Captain Norries stared out at the unchanging eastern horizon with a grim expression. Endless hills of sunbaked dirt and suffocating heat defined life at the base. Add the occasional violent rainstorm, and it made him wonder how a land so frequently drenched could remain so utterly dead.

Classified, huh? He pondered his subordinate’s strange report.

Turning to his console, Norries attempted to cross-reference the tag data through the Citadel database, only for his retinal display and main screen to flash crimson:

[UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS // LEVEL ESCALATION REQUIRED]

Without hesitation, Norries routed the data directly to his immediate superior—a high-ranking commander two paygrades above him. The reply came back almost instantaneously, bearing a single red directive:

[PROTOCOL ZION]

Norries’s eyes widened slightly before his commanding voice boomed over the hangar speakers.

"Clear the launch pads! Prepare an emergency tactical paradrop crate! Launch as soon as it’s locked! Route it to these coordinates immediately!"

The ground crew scrambled. Five years stationed above ground had bred laziness—nothing of note had ever happened out here save for severe storms or routine supply drops. They didn't know what the crate was for, but the sudden urgency in the Captain's voice forced them into a sprint.

Whom should I send? Norries pondered the roster.

He couldn't just send a typical musclehead, but intelligence wasn't exactly an abundant stat out in the agricultural sector. Five platoons were currently stationed at the main base, operating in three-man fireteams on routine farm patrols—checking crop quotas and collecting reports. Speed versus competence.

To hell with it, Norries thought. Send both.

He turned toward the officers' barracks and kicked open the door. Smoke hung thick in the air. The moment he stepped into the haze, three men scrambled upright into a crisp salute—wearing nothing but their combat boots and underwear, fanning themselves with an old manual.

“Lieutenant Drake. Gear up,” Norries barked. “Interpose and pick up 2nd Lieutenant Ruiz’s platoon en route. Details are syncing to your grid now.”

“Aye, Captain...” Drake muttered, lazily throwing a salute. “We were just waiting on the AC maintenance crew to wrap up.”

Drake assumed it was standard fence scraping. But as the mission data synced to his bio-input and flashed across his retinal HUD, his eyes widened.

Protocol Zion?

“Cap... What in the world is this?”

“Unclassified delegates from outside the sector,” Norries replied grimly.

“High-priority clearance. Escort, protect, and assess their intent. Secondary procedures will be patched through upon visual contact.”

“Well now... that's a first.” Drake gestured sharply to his two men. “You heard the man. Suit up!”

The trio scrambled into their tactical rigs within seconds. Striding out to the main hangar, they bypassed the heavy armored haulers and went straight for the fastest dirt-bikes on the rack, engines roaring to life as they prepped to hit the wasteland.

***

“Oh, look—they sent backup power cells! Mind if we use a couple to charge up our bio, Sir?” Kian asked, sorting the drop package while Tomas, Levi, and the Teacher worked on assembling a set of makeshift barracks nearby.

“Go right ahead,” Levi replied, driving a support beam into the dirt. “Help yourselves. The solar array is still throwing software errors anyway.”

“I actually hold a standard technician's license for firmware and system software,” Kian offered eagerly. “With your permission, I could fix that array for you—no charge.”

Levi paused, looking over with an appreciative grin. “That’d be a huge help. Kian, right? What’s your INT stat sitting at?”

“Last time I ran a diagnostic, it was around thirteen...” Kian unrolled a backup power sleeve and wrapped it around his forearm. The magnetic Velcro secured with a soft snap, pulsing high-frequency induction waves into his bloodstream. His retinal HUD hummed back to life, flickering into focus:

Time: 1311 - 05_21_2150

Name: Kian Baltazar

Current Class: Apprentice Mechanic (Fringe // South Sector)

Ex-Class: None

Strength: 4.82 -

Stamina: 6.15 -

Int: 14.50 +

Health Stat: Malnourished [Expand]

Aura: 8.12% + [Charging...]

The emergency paradrop package had turned out to be a goldmine: nutrient rations, medical supplies, auxiliary power packs, thermal blankets, and modular prefab construction materials.

“These overalls look great on you!” Aira cheered, holding sturdy work coveralls against Mara’s frame.

“Ah... yes. Thank you,” Mara murmured with a soft smile. “A fresh change of clothes is a blessing right now.”

