Coren stood at the gate to Terra, her satchel slung over one shoulder and Sol hovering silently by her side. The last few weeks had passed in a whirlwind—schoolwork, training sessions with Lyra, and endless preparations for the expedition had consumed her days. Now, standing here in the shadow of the gate, it all felt surreal.
She hadn't expected the expedition to come together so quickly, nor had she expected it to be just the two of them. When Lyra had first mentioned it, Coren had imagined a larger team—seasoned archaeologists, Fieldwielders, maybe even a few Enforcers for protection. But Lyra had waved off her concerns with her usual air of quiet confidence. "It's better this way," she'd said. "Too many people just get in the way."
Now, standing in the gate room, Coren found herself caught between awe and trepidation. The room was massive and circular, the walls rippling faintly as if alive. Six archways lined the perimeter, each shimmering with an energy that made the air hum. She reached out, letting her fingers brush the smooth, cool surface of one of the walls. It felt strange—like metal, but alive, almost organic.
"How do these still work?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Lyra, who was examining one of the consoles with her usual precision.
"Constant maintenance," Lyra replied without looking up. "The Fieldwielder Association has entire teams dedicated to keeping the gates operational. The technology is self-sustaining to a point, but even the most advanced systems degrade over time."
Coren nodded, her eyes drifting to the gates themselves. Two of them led to Solvix I and Solvix II, their shimmering surfaces bright and steady. Another gate glowed faintly grey, connecting to Terra—Earth. The final two gates, however, were darker, their energy pulsing unevenly. They were heavily guarded by a dozen Enforcers clad in black-and-gold armour, their presence a stark warning to anyone who might be foolish enough to approach.
Coren's gaze lingered on those gates. "Why are they so heavily guarded?" she asked, gesturing toward the pair.
Lyra followed her line of sight and frowned slightly, her hand instinctively brushing the necklace at her throat. "Those lead to Novatrix," she said quietly. "No one goes there unless it's an absolute emergency. And even then… well, let's just say the odds of coming back are slim."
"What's on the other side?" Coren asked, lowering her voice as if speaking too loudly might draw the attention of the Enforcers.
"Chaos," Lyra replied, her tone heavy. "The system barely functions. Every attempt to stabilize it has ended in disaster. There's a reason the gates are sealed unless absolutely necessary."
Coren shivered, forcing her attention back to the gate in front of her. This one shimmered with the dull grey of Earth's skies. She took a deep breath, trying to steady the knot of nerves twisting in her stomach.
Lyra stepped beside her, her expression softening as she placed a hand lightly on Coren's shoulder. "This is a big moment," she said. "You're going back to where it all started for you. To your home. Are you ready?"
Coren stiffened slightly, her fingers brushing the strap of her satchel. Memories flickered unbidden in her mind—ruined buildings, scavenged scraps, and the constant ache of hunger. She'd spent so long distancing herself from that life, convincing herself it was behind her. But now, standing here at the gate, the reality of returning made her chest tighten.
"It feels… strange," she admitted, her voice quieter than she intended. "To people here, Earth seems like something distant, almost mythical. But it's not, is it? The ruins, the tribes… that was my whole world once. And now, I feel anxious just to go back."
Lyra studied her carefully, her green eyes steady and full of understanding. "It's okay to feel that way," she said gently. "Going back isn't easy, especially after everything you've been through. But it's also a chance—a chance to see how far you've come."
Coren took a deep breath, nodding slowly. She wasn't sure if she was ready—not entirely—but Lyra's presence was steadying. "Let's do this," she said finally.
Lyra moved to the console, her fingers dancing over the glowing interface. With a series of quick commands, the gate's shimmering surface brightened, the ripples smoothing into a mirror-like finish. The image on the other side solidified into a view of Earth's surface, its sky muted and grey.
As the Fields aligned, creating the bridge between Solvix III and Terra, Coren felt the subtle pull of energy brushing against her awareness. She squared her shoulders, her resolve hardening as she stepped toward the gate.
As Lyra stepped through the shimmering surface of the gate, Lex floated just ahead of her, his red glow casting faint, fleeting reflections on the polished floor. Coren followed closely, Sol hovering protectively at her side. The energy of the gate rippled around her as she stepped forward, pressing softly against her skin like a warm, invisible breeze.
And then, in an instant, the sensation was gone.
Coren blinked as her feet found solid ground again, and her surroundings came into focus. They were standing in a gate building almost identical to the one on Solvix III. The same rippling, organic walls. The same faint, shifting energy in the air. But there was something about the atmosphere here—something heavier.
