The water lapped at her waist, cold and clear, the current tugging faintly as she waded deeper.

It felt different from what she was used to.

Denser. Heavier.

Every movement took more effort. Staying afloat wasn't natural anymore—her body was too heavy, too compact. She had to keep moving, muscles lightly tensed, adjusting to the flow and the increased gravity.

She didn't mind.

Blood clung to her skin like oil, dried and cracked in lines across her arms and thighs. Her armor now rested on a nearby rock, half-drenched, steam curling from the plates under the sun.

Ayu dipped under.

The chill bit into her. Sharp. Fresh. She rubbed her arms, her legs. Most of the bruises were already gone. The gashes had closed long ago. But the grime lingered. The scent. The feel of hours of blood and dirt coating her like a second skin.

She cleaned it off.

Her eyes stayed open underwater, senses picking up every flicker of movement around her. Always scanning.

Fish the size of her forearm darted through the current—sleek, quick, their silver bodies cutting the water like blades. They moved with sharp bursts, never lingering. None came close. They sensed her, she was sure of it—but like most things smaller and smarter, they kept their distance. Not a threat. Not interested.

She broke the surface again, hair clinging to her back and cheeks, breaths deep and slow.

Then she moved.

A single, sharp twist—hips, spine, shoulders—cracking the surface as she spun in place, flinging water into the air like a whip. Droplets scattered. Most of her skin dried from the motion alone. Her hair snapped around her, near weightless despite the weight it carried.

She stepped barefoot on the grass. The breeze met her skin—cold, but clean.

Her hands reached for the cloth folded beside her armor. She dressed quickly—casual wear underneath, armor over top.

She sat cross-legged in the grass. Back straight. Eyes closed.

The wind moved softly against her. Her heartbeat slowed.

She focused.

Her mind emptied, and she let instinct guide the shocks—subtle pulses connecting points across her body, shifting on feel alone.

Each node pinched, lightly at first. Then sharper. The pain grew, but Ayu didn't flinch.

She stayed still. Breath steady.

Currents raged through her like rivers through cracked stone, yet she felt them like wind—harsh, but purposeful. Slowly, she guided them where it felt right.

And she noticed the difference.

This time, the shift was clearer—like something had clicked open. What she had chased for two weeks now felt close. Achievable. That elusive state she'd reached during her first breakthrough… it was here again, on the edge of her reach.

So she let go.

The electricity burned through her from the inside—merciless—but it felt right. Felt like progress.

She smiled as her mind blurred and emptied.

Minutes folded into hours.

And time… slowly disappeared.

I kick the skull of the sabretooth variant beside me, the blunt edge splintering just enough for my sword to catch it. With a quick flick, I pull the orb toward me.

Stage 1 – 8.652%

I exhale. Progress has really slowed. Even these guys are giving less than 0.010%.

I turn to Imani.

"How's your Stage Progress?"

"8.543," he replies, gauntlets still soaked in blood.

"The Tower has been rather stingy lately," I mutter, glancing toward Arjun and the others in the distance. "It's been four days already. Should we consider checking the mountain range in the North again?"

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Imani stays quiet for a moment. "We could… but there are still parts of this region we haven't cleared."

"If Chiara were anywhere nearby, she'd have picked up our signals by now. It's strange, but… I'm starting to think we were sent in batches. Maybe a split—half in one area, half in another."

"Perhaps…"

I slowly nod, but my mind feels heavy with one thought. Even though I know she is more than capable enough… I cannot remove the unease in my mind. It's also the longest I have been without seeing her.

I stare at the blue sky and the horizon.

Where are you… Ayu.

"What's the plan?" Arjun steps toward us.

"We've covered a 150-kilometre radius so far with no success," I say. "We can either keep expanding the search area or pick a direction and commit."

Arjun stays quiet for a moment. "So far, the only real shift in terrain was up north, toward the mountain range. Do you think we should go that way?"

"We don't want to wake up a wyvern," Imani replies firmly. "We should avoid the mountains."

"Then that leaves east, west, or south. Which one do we take?"

Imani thinks for a moment, then says, "I believe we should follow the river. It's the only consistent landmark that might lead us toward the others."

I nod slowly. "Sounds like a plan. Let's do it."

Arjun gives a single nod in agreement.

We move out.

The terrain begins to shift not long after we leave. Jungle gives way to uneven hills, thick with ferns and undergrowth. Vines hang low between crooked trees, the soil damp and soft underfoot. The air feels heavier here—warmer, too. Occasionally, a low call echoes through the trees, something between a roar and a howl. But nothing approaches.

After an hour or so, we reach the river.

It winds through the jungle like a silver vein, wide enough to slow a current, but not quite deep enough for boats. Herds gather on the far banks—massive, slow-moving beasts with thick hides and low, growling calls. Their movements churn the muddy earth near the waterline. Towering herbivores, some with ridged backs and curved horns, graze with slow deliberation. Raptors skulk at the edges but don't challenge the giants.

We keep our distance.

A few of us crouch behind fallen logs as the herds drift closer, but we never draw weapons. Just observe, then quietly pull back and continue upriver.

We follow the current for hours, skirting the tree line when we can, ducking under thick branches when we can't. The jungle tightens at some points, forcing us to move single file. At others, the trees break wide open, revealing stretches of open grass layered with blue-green moss that glows faintly under moonlight.

When night falls, we stop at a raised grove near the river, sheltered by tall, narrow trees with bark like blackened steel. A circle of rocks marks our camp. No fire. Just rations. The canopy above hides the stars, but the river reflects the moon in long, broken streaks.

