Morning came too quietly.

  Bash woke before the station lights fully brightened, the low hum of the Ark’s circulation system

  whispering through the room. The cot was firm, unfamiliar. The silence felt wrong. No Rixor snoring

  like a malfunctioning generator. No Nyra clicking her rifle seals out of habit. No Taren pacing at dawn

  to “warm up the joints.”

  Here, there was no team waiting for him.

  Here, there was only the Guild.

  He sat up, rolled his shoulders, and let out a breath.

  “Good morning, Bash,” S-C said smoothly inside his mind. “Your neural rhythms are stable. Cognitive

  fatigue has dropped significantly since last night.”

  Bash rubbed the side of his face. “Feels like I actually slept.”

  “There were no spikes in your thought patterns overnight,” she said. “A rare occurrence for you.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, well… guess my brain finally took the hint.”

  “Wish I could say the same about the atmosphere,” Bash muttered under his breath, standing. “Feels…

  quiet.”

  “New environments often generate perceptual dissonance,” S-C replied. “You have been surrounded by

  your former unit for months. Solitude is unfamiliar.”

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “Not sure I like it.”

  He geared up quickly.

  He tied his boots, stepped out, and found two others approaching the corridor junction: Murdoc, broadshouldered and wearing an expression that never wavered from mildly irritated… and Zicof, the lean,

  stone-silent type.

  They nodded. That was the greeting.

  The three of them walked the long curved hallway toward the Guild training complex.

  The deeper they went, the louder the noise became, sparring rings, resonance dummies, barrier shock

  platforms humming with power. Dozens of Spartors trained in rotating shifts, all green-ranked, their

  armor tuned and coordinated with a precision Bash hadn’t yet adjusted to.

  A voice boomed across the amphitheater-like chamber.

  “New arrivals. Front and center.”

  The three established Guild teams assembled in a wide arc across the training hall. Their leaders stood

  at the front, Vanra with calm posture, Sol’Ren with folded arms, and Captain Eshla wearing a stare

  sharp enough to flay metal, while Bash, Zicof, and Murdoc stood apart as the new arrivals awaiting

  assignment.

  And in front of all of them stood the commander.

  Ryndorf.

  Green Spartor. Top ten in the entire Guild. His presence filled the room like gravity. His armor was not

  flashy, jade plates trimmed in onyx, a cloak cut short for utility, but the air around him felt sharpened,

  compressed, as though resonance coiled just beneath his skin.

  His gaze swept across them with predator stillness.

  “Listen carefully,” Ryndorf said, voice low but carrying without effort. “You are not soldiers here. This

  is not the military. This is the Guild. You will follow your team leaders and no one else.”

  His eyes landed briefly on Zicof, then Murdoc, then Bash.

  “They will integrate you as they see fit. When they see fit. You do not dictate your deployment. They

  do.”

  Murdoc smirked, hands clasped behind his back.

  Ryndorf noticed. His stare was a blade.

  “You will also understand this clearly,” Ryndorf continued, voice cutting through the hall. “Guild

  members do not die. We do not tolerate recklessness. We do not charge blindly. We do not waste lives

  to prove a point. If you fall in a portal, it is because you were careless… or weak. And the Nexus does

  not reward weakness.”

  A few in the groups straightened unconsciously.

  Ryndorf continued.

  “Unlike the military, where portals are restricted, Spartor portals are property of our entire race.

  Therefore, multiple Guild teams may enter the same portal simultaneously.”

  Not a single sound came from the newcomers. They stood rigid, focused, and silent as Ryndorf

  continued.

  Ryndorf lifted a hand.

  “There will be no fighting other teams. Not unless they strike first. As Black Guild members, the

  probability of this is nearly zero. But if they do attack, the Nexus will not punish you for eliminating

  them.”

  Someone from Murdoc’s squad raised an eyebrow.

  Ryndorf’s lips thinned. “If they survive the encounter, they will face severe punishment when both

  parties return. It rarely happens.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “Do not attack first. Do not die. Those are the rules.”

  He stepped aside, revealing a large holo-display listing percentages.

  “Now. Beast Fragment distribution. You will notice it differs from the military.”