Mara neatly folded the extra garments while waiting for the men to lock the prefab frame into place. Once her own charging sleeve pulsed green, she queried her recovery stats:

Time: 1345 - 05_21_2150

Name: Mara Turing

Current Class: [Unregistered // Signal Interference]

Ex-Class: Field Archeologist (Retired // South Sector)

Strength: 12.45 +

Stamina: 13.80 +

Int: 15.20 +

Health Stat: Malnourished [Expand]

Aura: 7.50% + [Charging...]

The modular prefab shelter gave them a sturdy ten-by-ten meter home on the surface, complete with insulated walls, reinforced windows, climate control, and high-efficiency solar roof plating. Levi hooked heavy-duty feed cables into the shelter's power and water valves.

Feeling the steady, warm hum in his veins subside, Tomas unstrapped his induction sleeve and tapped his temple:

Time: 1545 - 05_21_2150

Name: Tomas Miller

Current Class: Boat Captain / Fisherman (Fringe // South Sector)

Ex-Class: None

Strength: 18.50 +

Stamina: 17.90 +

Int: 8.40 +

Health Stat: Malnourished [Expand]

Aura: 94.20% + [Check]

“Teacher, look! This is incredible compared to our tents!” Aira marveled, inspecting the interior. “There’s an actual washroom inside!”

“Careful, child,” the Teacher said softly. “It is good to be grateful for worldly provisions, but the spirit rejoices far more in His blessings.”

By dusk, the group set up folding tables around a fire pit in the dirt yard, arranging dark lumps of raw mineral coal inside. Wood was far too scarce a commodity to burn. Soon, a low, intense heat radiated from the glowing embers, giving the scene the cozy atmosphere of a late-night campsite under an unfiltered blanket of stars.

Levi took a slow sip from his metal mug. “Is it true that there’s nothing but dirt beyond the east?”

At the question, Tomas, Mara, and Kian reflexively went pale. The serene comfort vanished. In the wastes, night brought the dark, and with it, the things that hunted in it. Mara scanned the oppressive shadows beyond the farm’s perimeter, eyeing the slender post-and-wire fence with doubt.

Aira, entirely unfazed, grinned confidently. “There are fewer plants and trees out there, but there’s delicious meat under the dirt! Do you want us to hunt tomorrow, friend Levi? I can teach you how to catch one!”

Tomas forced his tone to remain light. “Ah, right... I remember catching them back at sea, but I never imagined you could find the same meat on land. It had a surprisingly rich taste.”

Levi raised an eyebrow. “There’s meat underground? That’s a first for me. Meat is practically a myth out here in the outposts. Everything in the Citadel is hoarded.”

“Down south, we had plenty of fish,” Tomas added, a hint of nostalgia softening his voice. “Me and my crew pulled in more than we knew what to do with.”

Levi sighed, looking down into his mug. “Man, I’ve never even tasted real fish. If only the old trading routes were still open...”

Tomas’s mind drifted back to the open water.

***

It was mid-day, and the weather exuded safe travels. Not a cloud was in sight—just a vast, open blue sea.

Then, Tomas Miller and his five-man crew saw it: a massive shadow lurking beneath the surface.

“Cap! Look! Come check this out!”

Tomas throttled back the engine, letting the boat idle, and peered over the rail. "What is it? Is it a whale?"

"Our scans aren't showing anything, Cap."

They stared blankly at the dark shape below their hull. It was so colossal they couldn't tell if it was moving—until something violently slammed against the bottom of the boat.

“Radio ashore. NOW!”

Tomas tilted his head upward in utter shock. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was a colossal wave capsizing their boat and him swimming for his life.

When he regained consciousness, his boat and crew were gone. His clothes were bone-dry and caked in dust. Ocean water had been replaced by suffocatingly dry air. He was stranded alone in the wasteland, with no idea how he had arrived.

***

“Hey, skip, rev it up for me, will ya?” Kian shouted over the slap of the tide against the hulls, testing the final diagnostics of an overhauled inboard motor.

The starter whined, sputtered once, and caught with a deep, rhythmic thrum.

“Good work, lad! She’s breathing,” the owner grinned, cutting the ignition. “I’ll wire your pay later. Network’s been dead since sunrise, so expect a lag, aight?”