The gate building was sparsely staffed, though the Fieldwielders Association guards stationed near the gates gave the two of them cursory glances before returning to their posts. Their black-and-gold uniforms were pristine, and their stances radiated discipline, but Coren could sense the faint unease in the way their gazes lingered on her and Lyra. She wondered how often they received visitors from Solvix—or if they ever left the safety of this colony themselves.
"This way," Lyra said, motioning for Coren to follow. She caught up and showed her permit to the guards.
Coren nodded silently, her eyes briefly scanning the rest of the building. It was more than just a gate station—it was an integral part of a small Fieldwielders Association colony, built to ensure safe operations on Earth. Outside the gate chamber, she could see several prefab buildings nestled within the fortified compound, their sleek, functional designs a stark contrast to the wild, untamed world beyond the perimeter walls.
Lyra had planned everything meticulously, of course. Their tools, supplies, and equipment had been sent ahead of time, and the Association had been paid handsomely to transport everything to the forward base they would use over the next two weeks. Coren didn't know the exact details of the arrangement, but judging by Lyra's focus on the console, she knew her mentor wasn't one to cut corners when it came to preparation.
Once the final checks were complete, Lyra gestured for Coren to follow her. Instead of heading to the front of the base, she led her around to a secluded clearing away from the camp and nestled between the tall trees. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine.
Coren frowned, clutching the artifact tightly. "Why are we back here?" she asked, glancing around the quiet space.
Lyra looked over her shoulder with a faint smile. "We're out of sight. That's all that matters."
Understanding dawned, and Coren nodded, her pulse quickening. She held the storage artifact firmly, her fingers brushing the engraved markings as she activated it.
The device in her hands brightened suddenly, emitting a low, harmonious tone. The air in front of them shimmered, rippling like the surface of a pond disturbed by a single drop of water. The ripples expanded outward, and with a final surge of light, the FusionRider AT3 emerged.
Coren stepped back instinctively as the vehicle materialized fully, its massive frame gleaming under the filtered sunlight. The FusionRider was a marvel of engineering, its all-terrain design immediately evident. Six enormous, rugged wheels supported a sturdy, angular body that was both sleek and intimidating. The grey, metallic surface shimmered faintly, hinting at a protective Field layer integrated into its construction.
Lyra circled the vehicle, her sharp eyes scanning its details. "Pre-Severance tech," she murmured, running her hand along the smooth, armour-plated hull. "Compact fusion reactor. Adaptive suspension. This thing was built to handle anything."
Coren stepped closer, her awe growing with every detail. The interior, visible through a reinforced glass panel, looked as advanced as the exterior. The cockpit was outfitted with ergonomic controls, streamlined displays, and an interface that seemed designed to respond to Field manipulation.
"It's beautiful," Coren said softly, placing her hand against the cool metal. The vehicle seemed purr under her touch, as if acknowledging her presence.
Sol hovered beside her, his glow brightening. "This is more than a vehicle—it's a tool. One that will make your journey to Earth not only possible but far safer."
Lyra nodded, stepping back to admire the machine.
Coren couldn't suppress the small grin tugging at her lips as she gazed at the FusionRider.
The FusionRider was an imposing, almost indomitable presence on the landscape, its six oversized wheels gripping the uneven terrain easily. Each tire was reinforced with advanced, self-repairing polymers, capable of withstanding jagged rocks, scorched wastelands, and even icy tundras. The vehicle's grey, armoured hull had a utilitarian design, eschewing elegance for a rugged functionality that screamed durability. Scratches and dents adorned its surface like battle scars, a testament to the countless miles it had already endured.
The vehicle's compact fusion reactor hummed quietly at its core, an invisible promise of power and reliability. Unlike even less-advanced energy systems, the FusionRider's reactor could run for years on minimal fuel, providing consistent energy to its massive frame. It wasn't just built to traverse the unpredictable terrains of Earth; it thrived there.
The interior matched its exterior ethos: Spartan yet efficient. The driver's seat, surrounded by an array of tactile controls and holographic displays, offered an unmatched sense of control. Suspended in adaptive shock absorption, the cockpit kept its occupants steady, even as the vehicle tackled the harshest conditions.
Coren climbed into the passenger seat while Lyra took the controls, her hands moving with practised ease as she powered up the vehicle from the training she had been doing. With a faint jolt, the FusionRider rolled forward.
The two of them travelled in silence at first, the only sounds were the soft whir of the reactor and the crunch of the vehicle's wheels on the uneven ground. Coren leaned her head against the window, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
It was both familiar and alien.