  Bash leaned forward slightly.

  “The Spartor Council takes twenty percent,” Ryndorf said. “Payment for the use of their portals,

  taxation, if you prefer. The Guild takes fifteen percent. Membership fee. Maintenance. Infrastructure.

  Portal bay oversight. All of it.”

  Bash’s brow tightened.

  Twenty percent… every portal, every day.

  That’s a mountain of fragments. Way more than they’d ever need.

  Where the hell does all that go?

  S-C answered before he voiced the thought.

  “The Council reports using their share for portal stabilization, infrastructure upkeep, and long-term

  resonance research,” she said. “However…”

  Bash felt the hitch in her tone.

  “…the numbers are inconsistent,” she continued quietly. “Based on public portal traffic, the Council

  receives far more fragments than required for any documented project. Their reserves exceed all

  projected operational needs by multiple magnitudes.”

  “So… it doesn’t add up,” Bash murmured internally.

  “It does not,” S-C confirmed. “And the discrepancies have existed for years.”

  Bash’s jaw tightened.

  Corrupt.

  He didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to.

  Ryndorf’s voice snapped across the room.

  “You. Bash. Am I boring you?”

  Bash froze. Eyes on him. Murdoc smirked openly.

  Bash straightened. “No sir. You said: Council takes twenty percent, Guild takes fifteen, leaving sixty-

  five percent to the teams. Nexus punishes first aggressors. Death is unacceptable. Team leaders have

  full integration authority.”

  A few heads turned. Some impressed. Ryndorf wasn’t one of them.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Then stop drifting into your thoughts while I’m speaking.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Ryndorf gave a curt nod. “Team leaders have their directives. Fall out.”

  Vanra gestured. “Black team, with me.”

  The squads split, three teams peeling off in different directions.

  Vanra’s squad moved quickly through the Guild base, stepping into the transport chambers that glowed

  with threadlike blue lines.

  “We’re sweeping blue portals,” Vanra said as the chamber sealed. “Directive is simple: unlock Bash.”

  Half the team groaned quietly.

  Korvex muttered, “Babysitting duty.”

  Kayris scoffed. “At least it’s not grey portals.”

  Vanra shot them a glare. Instant silence.

  The transport pillars flared, and the world folded.

  They arrived at the Blue Hub: dozens of swirling sapphire gates arranged in crescents, each marked

  with the flowing script of their classification.

  The team checked in, stepped through the swirling light, and surfaced into Azerine Gorge.

  The world was jagged and alien.

  Green crystalline cliffs speared upward like broken emeralds. Purple sky churned overhead, streaked

  with orange particles shining like burning embers. Volcano-shaped mountains belched streams of blue

  lava, each river glowing white-hot at the center.

  Bash exhaled. “Looks like a mineral nightmare.”

  “Precisely,” Vanra said, stepping forward to brief the formation. “Mineral heavy world. Seventy

  percent. Wind and fire secondary. Formation standard. I’m on heals. Orran and Tyrish front. Kayris

  floats between. Bash, midline with Korvex. Observe first. Move second.”

  hey moved out.

  The Azerine Gorge stretched before them in fractured layers, ridges of green crystal jutting like broken

  glass from the earth, their edges catching the purple light overhead. The air tasted metallic and dry,

  humming faintly with the world’s heavy mineral resonance. Every step crunched over splintered stone

  and glittering dust.

  For several minutes, the team advanced through a narrowing corridor carved by ancient volcanic flow.

  Blue lava glowed in distant ravines, its heat rolling across the gorge in slow, wavering sheets.

  “Keep spacing,” Vanra said quietly, her tone controlled but alert. “Azerine hides movement well. This

  terrain likes to shift when we’re not looking.”

  A thin wind drifted through the pass, sharp, carrying the faint tremor of something stirring deeper

  within the crystalline walls.

  Kayris slowed slightly. “Vanra… the resonance ahead feels unstable.”

  “I know,” Vanra replied. “Stay ready. This world wakes up fast.”

  They rounded a jagged bend between two cracked emerald spires, and the rocks ahead shivered.

