Lythra stared at the communicator, her expression unreadable as the green light pulsed faintly against her translucent hand. No new report from Captain Ozzy. No update. Just the steady, unwavering glow that told her he was still alive. Alive—but unreachable.

  The devices were linked through aura resonance, a design their goddess, Mi’Lerntra Di Xucruul, had personally woven into existence. Each pulse represented a soul’s rhythm. When danger flared, it blinked yellow. When that rhythm ended, it turned red. Yet for all her mechanical precision and the goddess’s brilliance, even a system built by a being Greater than divinity could not tell her why there was silence.

  She sighed, the sound faintly distorted through her semi-synthetic form. The translucent weave of her body flickered with soft green light, each pulse echoing the communicator’s heartbeat. For a moment, her circuits seemed to breathe.

  Her crimson eyes scanned the scrolling reports before her—crew rotations, resource tallies, shield calibrations. Everything was stable. Efficient. Yet something in her core trembled, an unease that logic couldn’t process.

  Her bob with green edges fell neatly across her face as she leaned closer to the display. “If everythings alright,” she murmured to herself, “then why does the ship feel like it’s holding its breath?”

  Kiera strutted in with a grin, her outfit a chaotic statement of confidence—a bright yellow muscle shirt tucked beneath a loosely knotted purple tie. Her every step carried the swagger of someone completely unaware of their nature.

  “Anything interesting?!”

  Lythra flinched, the mechanical hum in her chest briefly spiking. “Must you shout?”

  A few crew members turned to look, already used to Kiera’s volume but still wincing.

  Kiera spread her hands innocently. “Can’t help it! My voice automatically rises when I’m bored. So? Anything interesting? This smooth sailing is, well, smooth.”

  “Smooth,” Lythra replied evenly, “is a blessing.”

  Kiera leaned over the console, eyes scanning the monitors. “Has the Captain—”

  “No,” Lythra interrupted. “But his indicator is still green. So is Tabia’s. Their aura links remain stable. I can only assume they’re occupied, not endangered.”

  Kiera exhaled sharply and crossed her arms. “Fine… our orders were to support the Blood Prince team anyway. Even if they're out of reach, we still have to see our side through.”

  Lythra nodded once and turned back to the glowing array of displays. One of them pulsed with a faint gold warning. She narrowed her eyes. “We’re nearing the perimeter of the corruption wave. The gold readings are increasing.”

  Kiera’s bravado dimmed slightly. “Ugh. Anything interesting about the Tree?”

  “This might pique your interest,” Lythra said, tilting her head as new data flickered into view. “Even I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “What?”

  Lythra looked over her shoulder, her translucent circuits flashing a pale hue. “The Tree isn’t out in the open as we hoped.” She tapped a screen, and Kiera leaned closer—then froze.

  “The Tree,” Lythra said calmly, “is inside a dungeon.”

  Kiera’s voice shot up again. “WHAT?!”

  Half the room jumped, and someone dropped their data pad. Lythra just sighed. “Please lower your volume.”

  ————

  The food court straddled the line between military efficiency and shopping-mall comfort. Soft ceiling panels cast a simulated low glow over the broad, circular space, where curved serving counters formed a loose perimeter. Holographic menus shimmered and blinked, offering every dish a traveler could imagine. Long communal tables filled the center, flanked by clusters of smaller booths where crew members laughed and swapped stories.

  Jack nearly choked on his drink. “Eighteen hundreds?!” he blurted, eyes wide.

  Caroline laughed so hard she snorted. “I said the exact same thing!

  Jack leaned forward, shaking his head. “Bro, I didn’t even know people could get Isekai’d before Wi-Fi.”

  Tinsurnae sat back, sipping quietly through her silly straw, the sound bubbling against the mug. She’d been listening, but her mind kept wandering. Caroline was right—time didn’t add up here. Every Outlander she’d met seemed to come from a different slice of Earth’s history. And the more she thought about it, the more that strange truth gnawed at her: she remembered retail work, loud customers, paychecks… all things from a modern world. But those memories belonged to her male self. Even her name was supposed to be a username.

  But now everything feels off…

  In this form, new fragments had begun to surface—old emotions and flashes that weren’t there before. Feelings that had no counterpart, surfacing faster than she could process.