The crumbling ruins of the old capital city rose in the distance, their jagged silhouettes half-swallowed by overgrowth. Trees and vines crawled up once-proud skyscrapers, their roots breaking through asphalt roads that had long since cracked and faded. In some places, nature had completely reclaimed the land, transforming it into dense forests and rolling meadows.
For a moment, Coren was struck by nostalgia. She remembered running through similar wild, overgrown streets as a child, scavenging for food and scraps with the other children of her tribe. But the nostalgia was fleeting, quickly replaced by a heavier, more sombre feeling.
Why hadn't humanity reclaimed this planet? How could they have abandoned it, leaving Earth's once-proud cities to crumble into wild, unrecognizable ruins? Twelve hundred years had passed since the Severance—more than enough time to rebuild, to breathe life back into this battered world. But instead, Earth had been left to rot, its broken remnants a playground for the desperate, the forgotten, the tribes who scraped by on the edges of a lost civilization.
Coren clenched her hands in her lap, her knuckles whitening as her thoughts circled like vultures over a dying truth. There had to be a reason for this abandonment, something she hadn't been told. The colonies wouldn't just ignore the birthplace of humanity without cause. But what could justify letting an entire planet, and the people who still called it home, fall into this state?
Lyra glanced at her briefly, the edges of her green eyes catching the faint light. Her expression was unreadable, but Coren could feel the quiet understanding there, even without words. Lyra didn't press her, though, choosing instead to let the silence stretch between them, as if sensing Coren needed the space to wrestle with her thoughts.
The shadows had lengthened by the time they arrived at the forward base, the setting sun painting the landscape in hues of grey and deep crimson. Nestled at the edge of a forest, the base was a stark contrast to the untamed wilderness surrounding it. The prefab structure stood simple and utilitarian, its steel walls gleaming faintly in the dying light. Encircled by a sturdy steel barrier, the base offered a sense of security, but to Coren, it felt like another reminder of how little humanity had reclaimed—just a speck of order in an ocean of chaos as the FusionRider rolled to a stop.
Coren stepped out of the FusionRider, taking in the scene with a sceptical eye. She couldn't help but wonder how much it had cost to transport everything here—this much infrastructure couldn't have been cheap. "Wasn't this a bit… excessive?" she muttered.
It was Lex who answered, his red glow brightening slightly as he floated ahead. "Not really," he said smoothly. "Melody of Form wielders can create personalised pocket dimensions or even open gates between two points on the same planet. Transporting something like this is actually quite easy."
Coren raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Pocket dimensions? Like a whole base just… folded away somewhere?"
Lex hovered closer, his glow steady. "Precisely. Pocket dimensions are spaces that have always existed. By manipulating the Melody you can use a dimensional key to open or close its doorway from nearly anywhere. It's surprisingly energy-efficient."
Coren studied the prefab structure again, her scepticism softening. "I guess that explains it," she admitted, though a faint unease lingered. "Still, if we can do things like this, why is Earth still such a wasteland?"
Lex paused, his light dimming slightly, as if considering his answer. "Perhaps that is a question we will find an answer for on this trip," he said, his tone quieter now.
Coren frowned, her gaze lingering on the base. "Yeah," she muttered, more to herself than to Lex. "Maybe."
Coren stepped out of the FusionRider, groaning softly as she stretched her legs, stiff from the long ride. The first thing she noticed was the faint, crisp scent of pine mingling with the earthy aroma of the surrounding forest. The base was as functional as she had expected—no frills, no wasted space. Its prefab structure stood sturdy and practical, designed for efficiency rather than comfort.
The interior reflected the same no-nonsense approach. Inside were two narrow beds pushed against opposite walls, their utilitarian frames and thin mattresses offering no illusions of luxury. A compact kitchen area occupied one corner, its neatly arranged shelves stocked with the bare essentials—packs of dried meals, water canisters, and a small cooking unit. Next to it was a storage space crammed with tools, supplies, and neatly stacked crates.
The centrepiece of the base was a sturdy workbench, its surface scattered with instruments for analyzing artifacts—field scanners, tools for delicate restorations, and a terminal humming faintly, ready to log their findings. The terminal's sleek interface looked out of place in the otherwise spartan setting, its glow casting soft light over the space. It was clear this wasn't an expedition for comfort—it was a mission of purpose.
Stepping outside, Coren's gaze fell on a firepit nestled within the clearing just outside the base's perimeter. Made from a ring of carefully placed stones, the pit still held the faint, charred remnants of past fires, hinting that the site had been used before. A stack of firewood was neatly arranged nearby, the larger logs split and ready. Above the pit, a simple metal grate hung from a sturdy tripod, a practical touch for cooking or heating.