  Shards loosened from the walls, clattering down the gorge floor. Dust lifted. Green crystal plates

  twitched like something breathing beneath the surface.

  Then the stones locked together, snapping into shape as bodies formed from the terrain itself, jagged

  limbs unfolding, obsidian eyes igniting like tiny black furnaces.

  Crystalline beasts.

  Dozens, if not hundreds of them.

  T2A Mineral.

  The frontline didn’t hesitate.

  Orran slammed his shield forward, shattering the first creature on impact.

  Tyrish’s dual zweihanders carved through the next, one clean slice and the beast exploded into

  fragments.

  Kayris darted between them, blades shimmering with lightning, one-shotting anything that twitched.

  Rhoen and Korvex fired in perfect arcs behind them, wind-laced rifle rounds tearing through bodies

  before they even fully formed.

  For a team used to Black portals, these creatures offered no resistance at all.

  Vanra kept to the rear, calm, steady, moderate pulses of green resonance shimmering around the squad.

  “Observe,” she called. “Find the gaps.”

  Bash did.

  The team moved like a machine, so clean and efficient they barely needed him. But he started slipping

  into openings: covering angles, pressure shots, quick cuts where the front momentarily shifted.

  Vanra noted it with a small nod.

  Intermittent pulses hit him, T2A Mineral essence, stronger than most he had absorbed to this point, but

  Bash had grown used to white and grey portal barrages. He didn’t flinch. Vanra, Tyrish, Orran, and

  Korvex absorbed the majority, expected given proximity and killing.

  Twenty minutes in, it was over.

  Then the ground cracked open beside Bash.

  A hive mother, T3G, glowing teal, lurched from the wall.

  Vanra shouted, “Bash, FALL BACK!”

  He back-pedaled instantly.

  Rhoen fired, a fire-laced shot straight through the beast’s skull.

  One shot. Instant kill.

  But because Rhoen had no mineral affinity, the essence surged to the nearest match.

  Right into Bash.

  The T3 pulse hit like a hammer.

  He stumbled backward gasping, looked like he tripped, but his body vibrated from the inside.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “Bash,” S-C said instantly. “You absorbed a Tier-Three-Greater Mineral fragment. Additionally, tally

  indicates seventy-five Tier-Two-Advanced pulses during the battle.”

  He inhaled sharply, recovered, straightened.

  Vanra approached. “Good work. You didn’t get in anyone’s way, and you understood spacing. Well

  done.”

  The others collected beast fragments, bagged them without ceremony.

  They moved on.

  The gorge widened as they advanced, opening into a valley of fractured emerald spines jutting at

  irregular angles. The ground shifted underfoot with every few steps, thin plates of green crystal

  snapping like brittle ice. Heat radiated from distant vents along the cliff faces, soft blue steam rising

  wherever the lava seeped close to the surface.

  Orran hopped across a narrow gap where molten light glowed beneath. “Watch the splits,” he called

  back. “Some of these run deeper than they look.”

  Korvex nodded. “This world feels like it’s held together with glue.”

  “It is,” Vanra said flatly. “Azerine’s geology is unstable. Cracks, vents, collapses, stay alert.”

  A gust rolled down from higher ridges, swirling dust and crystalline shards into the air. The wind

  carried a faint whistle, almost melodic, as it passed through naturally hollowed mineral pillars. Kayris

  glanced upward. “That sound, resonance is shifting.”

  “Means something’s moving,” Korvex muttered.

  Bash scanned the sky. Nothing at first, just purple haze and scattered orange light flickering like low

  stars.

  Then he caught it.

  A ripple.

  Movement.

  Air pressure dipping.

  Vanra sensed it too. “Eyes up.”

  Shadows swept across the gorge.

  Thirty aerial beasts spiraled overhead, crystalline birds with aerodynamic wings and glassy plumage

  that refracted the purple light into jagged spectrums. Their long bodies curved like blades as they

  banked, screeching with a sound that crackled like cracking ice.

  Each wingbeat left a faint shimmer behind them, a disturbance of wind resonance that vibrated through

  the gorge.

  “Here we go,” Rhoen muttered, bracing his rifle. “Flock incoming.”