I take the first watch with Arjun. Neither of us talks much—we just listen. To the river. The night creatures. The slow shifting of leaves.

Morning comes with a haze of mist rolling off the water. Mei is the first to stir. Then Diego, already talking before he's fully upright. Ishaam stretches silently. Maurice sharpens his blade on a flat stone, focused as always.

We eat. Pack up. Move again.

The sun rises slowly behind the treeline, filtering gold and green light between branches. Spirits are higher today. No ambushes. No major injuries. Just movement. Forward.

By afternoon, the river begins to widen. Slowly at first. Then more. The banks stretch open, pulling the trees away with them. The terrain flattens again, revealing long bars of smooth grey stone by the water's edge.

Then we saw them.

At first it was just the outline of a wall—dark stone, overgrown at the base. Too smooth. Too deliberate. Not a cliff or formation. Man-made.

We slowed.

Another shape loomed past the next bend—a stepped pyramid, wide and low, with gentle angles that flared outward like wings. Ridges of copper and silver-like metal ran down its flanks in geometric patterns, dull but still intact, like veins catching the last light of day. Some of the copper filaments shimmered faintly, reacting to our presence with subtle pulses.

We stopped in silence.

It wasn't abandoned.

Beyond the structure, smaller buildings clustered tight—simple blocky dwellings, but not crude. Built low to the ground, rounded edges, polished stone. Many were laced with conductive materials—silver bands, copper meshes, dark metal ridges shaped like waveguides.

The entire place seemed built with EM control in mind.

Like it didn't just stand—it resonated with the waves.

We crouched behind a line of thick ferns at the edge of the clearing. The sky above had shifted to soft orange as the sun neared the horizon. I extended my senses, just enough to scan for signatures.

They were there.

People.

Dozens, maybe more. Human-shaped, but shorter. Denser, compact frames. Skin tanned and weathered from sun and wind. Their movements were sharp—efficient. A few walked along suspended stone walkways that hovered ever so slightly off the ground, magnetically held aloft and anchored with what looked like cables looped through the structures.

Their clothing was minimal but intricate—woven fabrics bound with polished metal plates around their forearms, calves, and torsos.

Weapons were holstered or slung across backs—long rods and bladed shafts.

"What the..." Arjun muttered under his breath.

My eyes narrow. What was happening here...

Then movement.

Sharp.

A figure turned—eyes locking on our position. His hand twitched once. Not in fear. In signal.

Then more heads turned. Others began to move—fast.

"They've detected us," I say, standing up slowly. My blade remains sheathed, but I don't lower my guard.

Tension spiked.

Arjun and Imani rose next to me, the others fanning out behind, but no one drew. We didn't run. Didn't charge. Just waited.

More figures appeared—twelve, maybe fifteen, emerging from side buildings and terraces. They didn't speak. Just moved into formation with practiced ease. Close range, staggered, magnetic plates adjusting across their armor like the reshuffling of cards.

They were coordinated. Trained.

Then one of them stepped forward—slightly taller than the rest but still short—his chestplate shaped like a jaguar's snarl, dark silver coils etched across his bare shoulders and down both arms. Stone plates lined his torso in the pattern of jaguar rosettes, each one embedded with faintly glowing conduits that pulsed with latent energy.

He raised a hand. Palm forward.

"Now what?" Arjun asked.

"We wait," I reply. "Let's see if they talk before they strike."

I step forward slowly, one pace ahead of the group, hand lifted slightly—not raised in greeting, not entirely lowered either. Just enough to signal: we're not here to fight.

The man keeps his hand up, unmoving. His eyes narrow. Studying. We're being measured.

I glance behind me. The others hold formation. Tense, but not jumpy.

I can feel their presence now—waves propagating faintly through the air.

I try body language first.

I tap my chest twice, then point toward the sky. Then toward them. Then to the ground between us.

Nothing. Blank stares. One of the men shifts his stance slightly—perhaps a reaction, perhaps nothing.

I raise both palms, slow and steady. I bow my head—just a little.

Still nothing.

I meet the leader's gaze again. His eyes flicker—just once—and then I feel it.

Pulse.

An EM transmission—subtle, refined. Nothing aggressive. Not even invasive.

Raw, compressed.

They're sending an image. I close my eyes and let it bloom across my inner mind. Carefully. Filtering each strand.

A forest. A river. The great stepped pyramid from above.

Then: a vision of the land—the valleys, the herds, the structures. Faces of their own people. Their daily life. Crafted walls. Children running. A brief flicker of storms being drawn from the air with EM spirals—techniques woven into their way of life.

Then stillness.

No battles. No mention of the Tower. No history of outsiders.

This is their world. The only one they've ever known.

And the message becomes clear—not words, but a thought:

Who are you? What are you doing here?

I open my eyes slowly.

So. They've never seen us before. No legends. No prophecy. No set up stage. We are just... outsiders to their world it seems.

I send a pulse of my own. I focus on the memories I want to share. Images of appearing out of nowhere, avoiding combat, protecting each other, surviving predators. I show Imani and the others. I also send visuals of Chiara, Lukas, Ayu.

He doesn't flinch. But something shifts in his posture. His head tilts slightly, like he's tasting the idea behind my message.

A long pause follows.

Then—he raises his hand a little higher.

Weapons remain in their holders. But I see their grips ease. Feet shift. The coil of tension loosens—not gone, but softened.

Ok, we are getting somewhere.

The leader steps forward. Two careful paces. His hand moves again—toward me, then toward the ground between us.

Then he nods. Just once.

An invitation?

I don't glance back. "Just me for now," I transmit to Imani.

"You sure?"

"No." I exhale. "But I'll manage."

And then I step forward.

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