The sight stirred something in her. Despite the stark functionality of the base, the firepit felt different—an echo of something older, something shared. She could imagine sitting around it as the flames crackled and danced, the warmth cutting through the chill of the night while stories and conversations filled the quiet spaces. For a moment, the cold edge of the expedition softened, and she allowed herself the fleeting thought that perhaps, here, they could carve out a sliver of humanity amidst the practicality.
"Not much, but it'll do," she murmured to herself, the faint sound of Lyra's footsteps behind her pulling her back to the present.
"We're here to work, not vacation," Lyra said, as if reading Coren's mind.
Coren glanced at her, managing a small smile. "I figured as much."
Lyra began unloading some of their gear from the FusionRider, her movements efficient and precise. "Everything you've trained for leads up to this, Coren," she said without looking up. "This is where it gets real. No simulations, no controlled environments. Just us, the planet, and whatever we uncover."
Coren nodded, swallowing the nervous flutter in her chest. She felt Sol hover closer, his steady presence reassuring as always.
"First thing tomorrow, we'll head to the dig site," Lyra said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact as she stacked another crate on the workbench. "But tonight, get some rest. You'll need it."
Coren opened her mouth to protest, the anticipation of the expedition still buzzing in her chest, but as she glanced at the darkening sky outside the prefab's small window, she felt her shoulders sag. The weight of the day was catching up to her—between the gate travel, the journey here, and the swirl of emotions tied to being back on Earth, she was more drained than she'd realised.
"Alright," Coren said quietly, retreating to her small cot. As she sat on the edge, unlacing her boots, her gaze lingered on the window. The forest outside was cloaked in deep shadows, the trees swaying faintly in the breeze. Somewhere out there was the world she'd left behind—a world that, even now, felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for her.
She lay down and stared at the ceiling, her mind racing despite her exhaustion.
The next morning, Lyra stood by the FusionRider, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as Coren approached, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"Ready to see where we're headed?" Lyra asked, motioning for Coren to hop into the passenger seat.
Coren frowned. "You still haven't told me where the dig site is."
"I wanted it to be a surprise," Lyra said cryptically as she climbed into the driver's seat.
As the FusionRider rumbled to life and rolled out of the base, Coren's unease began to grow. Lyra had been unusually tight-lipped about the location, and now that they were on their way, Coren couldn't shake the feeling that there was a reason for her mentor's secrecy.
It wasn't until they crested the hill and the landscape unfurled before them that Coren truly understood.
Her breath hitched as she took in the sight. The jagged terrain ahead stretched endlessly, broken by deep ravines, crumbling structures, and patches of desolate earth that seemed almost scorched. The Forbidden Zone.
Coren's grip tightened on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white. The Forbidden Zone wasn't just avoided—it was spoken of in hushed tones, a place wrapped in layers of fear and mystery. Fieldwielders steered clear of it. The tribes knew better than to encroach on its boundaries. They treated the Zone like sacred ground—a place where only death or madness awaited.
As a child, Coren had listened to the elders' stories, their faces lit by flickering campfire light. Tales of strange creatures with glowing eyes that prowled the ruins, of traps that sprang from the earth without warning, and of security drones that hadn't aged a day since the Severance, still executing orders no one remembered giving. Coren wasn't sure what was fact or fiction but wasn't excited to find out.
"Lyra…" Coren said, her voice taut with unease. "You can't be serious. The dig site is here?"
Lyra turned to her, calm as always, her hands steady on the controls. Her expression was unreadable, a mask of quiet resolve. "It wasn't my decision," she said evenly, her gaze briefly flicking to Sol, who hovered silently between them. "This location was Sol's choice."
Coren's eyes darted to her Companion, who pulsed faintly, his glow steady and reassuring. But it did little to ease the knot tightening in her chest.
"Sol," she said sharply, her words laced with frustration. "Why here? Of all places?"
The Companion's voice emerged, calm and measured. "Because the answers you seek are buried in places others fear to look. The Zone guards its secrets well. What you need is here, Coren. But only if you are brave enough to claim it."
Coren swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't tell if Sol's words were meant to reassure her or simply state the facts. Either way, there was no denying the pull of the Forbidden Zone—the lure of uncovering what lay hidden in its depths, no matter the cost.
She tore her gaze from the terrain, looking at Lyra once more. "And you're okay with this?"
Lyra's lips curved into a faint, almost wry smile. "It's not about being okay with it," she said. "It's about doing what needs to be done. And right now, what needs to be done is in there."