  So sitting here, talking about which version of Earth everyone came from, was… a comforting distraction.

  Caroline stretched and grinned. “So we’ve got Tinsurnae… a 1800s child, me… the girl who came from a video game event, Jack who literally got isekai’d by lightning on a plane, and well S?urtinaui who still doesn’t understand memes.”

  “Hey,” S?urtinaui muttered, “I’m learning.”

  Caroline winked.

  They all laughed—just a little too loud for how heavy things had been lately.

  Jack frowned, running the math in his head like it might eventually make sense. “I’ve been here for six years. But…”

  Caroline nearly dropped her drink. “Wait—six years? But I’ve been here three. You mean six Earth years, right Jack?”

  He shook his head.

  “Hold on! You came here before me too? But you’re younger than me. And if you came here six years ago Requiem time, that’d be like—twelve Earth years—”

  S?urtinaui chuckled from her seat, arms crossed and expression calm. “Relax, Magjesti.”

  “I can’t! This is crazy!”

  Jack shrugged, utterly unbothered. “I dunno, my guy. I came here during 2019.”

  Caroline froze. “I came here in 2018. And Tinny came from the 1800s… but that doesn’t…”

  “Maybe V just likes to mess things up.”

  That made both Caroline and Tinsurnae glance up at him. “V?” they asked in unison.

  Jack blinked. “Yeah, the guy who sent me here.”

  Caroline tilted her head. “Oh right, you did mention that when we were fighting—”

  “V?!” Tinsurnae shouted, cutting her off. The moment she said it, pain surged behind her eyes. A flood of fragmented scenes—static, laughter, a smiling face, and then a blur of falling—Rhan’s silhouette watching her descend into darkness.

  “Wait—Rhan?” she whispered before her knees buckled and she fell out of her chair.

  S?urtinaui was already there, catching her. “Careful,” she said softly, holding Tinsurnae steady as her breathing evened out.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “I’m fine,” Tinsurnae murmured. “That was just… strange.” She stood, adjusting herself and returning to her seat, forcing a shaky smile.

  Jack tilted his head. “So… you know V?”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “No.”

  “Damn. My bad.” He leaned back. “Just a weird reaction for someone who doesn’t know anything.”

  Caroline shot him a glare.

  “What?!” he said defensively.

  Caroline exhaled through her nose. “Let’s change the topic before you put your foot even deeper in your mouth. It’s insane enough that all of us came from different points in time from Earth and somehow synced up here.”

  That shifted the tone. Caroline started explaining her theory—how Requiem didn’t pull people linearly. “It’s like… time is layered. We’re all from different Earth years, but Requiem syncs us to the same timeline once we get here. The flow adjusts depending on the ‘anchor’—the god, system, or event that pulled you in.”

  Tinsurnae nodded, happy to move away from the subject of V. “She’s right. If you think of Requiem as a stabilizer. Different timelines, but a single gravity. Once you land here, your time begins then. Not before.”

  S?urtinaui added, “That’s why the years don’t match. The system bends to continuity, not chronology.”

  Jack squinted. “So basically, the universe lags and spawns us in the same server?”

  Caroline smirked. “That’s… actually not a bad way to put it.”

  Tinsurnae smiled faintly but said nothing. She could already feel the others’ curiosity circling her little outburst like sharks sensing blood in the water. Caroline and S?urtinaui were definitely going to ask her about it later.

  Bebele approached the table, his many ears fluttering as his voice rang in perfect harmony. “Greetings, everyone. Great tidings. May you please come to the main command hub, also known as the Teacher’s Lounge.”

  Caroline groaned. “Bebele, I swear—you piss me off in ways I can’t even define.”

  If a ring of ears could smile, Bebele certainly gave that impression. “And yet, you still respond. Communication success achieved.”

  S?urtinaui finished her drink and stood, composed as ever. “Any word from Ozzy and North?”

  “All will be explained once we reach the Teacher’s Lounge,” Bebele said, tone as formal as ever.

  Jack slammed his palms on the table and jumped to his feet. “Then let’s go! Sitting here talking isn’t getting us anywhere!”