  And the fight began.

  Vanra didn’t even flinch.

  “Form up.”

  Rhoen’s first shot cracked one mid-air.

  Korvex followed with a wind spear that detonated another in a glittering burst.

  The rest of the team shredded the flock in under a minute, feathers of broken glass raining down.

  Bash took down one with a clean mid-air strike. Orran took another close by.

  Only two pulses hit him.

  The rest went to the wind users, Vanra, Rhoen, Korvex, and Kayris.

  Efficient. Almost boring.

  They collected the beast fragments.

  They continued deeper into the gorge, the terrain shifting again as the crystalline cliffs gave way to

  flatter ground scattered with fractured stone plates. The air buzzed faintly with mineral resonance,

  subtle but constant, like a low-frequency hum vibrating behind every step. Bash scanned the ridgeline

  ahead, thin columns of steam drifted from cracks where blue lava seeped close beneath the surface.

  “Movement,” Kayris said quietly, pointing toward a broken shelf of rock.

  Two mineral beasts prowled near the ridge, their hides formed from jagged stone fused with glowing

  green veins. They lumbered forward with heavy, uneven strides, each motion cracking the ground

  beneath them.

  Before Bash could even adjust his stance, Tyrish and Orran surged ahead. Tyrish’s zweihanders struck

  first, two clean arcs that shattered one creature’s chest in a burst of mineral shards. Orran’s shield

  rammed into the second beast with such force its rocky frame collapsed inward, splitting apart like

  brittle glass.

  The fight was over in seconds.

  Bash barely raised his weapon.

  He didn’t receive any essence, both kills were too far forward, too fast, swallowed entirely by the

  melee line.

  The team gathered the fragments quickly, storing the small crystalline fragments in their pouches with

  practiced efficiency. Then they moved on, climbing the next rise as the wind thickened and dust swirled

  around them, the path curving toward a deeper part of the gorge where volcanic heat rippled along the

  horizon.

  The heat near the blue lava pool twisted the air.

  Dog-shaped beasts stepped from the molten edge, bodies made of luminous mineral, manes of blue

  flame rippling in the heat.

  “Classification: Tier-Two-Advanced, fire affinity. Thermal output extremely high, avoid direct

  contact.”

  Bash nodded slightly, tightening his grip.

  Rhoen smirked. “Water beats fire.”

  He and Korvex unleashed torrents, wind and water converging to supercool and crack the fire beasts.

  One after another fell.

  The melee line carved through them effortlessly.

  Bash moved into the fray, fast, efficient, slipping between the front-liners as they carved through the

  fire-beasts. The creatures lunged with snapping jaws and rippling blue flames, but the squad’s

  formation was airtight. Rhoen and Korvex drowned entire clusters beneath waves of chilled wind,

  supercooling their fiery hides until they cracked. Kayris and Vanra coordinated suppressive bursts that

  staggered anything trying to flank.

  Bash found several openings, clean strikes, controlled shots, and landed a handful of kills.

  Each one sent a pulse snapping up his spine: twenty-three sharp bursts of T2A fire essence, threading

  through his nerves before fading into the background hum of the battlefield.

  Within minutes, less than five, if he had to guess, it was over.

  All three hundred seventy fire-beasts lay dead around the lava pool, their bodies cooling and collapsing

  into shimmering slag.

  Vanra scanned the field, then gave a short nod. “That’s the last of them. Clean sweep. We’re done here.

  Back to the Ark.”

  The team regrouped near the portal exit node, boots crunching over charred crystal fragments as they

  moved. Steam curled upward from cooling blue lava behind them, a low hiss echoing through the

  gorge. One by one, they stepped through the exit shimmer, and the world folded away.

  They emerged back into the controlled glow of the Guild’s portal bay. The air was cooler, steadier, the

  metallic tang of Azerine Gorge replaced by the faint hum of filtration vents.

  Weapons lowered. Armor dimmed. Movements relaxed.

  Even for a team used to Black portals, clearing an entire Blue world in a single sweep carried a

  different kind of fatigue, lighter, almost routine, but still something that settled in the limbs.