Coren sat back, exhaling shakily as the FusionRider rumbled forward, the Forbidden Zone growing ever closer. Once they reached the edge of a dense forest, Lyra parked the vehicle, and they stepped out into the crisp morning air.
"We'll deploy the survey drones first," Lyra said, pulling a sleek metallic device from one of the storage compartments. She handed one to Coren and activated her own, the small drones humming to life and hovering a few feet above the ground. "They'll give us a better idea of the structure we're working with. But that's not all we'll rely on."
Coren nodded, already reaching out with her senses to tune into the Melody, she activated her scanning song. As Melody of Perception wielders, both she and Lyra had trained extensively to tap into the Field to enhance their awareness.
Coren closed her eyes, letting the Melody flow through her. The Cognitive Field worked silently in the background, dedicating a small portion of her mind to analyze the constant stream of data flowing in from the Sensory Field. It was overwhelming at first—the sheer amount of information threatening to overload her—but with Sol helping to manage it she had learned how to stay in control.
When she opened her eyes again, the world seemed sharper. She could sense the old structures buried beneath the earth, the flicker of movement in the trees, the subtle shifts in the air as the wind carried distant sounds and scents.
Lyra was already moving forward, her eyes scanning the holographic map projected by her drones. Coren followed, her senses still tuned to the Melody, but something in the back of her mind was nagging at her—a faint vibration, almost like…
"Something's coming," Lyra said suddenly, her voice calm but firm. She tilted her head, listening to the Melody. "A large animal. Feels like a Wolfliger."
Coren froze. A Wolfiger. She'd heard of them—creatures born of humanity's pre-Severance arrogance, a perfect blend of predator and nightmare. Its massive frame rivalled that of a tiger, its muscular body rippling beneath fur that shifted between a deep orange and smoky grey. The beast's head was unmistakably lupine, with piercing yellow eyes that seemed to see everything and jaws lined with jagged, bone-crushing teeth. Its claws, sharp and curved like scythes, gleamed faintly, a reminder of its lethal efficiency. Fast, intelligent, and deadly—this was a creature that belonged to the top of the food chain.
Her heart began to race. "We trained for this," she reminded herself under her breath. But training and reality were two very different things.
Lyra didn't seem fazed. She knelt calmly on the ground, placing her hands on the earth as Lex merged with her reactor. "Stay close to me, Coren. I'll handle this." Lyra said, her voice steady. "If we're lucky, I can connect with it. Maybe even tame it."
Lyra, being one of the rare double-melody wielders, had the unique ability to combine the Spiritual Field from the Melody of Perception with the Communication Field from the Melody of Connections, allowing her to forge deep, almost instinctive bonds with living beings. Coren could only hope that this rare gift would be enough to make a difference here.
Coren's jaw tightened as she watched her mentor. They'd gone through the process in training countless times, but watching it unfold in the wild, with an actual Wolfiger closing in on them, was an entirely different experience.
Lyra's focus deepened, and Coren felt a subtle shift in the Melody as her mentor reached out with the combined Fields. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, and Coren found herself holding her breath as the distant sound of heavy footsteps drew closer.
For a moment, Coren's doubts surged. But then she saw the calm in Lyra's face, the way she moved with absolute confidence, and she forced herself to breathe.
"We trained for this," she repeated to herself. And for now, she could only hope that training would be enough.
The Wolfiger emerged from the underbrush, the crunch of snapping twigs marking its arrival. Its muscular frame moved with predatory grace, each step deliberate and powerful. Coren's breath caught as she took in its sheer size—easily twice what she had been expecting its thick fur rippling over its massive shoulders. Its amber eyes glowed, locking onto them with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. Its claws, long and curved, sank effortlessly into the earth with every step.
Lyra, however, remained composed. Still kneeling, her hands rested lightly on the ground, her connection to the Fields flowing around her like a gentle current. Coren could feel it too—a growing resonance that reached out to the creature. Lyra closed her eyes, drawing on the Communication Field from the Melody of Connection and weaving it delicately with the Spiritual Field.
The Wolfiger paused, its head tilting in a gesture that almost seemed curious. The tension in its massive frame didn't dissipate entirely, but there was a shift—a moment of uncertainty, or perhaps understanding. Lyra's lips moved faintly, her voice too soft to carry, the words spoken directly into the Melody itself. Whatever she said—whatever bond she was forging—it worked.
The massive creature slowly lowered its head, the tension in its posture melting away. Coren stared in disbelief as the Wolfliger took a tentative step forward, then another. It stopped directly in front of Lyra, leaning down to sniff her hand before letting out a low, rumbling sound that almost resembled a purr.
