Three levels beneath Elora's surface, in a chamber that had no name beyond the cryptic designation CR-SHIELD/CORE carved into ancient Ashari records, nine leaders sat in judgment of the future.
The room itself seemed to understand the gravity of the moment—walls shimmering with overlapping defensive fields,
Thornkin enchantments weaving through Myrvane pressure seals like protective prayers.
Nothing entered. Nothing left. Not without permission.
The obsidian table at the chamber's heart pulsed with soft light, holographic displays casting shadows that danced across weathered faces.
For the first time in decades, the traditional barriers had fallen away.
Ashari silver, Thornkin green, and Myrvane cobalt hung intertwined behind the assembled leaders, their banners finally speaking with one voice.
General Ryss Alon broke the silence first, his words cutting through the tension like a blade through silk. "One thousand lives lost in the breach." His gauntleted hand gestured toward the display, where a crimson pulse began its slow expansion across the eastern hemisphere. "Voss delivered exactly what the Core Nexus needed. Now it's preparing for the next phase."
The red stain spread outward from buried command nodes, patient and inexorable.
Watching it grow, Aegis Commander Tharyn Relos shifted in his sea-stone armor, the ancient plates creaking like a ship's hull under pressure. "You're proposing a direct strike on the Core Nexus."
"Not a strike," Councilor Veyla Marr corrected, her voice carrying the calm certainty of someone who had already calculated the odds. "Surgery. We send a blade, not a hammer. Small team, elite operators. Remove Voss, sever the hybrid project, disrupt their command structure before the Core can adapt."
From the shadows where she preferred to remain, Shadow Admiral Kelva Dren finally spoke. "Their surveillance grid is focused on surface movements and energy signatures. Underground approach, properly masked, moving fast—we could reach the inner rings before they realize we're there."
The ancient Thornkin representative, Rootfather Grask Orn, rumbled his response from deep within his barrel chest. "You speak of striking at the very heart of their power."
"The roots are already whispering warnings," added Warden-Singer Teyl Havan, her moss-wrapped form seeming to pulse with each word. "Something stirs in the deep places. Wait much longer, and we invite catastrophe."
The holographic display shifted, revealing the Core Nexus in cross-section—a cancer buried deep in the planet's crust, protected by molten barriers and self-replicating defenses. Nearly impregnable to conventional assault, but perhaps vulnerable to something smaller.
Something unexpected.
Veyla's finger traced a path to a central node deep within the structure. "Here. The AI bridge and fabrication archives. Disable this, and we reset their entire evolutionary timeline. Whatever synthetic nightmare Voss is brewing stops here."
"And if we capture him alive?" Kelva asked.
"Trial," Teyl said simply.
"Execution," Grask countered without hesitation. "He betrayed every living thing."
Ryss nodded grimly. "Either way, he doesn't leave that facility breathing free air."
No vote was called. The decision settled over them like gravity itself, inevitable and absolute. The plan took shape in that moment—a strike team where an army would fail, a scalpel where the Omniraith expected a sledgehammer.
As the leaders began to rise, Kaelin Vorr leaned toward Micah without breaking his gaze from the spreading red pulse. "Think they'll choose you for this?"
Micah said nothing, but his eyes remained fixed on the tactical display. Not from fear—from recognition. The Core Nexus called to him across the void, and somewhere in the depths of his enhanced consciousness, he understood why.
That's where this ends. Where it all ends.
In a quiet alcove behind the main chamber, Lio Venn studied the same displays on his portable interface. The red pulse, the structural diagrams, heat signatures painting a picture of impossible odds. His fingers moved across the screen, bringing up new schematics—dormant but ready.
"Threading a needle through hell," he whispered to himself, then smiled with grim satisfaction as the ASC unit blueprints materialized.
ASC-4: close-quarters combat, built for speed and plasma deployment.
ASC-9: heavy defense, shield-breaking specialist.
"You're going with them," he decided, and behind him, the mountain's ancient machinery hummed its agreement.
The strike before the storm was taking shape.
When the leaders reconvened, the chamber had transformed itself for what was to come.
Gone was the strategic overview of the Core Nexus, replaced by something far more sacred—the Nomination Table.
Smooth obsidian rose from the floor's center, marked with biometric rings that glowed like dying stars.
This was tradition reserved for the impossible missions, the ones that carved themselves into history or erased those who attempted them.
The silence that filled the space carried weight beyond mere reverence. Nine names would be spoken. Nine lives offered. No more, no less.