  “Formation held well,” Vanra said as she led them down the hallway toward debrief. “Minimal

  resonance strain. No injuries. Good work.”

  Orran snorted. “If you can call that work.”

  Kayris smirked. “Enjoy the break. We’re on Blue duty for the foreseeable future.

  Orran stopped complaining.

  They entered one of the Guild’s assessment rooms, clean white walls, resonance scanners lining the

  floor, a central table for BF tallies. The door sealed behind them with a soft hiss.

  “Standard sequence,” Vanra said, tapping her wristband to begin the logging process.

  The room filled with soft tones as the system collected:

  Essence absorption logs

  Kill distribution summaries

  Teamwide resonance curves

  S-C handled Bash’s sync automatically.

  Bash remained still while Vanra emptied each team member’s BF pouch onto the table. Small

  mineralized fragments, blue, red, pale green, clattered softly into sorted piles. The system scanned them

  with faint beams of light, counting and categorizing each fragment down to the last sliver.

  “Beast Fragment totals confirmed,” Vanra announced, reading the data as it populated on her wrist

  display. “Good yield for a Blue. Nothing special, but acceptable.”

  Korvex grimaced. “Black portals have spoiled us.”

  “Complaints go to the Guild council,” Kayris muttered. “See what happens.”

  Bash said nothing. He remembered what S-C told him earlier about the Council’s fragment reserves.

  Yeah. Not a chance.

  Vanra finished the summary and looked up.

  “Report transmitted. Dismissed.”

  And, just like that, the team dispersed, armor dimming, footsteps echoing down separate corridors,

  each heading off to their own routines, leaving Bash standing alone with only S-C’s quiet presence in

  the back of his mind.

  S-C handled everything for Bash effortlessly.

  Back in the Guild hall, Vanra handed out pouches of Beast Fragments to each team member.

  Korvex muttered, “Blue portal trash.”

  Kayris grimaced. “Should’ve been black portal today.”

  But they took their pouches.

  When Bash reached out instinctively, Vanra held up a hand.

  “Bash, Guild directive. You are not to earn fragments while we’re working to unlock you.”

  He blinked. “Then how do I pay for room and board?”

  “The Guild covers your necessities until your resonance opens. After that, you pay your way.”

  She began summarizing totals.

  “Team absorbed essence: six hundred seventy-one T2A Mineral, twenty-eight T3C Wind, three hundred

  forty-seven T2A Fire…”

  She paused.

  Brows furrowed.

  “Hmm.”

  Kayris noticed. “Something wrong?”

  “Likely a reporting error,” Vanra said quickly. “Statistical fluctuation. Nothing more.”

  Then: “Dismissed.”

  Bash nodded and walked out with the others, but this time no one lingered, no one chatted, no one

  planned a meal together. They drifted to their own routines.

  Bash grabbed a ration pack from the cafeteria and ate alone on the walk back to his quarters.

  His room sealed behind him with a soft hiss.

  Silence again.

  “Vanra noticed,” S-C said quietly in his mind. “The discrepancy between team-reported total

  absorption and Beast Fragment output.”

  “Didn’t you report I absorbed nothing?”

  “Yes. But this team has been together for years,” S-C said quietly. “Their absorption-to-fragment ratio

  is extremely consistent, usually hovering near full conversion with only minor statistical drift. With

  your presence, the ratio dropped sharply.”

  Bash frowned. “How sharply?”

  “You absorbed one hundred five pulses out of one thousand one hundred fifty-one total,” S-C

  explained. “That places the team’s overall conversion at approximately ninety point eight percent. This

  is typical only when someone in the squad is absorbing the unclaimed essence.”

  Bash’s stomach tightened. “And Vanra will notice.”

  “She already has,” S-C replied. “Ratios like this only appear when an additional absorber is present.

  She will almost certainly keep an eye on you.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “Not yet,” S-C replied. “We must observe how Vanra proceeds. For now, rest.”

  Bash lay back on the cot, staring at the dim ceiling lights until his vision blurred.

  No team next door.

  No banter.

  No shared exhaustion.

  Just the quiet pulse of the Ark and the faint hum of S-C in his mind.

  Sleep took him a few minutes later.