Lyra smiled faintly and reached out, her fingers brushing its fur. "There we go," she said softly, her voice warm.
The Wolfliger responded by pressing its massive head against her shoulder, and before Coren could even process what was happening, the creature leaned in and licked Lyra's face with a surprisingly gentle swipe of its tongue.
Coren blinked. "I can't believe that worked."
Lyra stood slowly, wiping her face with a laugh. "Believe it, Coren. Trust in the Fields—and your training." She turned to the Wolfliger, patting its side. "You're going to help us now, aren't you?"
The creature let out a low growl of approval before settling down near the edge of the clearing, its sharp eyes scanning the surrounding forest.
With the Wolfliger now acting as a silent guard, Lyra and Coren turned their attention back to the task at hand. The survey drones had completed their scans, sending back detailed holographic maps of the area. Multiple sites showed promising anomalies beneath the surface—buried structures or artifacts waiting to be uncovered.
Lyra studied the scans, her finger hovering over the nearest site. "We'll start here," she said, pointing to a spot marked just before the treeline. "It's close, and the readings suggest a structure just beneath the ground. If we're lucky, it might still be intact."
Coren nodded, already gathering the tools they'd need. Shovels, hand scanners, and a few specialized devices designed to detect subtle Field disturbances. Once everything was loaded onto their portable carrier, they made their way to the dig site.
The work was gruelling, and the heat of the midday sun bore down on them as they chipped away at the hardened dirt and rubble. The drones had identified something beneath the surface—a buried structure that could only be accessed by digging down into the collapsed remains of what once might have been a small facility or bunker.
Coren's hands ached as she worked the edge of her excavation tool under a large piece of debris, leveraging it upward with a faint groan of effort. Beside her, Lyra's movements were steady and precise, her years of experience showing in the way she cleared rubble without disturbing the layers below.
Coren would stop once in a while and record their finding, making sure to keep perfect records, she was hoping to use the expedition for credit on her course, so she couldn't afford to slack off.
"Looks like it's collapsed in on itself," Lyra said, pausing to wipe the sweat from her brow. She scanned the exposed area with a handheld device, its holographic display flickering to life. "The structure goes deeper than I thought. Could be part of an old outpost. There appears to be an entry just over there" Lyra pointed to where Coren would dig next.
"Outpost?" Coren repeated, glancing over.
"Military or research, maybe," Lyra said, her tone thoughtful. "The readings suggest reinforced walls. It might've been designed to withstand something—at least for a while."
The mention of "military" sent a chill down Coren's spine, but she didn't stop digging. Her tool struck something hard, and she froze, exchanging a glance with Lyra. Carefully, she brushed away the dirt to reveal a smooth, metallic surface beneath the rubble.
"Found something," Coren said, her voice low.
Lyra crouched beside her, her fingers grazing the surface of the exposed metal. "Looks like an entrance," she said, inspecting the faint outline of a rectangular hatch. "Help me clear it."
Together, they worked to uncover more of the buried structure. As the dirt and debris fell away, the damage became more evident. The metal was scorched and warped, jagged scars crisscrossing its surface—clear evidence of weapon damage.
"Whatever happened here," Lyra murmured, "wasn't an accident." She continued to take scans to record the evidence.
Coren nodded, her throat tight as she took in the sight. Blasts from energy-based weapons had melted parts of the outer walls, leaving blackened streaks that stretched across the structure. It was a sobering reminder of the conflict that had torn humanity apart during the Severance.
After what felt like hours, they managed to expose enough of the entrance to pry it open. The hatch groaned as Lyra used a powered tool to force it upward, revealing a dark, narrow stairwell leading into the depths below.
Coren hesitated, peering into the shadows. "Do you think it's safe?"
"No," Lyra said bluntly, though her lips twitched with a faint smile. "But that's why we're here. Don't forget to activate your scanning song—we don't want to be taken by surprise." She handed Coren a fresh set of batteries for her training reactor. Coren slotted them in and activated her scanning melody, and the world around her sharpened into crisp focus once again.
They descended cautiously, their lights casting long, shifting beams across the walls. The interior was eerily intact, the reinforced metal walls showing less damage than the exterior. But as they moved deeper, the air grew heavy with a metallic tang, and Coren's stomach churned with unease.
At the base of the stairs, they stepped into a cavernous chamber, its air heavy with the scent of burnt metal and decay. Shadows danced across the walls as their lights swept the room, revealing scorch marks etched into the stone and floor in chaotic, jagged patterns. The scars told a silent tale of violence—blasts, impacts, and searing heat that had ravaged the space long ago.
