil followed them.
---
The terrain changed slowly, the thick forest thinning until trees became sparse and the ground rockier, harder beneath his boots. Shrubs replaced tall trees, and the air grew drier. The cries of forest creatures gave way to the whispering wind scraping over stone.
It wasn't long before the land opened up entirely.
Neil stepped onto a wide ridge, and the world fell away before him.
The canyon stretched out like a wound in the earth—deep and jagged, its layered rock faces painted in bands of ochre, burnt orange, and dusty red. Shadows pooled in its crevices, and the scent of dry stone and sunbaked clay filled his lungs. It wasn't as vast as the Grand Canyon he'd seen in images on Earth, but it was similar in shape and feel—tight, compact, but still powerful in its presence.
From his perch on the cliffside, he saw hints of movement down below—not creatures, but the flicker of energy. Pale light shimmered in narrow streams, and the dust particles hung thickest here, floating in place rather than drifting. They lingered like smoke trapped in still air.
He knelt, touching the dusty rock. It was warm from the sun. The wind tugged gently at his hair as he scanned the canyon.
There.
A faint pulse.
Not natural.
It came from the base of the canyon, where vines and moss clung to a jagged rock face. At first glance, it looked like any other cliff wall. But through the haze of energy, Neil saw it—a structure. Just barely visible. A curve, too smooth to be natural. A surface that reflected light differently.
A doorway.
Small. Subtle. Hidden behind layers of moss and shadow.
His breath caught.
He descended.
---
The canyon path was treacherous—narrow trails cut by erosion and time, with loose stones that skittered beneath his feet. He had to move carefully despite his strength. A single misstep could send him tumbling down jagged cliffs, and he wasn't eager to test the limits of his recovery right now.
As he moved downward, the energy grew denser. The dust particles became more vibrant—shifting in hues of gold and pale green, like fireflies frozen mid-dance. They clung to his skin, reacting faintly to his presence.
It wasn't just residual energy.
It was active.
Alive.
The air grew cooler as he reached the canyon floor, where shade covered the ground and silence hung heavy. The wind didn't reach here, and even the birds had stopped calling. Only the sound of his footsteps echoed through the stillness.
He approached the moss-covered wall.
It looked like solid rock at first.
But when he stepped closer, his Core flared in recognition.
There was a faint humming, like a frequency too low for ears but still felt in the bones.
He placed his hand on the moss.
It vibrated under his touch.
And then—like fog clearing—he saw it fully.
The outline of the door was circular, maybe six feet in diameter. A ring of symbols—familiar and foreign all at once—circled the edge. Moss had grown thick over the structure, but up close, he could see fine carvings beneath. The door didn't appear to have a handle, nor any visible mechanism to open it.
But it radiated power.
Old power.
"Vaeltharan?" Neil murmured under his breath.
It didn't respond. At least, not with words. But something stirred.
Not the door.
Inside him.
A whisper of recognition.
This was connected. Somehow.
He crouched, placing both hands on the ground. The energy in the area wasn't just clinging to the air—it saturated the stone. He could feel it pulsing like a heartbeat.
Something had once lived here.
Or still did.
He didn't try to open the door yet. He wasn't sure how. And even if he were, something about the energy made him hesitate. It wasn't malevolent—but it was deep. Heavy. The way ocean water feels to a diver far below the surface.
Instead, he sat near the edge of the canyon wall, watching the dust swirl.
Thinking.
---
Hours passed.
Neil practiced while he waited. Not combat—not yet—but control.
He launched himself upward in sudden bursts, using Core energy through his legs. The first jump was easy. Controlled. He could stop himself in midair now, hover briefly, then fall again.
Then he tried something new.
A second jump.
Midair.
Just like in the games he'd grown up with.
To his amazement, it worked—his Core surged downward, and he burst upward again, gravity be damned.
But control was lacking. The second burst was chaotic. Powerful, yes—but wild. He tumbled midair and landed in a roll.
Still.
It was possible.
"Double jump," he muttered, a grin tugging at his lips. "That's ridiculous."
And yet… very real.
He tried again.
And again.
Each time, the second jump was slightly more stable. Slightly less random.
His control was improving.
---
The sun dipped low in the sky.
From a higher ledge in the canyon, Neil finally climbed back to look out over the surrounding lands.
And there it was.
Far beyond the forest and the distant hills, the green dome shimmered against the horizon like a dream made manifest. It pulsed faintly even in daylight, an impossible emerald hue that seemed to bend the light around it.
And below, not far from where he stood, the dust particles still floated lazily from the canyon's heart.
He didn't know what waited behind that moss-covered gate.
But for the first time in a long while, he felt something tugging him forward.
Not danger.
Purpose.