Kian nodded, the missing signal finally explaining why a cluster of heavy-duty cable-laying vessels sat stranded offshore, their crews idling on the docks.

“Catch you later, skip. Got errands to run before dark.”

He hewed his heavy tool bag across his shoulder, cinched the waist strap, and vaulted onto the wooden pier.

The moment his boots hit the planks, the earth groaned.

A violent, localized tremor ripped through the pilings. The dock bucked upward like a breaking spine, snapping mooring lines and launching Kian backward off the edge.

He hit the dark water hard. The dead weight of the iron wrenches and diagnostic tools pinned his hips, dragging him down into the murky undertow. Seawater slammed into his throat before he could tear at the strap.

When he clawed his eyes open, the dark salt gave way to a glaring, alien sun burning dead center in an unfamiliar sky. A sharp bite on his leg jolted him upright. His tools were gone, leaving only his dust-covered clothes. Panicked, he triggered his bio-input to check his vitals and tap the emergency grid:

“Stat, connect!”

[Network Offline… Scanning for signals…]

Time: 1011 - 05_01_2150

Name: Kian Baltazar

Current Class: Apprentice Mechanic (Fringe // South Sector)

Ex-Class: None

Strength: 3.82 -

Stamina: 5.15 -

Int: 13.10 +

Health Stat: Impaired [Expand]

Aura: 36.12% + [Check]

A dry wind hissed across the cracked earth, carrying the smell of scorched ozone and old dust. He scrambled backward, clutching his stinging leg, staring out at a landscape that didn't belong to any port he'd ever known. “Stat, location!”

[Location… Unknown…]

He checked his engine core status:

[Aura Engine Ver. 015e]

[Code: Stat AuthPass: ********** ok ]

N-POP: 45,503,213 [UNSTABLE]

N-SYNC: 41.12% [DESYNC DETECTED]

N-PWR: 45.12% [LOW]

OUTPUT AURA: 1.1 kW [FLICKERING]

FIELD RADIANCE: 85 W/m² [SUBOPTIMAL]

HFreq: -- Hz [MISMATCHED]

The system log confirmed a severe engine breakdown. He had no tools, no food, and no water. Desperation creeping in, his lone voice echoed uselessly across the vast, empty wasteland.

***

“That was probably a Leviathan,” Aira spoke up clearly by the fire, stretching her hands out wide. “According to the ancient scriptures, it’s called the Serpent of the Abyss.”

“A Leviathan?” Mara murmured, deeply puzzled.

Her mind drifted back to what her team had unearthed down south.

Ancient cities lay buried deep beneath the earth, rich with forgotten lore. They weren't just stone monoliths; they were fractured vaults of a bygone age. Crushed subterranean subway tunnels served as concrete catacombs, choked with the skeletal hulls of commuter trains and fossilized fiber-optic cables.

Shattered skyscrapers leaned against cavern walls like hollowed-out ribs, their blacked-out glass panels still holding the ghost-faint glow of forgotten digital billboards. Below the dust, ancient data centers slept in silence, their server racks sealed beneath hardened mud—guarding the final, uncorrupted archives of human knowledge that humanity had paid in blood to forget.

Mara had been part of an elite archaeological team excavating those ruins on a remote island when a sudden earthquake triggered a collapse, claiming her husband and their only son.

Broken by the loss, she abandoned archaeology entirely. She spent her remaining savings wandering from coast to coast until an impossible tidal wave struck her passenger ship out in the open sea.

The mention of “serpent of the abyss” sent a cold shiver straight down Mara's spine. The dead world down below had already taken her family; hearing this young girl speak of it so casually felt surreal, almost dangerous.

Mara pulled her arms tight around her chest, staring blankly into the flickering coal embers.

“You speak of the scriptures as if they hold answers,” Mara said softly, her voice trembling over the sudden lump in her throat. “Do they... truly explain what lies buried out there?”

“Hmm... I do not understand what you mean about what’s buried but, I always carry a copy of the scriptures with me,” Aira said, pulling a worn, cloth-bound book from her satchel. “Want to read it?”

Mara’s eyes locked onto the volume. She held her breath, torn between the ghost of her past and the sudden, heavy weight of a history she had tried so hard to leave behind.