Then Coren saw them, and her breath caught in her throat.
Bodies.
They were sprawled across the chamber like discarded marionettes, their forms frozen in grotesque poses of struggle. Some slumped lifelessly against the walls, others lay crumpled where they had fallen, their limbs bent at unnatural angles. They wore strange armour—sleek and gleaming, its alien design glinting faintly in the dim light. Weapons lay scattered around them, sleek and advanced, untouched by scavengers or the slow march of time. The gear looked pristine, almost eerily so, as if the battle had ended just moments before.
Coren's heart pounded as she took a hesitant step closer, her eyes drawn to the nearest figure. "They're… soldiers," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But… are they human?"
Lyra crouched beside one of the bodies, her movements careful and deliberate. Her gloved hand reached out, turning over a jagged fragment of armour with practised ease. "Hard to say," she murmured, her tone distant, analytical. She held the piece closer to the light, her brow furrowing as she studied the edges. "This isn't like anything I've seen before. Look here—see how the edges ripple? It looks… grown, almost organic, rather than forged."
Coren's eyes drifted back to the body itself. The figure beneath the armour was humanoid, but something about it was wrong. The legs were too long, and unnervingly thin, and the torso seemed impossibly narrow. One arm lay across the chest, and Coren's stomach churned as she noticed the hand—it clutched a strange weapon, but the fingers had an extra joint, bending in ways that made her skin crawl.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "If they're not human… then what were they fighting for?"
She swallowed hard. "What if they're not?"
Lyra glanced at her, her expression unreadable. "Then it means the Severance wasn't just a civil war," she said quietly. "It means humanity wasn't alone in that fight."
The words hung heavy in the air, the implications sinking into Coren like a weight. She stepped back, her gaze darting to the weapons strewn across the chamber. One of them caught her eye—a sleek, rifle-like device with glowing lines etched into its surface. She reached out to touch it, but Lyra stopped her with a firm hand on her wrist.
"Not yet," Lyra said. "We don't know if it's still active—or what it might do if it is."
Coren nodded, lowering her hand. "What do we do with the bodies?" she asked hesitantly.
Lyra sighed, standing and taking a slow look around the chamber. "We document everything. The bodies, the weapons, the damage—it all matters. This isn't just about recovering artifacts anymore, Coren. This is about understanding what happened here—and why it was buried."
Coren swallowed, glancing back at the nearest body. Its helmet had fallen off, revealing a face that was eerily human, yet subtly alien—elongated features, faint ridges along the cheekbones, and eyes that seemed too large.
For a moment, she felt like those empty eyes were staring at her, demanding answers she wasn't sure she wanted to find.
Lyra's voice broke through her thoughts. "This changes things," she said, her tone steady but grave. "Whatever happened here, it wasn't just a battle. It was a piece of the truth we've been looking for."
Coren nodded slowly, her grip tightening on the strap of her satchel. The room seemed heavier now, the silence oppressive as they began the careful process of documenting the scene.
As Coren and Lyra worked in the oppressive silence of the chamber, something shifted. There was a shift in the chamber, a tangible wave of energy—and Coren instinctively turned to look at Lyra.
Lex was no longer inside Lyra's reactor. Instead, he had fully emerged, his red light blazing brighter than Coren had ever seen before. His form seemed sharper, more defined, almost jagged in the intensity of his glow.
Lyra froze, her eyes widening slightly. "Lex?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain.
Before she could say anything more, Coren felt another shift—this time from her own reactor. Sol exited as well, his soft white light a stark contrast to Lex's crimson glare. The sudden loss of connection made Coren stagger slightly as her scanning song collapsed, leaving her senses disoriented.
"Sol? What's going on?" Coren asked, her voice unsteady.
But Sol didn't answer immediately. Instead, he hovered protectively in front of Coren, his light steady and deliberate.
It was Lex who spoke first, his voice sharp and crackling with hostility. "The Valtau Empire," he said, his tone laced with contempt. "These bodies—they belonged to the Valtau. They are of Human origin."
Coren blinked, her mind racing. "Human?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Impossible," Lyra said, shaking her head. "They can't be human. Look at their proportions, their features—they're not like us."
Lex's light flared angrily, casting long shadows on the chamber walls. "Not like you anymore. These were human soldiers, bred and modified by the Valtau to serve as their enforcers. Tank-born super soldiers. Augmented for strength, endurance, and loyalty." He spat the last word like a curse.
The hostility radiating off Lex was almost palpable, and it made the hairs on the back of Coren's neck stand on end. She glanced at Sol, who floated quietly beside her, his light calm but sombre.