  Tinsurnae snorted quietly, hiding it behind her mug, while Caroline rolled her eyes.

  “Someone’s got main character energy again,” she muttered.

  Jack pointed at her. “Damn right. And this better not be some boring debrief either.”

  With that, they all rose from the table and followed Bebele down the long, echoing corridor toward the ship’s central command hub. The hall lights dimmed and brightened as they passed—blue circuitry tracing patterns across the walls, whispering the hum of the ship’s pulse.

  Ahead, the wide metallic doors of the Teacher’s Lounge loomed open, steam curling from the vents above like the room itself was breathing.

  The Teacher’s Lounge was a bizarre hybrid of luxury and high command.

  The room pulsed with a soft amber glow from lights embedded beneath black glass floors, giving the illusion that everyone walked on starlight. The air hummed faintly with the rhythm of unseen speakers—somewhere between a lo-fi lounge beat and the distant thrum of a reactor core. Curved couches wrapped around low chrome tables scattered with data-pads and half-finished drinks. The ceiling arched in a dome of transparent alloy, showing the endless swirl of dark clouds outside.

  But at the center of this relaxed chaos stood something out of Star Trek: a sprawling command station that rose from the floor like the bridge of a warship. Holographic screens flickered with status feeds, region maps, and the pulsing signatures of the ship’s crew. Dozens of miniature Ryun nodes spun lazily in the air, each projecting streams of light that met at the heart of the console—a single massive central display.

  That main screen dominated the room. It showed the grainy, shifting image of a colossal cave—walls alive with roots and whispering mist, as though the place itself breathed. A flicker of gold light rippled across the feed, making the air in the room feel heavier.

  Kiera leaned over the console, one hand on her hip, yellow muscle shirt glowing faintly in the blue light. Her purple tie hung loose, almost ironic against the high-tech backdrop. Beside her, Lythra’s semi-translucent form cast a faint reflection against the screens. Her synthetic body pulsed with soft green light, fingers moving rapidly across the holographic keyboard as she adjusted readings and reports.

  When the group entered, Kiera turned toward them, expression half-relieved and half-exhausted. “Took you long enough. Welcome to the Lounge—where we manage crises and drink bad coffee.”

  Lythra didn’t look up from the console. “We’ve got something to show you,” she said simply, the glow from the cave screen reflecting in her red eyes. “And you’re not going to like it.”

  Caroline leaned forward, practically bouncing on her toes. “Okay, that’s—wow. That’s the Whispering Tree Cave?!”

  Lythra nodded, still working through a string of commands on her holographic keyboard. “Judging from the signature and the leyline energy radiating from this region, yes. Or at least the entrance to it.”

  Jack grinned wide, elbows on the console. “Looks awesome. Like a raid dungeon. Finally, something fun!”

  Kiera laughed, leaning against the console’s railing. “Yeah, fun. That’s one word for it.”

  S?urtinaui shook her head. “You Outlanders have the strangest definitions of “fun”.”

  Tinsurnae folded her arms, expression tight. “Everyone’s been in a dungeon before, I assume?”

  “Uh, no,” Jack admitted with a shrug. “First time. But I’m built different.”

  S?urtinaui raised an eyebrow. “Built different doesn’t stop you from dying, Jack.”

  Caroline smirked, flashing a peace sign. “I’ve done one! It was great.”

  Kiera chuckled. “You must’ve gotten lucky then and entered a Real Dungeon. Most dungeons aren’t “great”—they’re nightmares with loot boxes.”

  “That’s… not comforting,” Caroline muttered.

  Lythra finally turned from the screen, red eyes glowing faintly. “The Tree is definitely inside there. Based on the coordinates you provided, Magjesti, we triangulated the leyline flow and matched it to the Whispering Path your map described. That path ends in a chamber right beneath this cavern.” She tapped the console, and a 3D map expanded above them, showing layers of tunnels converging toward a glowing central sphere. “That’s either where the Tree is—or where the dungeon boss is keeping it.”

  Jack cracked his knuckles. “So, same plan either way. Go in, beat the big bad, take the prize.”

  “Hopefully,” Kiera said, crossing her arms, “it is the prize and not something worse. Because once you enter that cave, the gold wave’s too close for a clean retry. We’ll have one shot at this.”

