Ashwalker

Kaiell stepped forward.

The shrine's gate loomed like a wound in the fabric of the world—open, pulsing, waiting. Energy licked at the edges of the Rift, distorting the air with every pulse. The others followed, blindfolds removed now. No one spoke.

They didn't need to.

As Kaiell crossed the threshold, he felt pressure—not from the ground, but from every direction at once. Like reality had become water. Like his bones weren't solid anymore. The Viora interface flared inside his vision, flickering between colors he didn't have words for.

Sound warped. Color ran. Space bent like glass dipped in heat.

He blinked—and the stars were below him.

He blinked again—and they were inside his skull.

The world folded in.

He couldn't feel his limbs. Couldn't tell if he was walking or falling or floating. A scream rang out beside him—one of the Krugers—but it was cut short. Not from death.

From translation.

Time didn't stop here. It spun. It reversed. It whispered.

Kaiell clenched his jaw and focused. Not on the distortion, not on the pain—but on Nightfell. On his sword. Its weight. Its edge. Its truth.

The Rift flinched around it.

And then—

They were through.

His boots slammed onto solid ground, kicking up dust that shimmered like ground crystal. The distortion snapped like torn silk, and the others stumbled forward, gasping, some on their knees.

They had arrived.

The Void.

A dead, barren wasteland stretched before them—blue-gray rock and bone-smooth stone, cracked into endless ridges. No trees. No wind. No sun.

But above them—

The sky moved.

An ocean, vast and suspended, rolled in slow waves above the horizon. Inside it swam things—great and alien. Silhouettes like serpents and cities. Shapes that pulsed like lungs. Creatures that glided between light and shadow, unseen by any living world.

The sky was alive.

The ground… was a grave.

Kaiell exhaled. Every breath here was heavier. Viora fought against the pressure. His Ibex cells had already begun to pulse faster, adapting to the atmosphere, purifying whatever passed through his lungs.

Then the ship came.

Black, angular, and completely silent. It dipped down from the edge of the sea-sky, cutting through blue haze on triangular anti-grav fins. Its hull shimmered with Viora dampeners. No call sign. No flag.

It stopped just above them. A ramp descended. A woman in Kruger combat gear stepped down, her helmet off.

Eyes sunken. Expression calm.

She nodded once. "You're late."

No one answered. They simply boarded.

Inside, the ship smelled of steel, recycled air, and Rift inhibitors. The walls were lined with grav-rings and magnetic racks for heavy ordinance. A few of the Krugers vomited quietly into containment bags—adaptation sickness.

Kaiell just sat. Hands on knees. Breathing steady.

The woman across from him leaned forward.

"First-timers usually take longer to get their legs back," she said. "You must've trained harder."

He didn't answer.

She nodded to herself.

"Welcome to the other side."

The Carold

The ship landed on a cliffside plateau overlooking a cracked expanse of Void terrain. The base—Carold—was built into the cliff, like a buried hive. Defensive turrets and sensor arrays jutted from every edge, powered by buried Viora cores. Every wall was reinforced triple-fold. No windows. No weak points.

Inside, it felt like a submarine caught between dimensions.

Drones wheeled past with repair kits. Krugers in deep-Viora gear passed without speaking, faces pale from exposure. The whole place hummed with filtered light and air processed a thousand times over.

An officer met them in the debrief hall.

"You'll meet your commander after medical calibration. No exceptions. Step into the scan-pods."

One by one, the squad stepped inside.

When it was Kaiell's turn, the pod shut with a hiss. The world turned white.

[Viora Output: Stable][Ibex Count: 42][vX5 Gene: Active][Exposure Adaptation: 87% Complete]

He stepped out, blinking.

A medic approached.

"You've adapted faster than predicted. You'll be cleared for outside missions within two days."

Kaiell's eyes narrowed. "What kind of missions?"

The medic just smiled faintly. "The kind that erase entire nests before they grow."

Then something flickered on a nearby stasis screen. A name.

JORAN ELEN.

Kaiell's chest tightened.

He walked toward the cryopod in the far corner of the medbay. It was sealed, reinforced. Inside, Joran lay asleep—pale, bandaged, suspended in pale green mist. Cryo-repair.

His body looked rebuilt. Half of it reinforced by Viora channels. But he was alive.

Still fighting.

Kaiell stood there for a long moment.

A whisper escaped his throat. "You too?"

The cryopod lights pulsed once in reply—reacting to Kaiell's Viora signature.

Joran also had the vX5.

He'd made it through the gate.

Kaiell turned, mind racing.

The Carold wasn't just a base.

It was a fortress between realities. A bastion surrounded by Void. And Joran—his brother-in-arms—was already part of it.

Now they would fight together again.

And whatever waited beyond the next mission briefing… it would be met with steel, Viora, and a new storm forged in silence.