"This is significant," Sol said finally, his tone measured. "But it's not the reason we're here." He turned slightly toward Coren and Lyra, his glow steady. "Focus. The past is important, but our objective remains the same. Document the site and its contents, but do not touch the weapons or armour. They are coded to their users. Interference could activate them—or worse."
Lyra nodded slowly, though her gaze lingered on Lex with an expression that was part curiosity, part concern. "Noted," she said, her voice quiet. "We'll leave them as they are."
Coren, still reeling from the revelation, looked back at the bodies. The idea that these armoured warriors were human—or had once been—sent a chill through her. She studied the intricate designs of their weapons, the strange organic curves of their armour, and felt a pang of unease. How far had humanity fallen to create something like this?
"Tank-bred super soldiers," she murmured to herself. "What were they even fighting for?"
Lex's voice cut through the quiet, sharper than ever. "For an empire that twisted humanity into tools of conquest."
"Enough," Sol interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. "You've broken the accord enough for today. I understand your feelings, so I've allowed it to pass this time. But do it again, and I will return you to the Pool."
Lex's red glow dimmed, the crackling hostility receding into a faint ember, though the tension in the chamber remained palpable, pressing against the walls like an unseen force. "Understood, my lord," he said, his voice subdued, carrying a grudging respect that didn't quite mask his discontent. With a flicker, his light retreated into Lyra's reactor, leaving a hollow stillness in his wake.
Coren exchanged a glance with Lyra, her pulse quickening. Lyra offered a small, reassuring nod, but her eyes betrayed her own turmoil, questions flickering in their depths like embers refusing to die.
Turning back to her work, Coren struggled to focus, her thoughts churning with unease. The accords? A Pool? And since when is Sol a lord? The words circled in her mind, refusing to settle. Across from her, Lyra worked with quiet precision, but the faint furrow in her brow suggested she was no less preoccupied.
The rest of the documentation passed in an uneasy silence. Lyra moved methodically, her hands steady as she scanned and cataloged the artifacts—the strange armor, the alien weapons, the fractured structure that seemed to pulse faintly with a forgotten purpose. Coren assisted where she could, her fingers brushing over ancient surfaces, but her mind remained elsewhere, weighed down by the significance of their discoveries.
Sol hovered near Coren, his glow soft and steady, a quiet beacon of reassurance as she worked. His presence was calming, but the unspoken weight of his identity loomed heavy in her thoughts. Meanwhile, Lex lingered within Lyra's reactor, his red glow barely perceptible, like a smoldering ember buried beneath ash. Though his light was dim, his presence felt taut, restrained, as if his emotions were simmering just out of reach.
The chamber, with its scorched walls and scattered remnants of a forgotten conflict, felt like a reflection of the tension hanging between them—a battlefield, not just of the past, but of the unspoken truths and lingering questions that now filled the air.
The Wolfliger, sensing the tension in the air, sat near the entrance of the chamber, its sharp eyes fixed on the surrounding forest as if standing guard.
By the time they finished documenting everything, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting the clearing outside the building in deep shadows.
Lyra stood and stretched, exhaling softly. "That's enough for today," she said. "Let's get back to the forward base."
Coren nodded, securing the last of their equipment in the portable carrier. As they stepped out of the building, the Wolfliger rose to its feet and padded silently after them, its massive form blending almost seamlessly with the twilight.
The ride back to the forward base was quiet. Coren stared out the window, her thoughts swirling. The Valtau Empire. Tank-bred super soldiers. The idea of a human empire twisting its own people into something unrecognizable left an uneasiness in her soul.
Lyra, sensing Coren's unease, glanced over briefly. "Heavy stuff, huh?"
Coren nodded. "I just… I didn't expect this. I didn't think we'd find something that—real."
"It's always real, Coren," Lyra said softly. "History isn't just stories. It's people. Their choices. Their mistakes. And their legacies. The question is, what do we do with what we find?"
Coren didn't answer, her gaze drifting to Sol, who hovered quietly in the corner of the cabin. His calm presence was a stark contrast to Lex's earlier hostility, and it reminded her of just how much she didn't know about the Companions—or the history they carried.
As the FusionRider rolled into the forward base, the Wolfliger trotted ahead, its lithe movements almost elegant in the low light. Lyra powered down the vehicle and stepped out, stretching again before gesturing for Coren to follow.
"Get some rest," Lyra said, her tone lighter now. "Tomorrow, we figure out what all this means."
Coren nodded, but as she glanced up at the stars, pondering the meaning of it all.