  S?urtinaui’s gaze sharpened. “If the wave hits while we’re inside…”

  “Then they’ll have to finish the dungeon to hopefully escape,” Lythra finished quietly.

  S?urtinaui nodded, it wasn't like they had much choice. “And has North made contact.”

  Lythra and Kiera both shook their heads.

  “But do not worry… they’re still alive… just busy with whatever task is before them.” Lythra said.

  Caroline’s earlier excitement dimmed slightly, but her determination didn’t waver. “They’re fine. And we’ll make it.” She smiled. “It’s what we do.”

  Jack grinned, already hyped again. “Hey, pretty sure we all survived worse… or at least I have. What’s a simple cave compared to that?”

  S?urtinaui sighed, turning toward the glowing cave projection as it pulsed like a heartbeat. “This isn’t just a cave, Jack. Dungeons fall into two categories.”

  Jack frowned. “Okay… and those are?”

  “First are R-Dungeons,” she began, her tone shifting into that familiar mentor cadence. “They’re relatively stable. You can enter and leave at your own risk. Usually made by natives of the realm you’re in—old relics from civilizations long gone. You’ll find traps, puzzles, rare materials, sometimes even a guardian. But at least the rules make sense. You can leave if you’re careful.”

  Jack nodded along, pretending to follow. “Got it. Old-school danger. I can work with that. What’s next?”

  She raised a brow. “Then there are V-Dungeons.”

  “Well don’t leave me in suspense, Teach!”

  Before S?urtinaui could answer, Caroline leaned forward, grinning like she just spoiled the twist of a movie. “They’re video games!”

  Jack blinked. “What.”

  ——

  Bebele lingered at the edge of the Teacher’s Lounge as the others discussed the dungeon. Normally, he’d have stayed to toss in his two cents, maybe even hum a little lecture about balance and preparation. But something… something was wrong.

  It started faint, a hum beneath the hum—the kind that crawled under his skin and vibrated through his ears. He couldn’t describe it. Just an off-note in the melody of the ship’s rhythm. The air itself felt crooked.

  He waddled out to one of the open balconies, his dozen ears twitching as the wind brushed against them. The metallic scent of the atmosphere carried an undertone of ozone and rot. Below, the land that was once Curtenail stretched into the horizon—a burned husk, black soil cracked like scales, rivers turned to veins of ash. The gold wave was closer now, no longer a shimmering horizon of liquid light and hunger. It hurt to look at, like staring into a sun that breathed.

  But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t what clawed at his nerves.

  He closed all his ears but one and focused. Ryun flared faintly around his body, soft blue ripples pulsing outward. His senses spread—across the deck, through the hull, and down to the land below. Nothing. No pursuit. No hidden shadows. The skies were clear except for faint flickers of atmospheric interference.

  Still, the feeling persisted.

  He floated higher, his body gently bobbing in the air as he amplified his perception field. Even from above, nothing unusual. The ship was fine. The crew was fine. Everything looked fine. But he’d lived too long and seen too many die to ever trust surface level appearances.

  With a quiet exhale, he dropped back to the balcony and checked his communicator. The small device flickered—green lights still steady. Captain Ozzy and Vice Captain Tabia were alive. Yet no responses. No signal pings. Silence.

  Bebele tilted his head. Ozzy might’ve been erratic, but he was never inconsistent. If something was wrong, he’d have signaled. Unless—

  He cut the thought before it could finish. No use in spiraling. He would not despair.

  Instead, he clasped his stubby hands and began the motions of a Purity Rite. Soft hums emanated from him as his ears glowed, spinning slowly like a halo. The air lightened slightly, tension easing from the nearby crew who’d wandered too close. It was working—good for morale, good for the heart.

  Then, mid-chant, the air behind him bent.

  A soundless distortion.

  His many ears perked in alarm.

  He turned—but there was no time. A rush of cold air, the sound of paper ripping like a whisper—and then something hit him, fast and silent.

  The Ryun field around him shattered like glass. His communicator clattered to the floor, flickering from green to static.

  No scream. Just the faint echo of a hum… abruptly cut off.