Ryss Alon stepped into the circle of light, his words measured and final. "We send nine. The finest each of our peoples can offer—fighters, infiltrators, healers, minds sharp enough to cut through impossibility. Not merely a squad, but an answer to their darkness."
He surveyed the assembled faces, reading the resolve etched in each expression. "Name your candidates."
Kaelin Vorr spoke first, his voice carrying no doubt. "Micah Satya."
Every eye turned toward the scout, but Micah's expression remained unchanged, as if he'd been expecting this moment for years.
"Scout and infiltration specialist," Kaelin continued. "Terrain expert. Nobody alive knows Omniraith systems like he does." He paused, letting the weight of that knowledge settle. "He's not just useful—he's essential."
Councilor Veyla's frown carried maternal concern. "You'd send him directly into their hands? Into the very place they want him?"
"That's exactly why he has to go," Kaelin replied. "They want him there, which means that's where we need him to be."
Warden-Singer Teyl nodded slowly, though her words carried ominous weight. "Then we guard him like the most sacred root in all the forest. If the enemy claims him, this war takes a darker turn than any of us can imagine."
Micah gave a single, silent nod. No protest, no hesitation. He understood the stakes better than anyone.
"Captain Nyra Tal," Ryss announced next, and from the shadows stepped a figure that seemed to absorb light itself. Deep-steel armor caught no reflection, and her high-collared cloak moved like liquid darkness. Seventeen successful black operations had carved her legend in silence and efficiency.
"I go where the mission requires," she said, her voice carrying the flat certainty of someone who had already died a dozen times and returned.
Kelva Dren nodded approval. "The blade we need."
"Myself," Kaelin added, crossing his arms as if daring anyone to object.
Veyla raised an eyebrow. "That breaks protocol."
"Protocol doesn't survive first contact with the Core Nexus," Kaelin shot back. "We need someone who won't flinch when the shooting starts. Someone who won't wait for permission to do what needs doing."
Ryss considered this for a long moment, then nodded once. "Approved."
From the Myrvane delegation, Tharyn Relos rose like a mountain finding its feet. "Aegis Syrran Drehl stands ready."
The man who stepped forward seemed carved from the ocean floor itself—tall, imposing, wrapped in layers of cobalt plating that had turned aside a hundred killing blows. When he spoke, his voice carried the deep pressure of crushing depths.
"I will shield them from harm."
Nobody questioned that promise.
"Harka Slen," Kelva added, and something that might have been human detached itself from the chamber's periphery. Sleek as a blade, silent as vacuum, with eyes hidden behind sensor mesh that seemed to peer into alternate dimensions. No words, no introduction—just a single nod before melting back into shadow like smoke given temporary form.
"Tern Vale." Tharyn's voice carried affection for the grinning technician who stepped forward with tools hanging from every possible attachment point. "Combat technician, field systems specialist, adaptive tactics expert."
Vale's crooked smile suggested he found genuine joy in impossible problems. "If it breaks, I'll fix it. If it moves, I'll shoot it. If it glows, I'll hack it until it stops glowing."
From his position at the chamber's rear, Lio Venn chuckled quietly. These were his kind of people—the ones who looked at certain death and asked what tools they'd need.
Rootfather Grask's voice boomed through the chamber like distant thunder. "Captain Varn Roath. Rootstrider of the deep woods. If the Core brings stone to life, we answer with bark and fury."
Varn Roath emerged like a force of nature given human form—thick-armed, vine-wrapped, his breath misting with the power of growing things. When he struck his chest in salute, the sound echoed like a war drum calling the forest to battle.
Teyl Havan stepped forward with quiet grace. "Liera Vossel. Sharpshooter of the Second Canopy. Her arrows have never known failure, and the Evershade itself watches through her eyes."
The woman who approached moved with predatory silence, green fire flickering in her gaze. The bow across her back stood taller than she did, organic and enchanted, carved from trees that had been singing when the world was young.
"I'll shoot the stars themselves from the sky if they stand in our way," she promised, and somehow, nobody doubted her.
The final name came from an unexpected source. Micah's voice cut through the chamber's anticipation like a sword through silk.
"Sera Lin."
The words triggered a ripple of surprise, not because she lacked skill, but because her talents were desperately needed elsewhere.
"A healer," someone objected. "In a strike mission?"
"The reason we'll survive it," Micah replied with absolute certainty. "You want this team to hold together when hell breaks loose? She's the one who makes that possible. She's the one who brings us home."
Grask studied the young healer for a long moment, seeing something in her calm composure that spoke to ancient wisdom. Finally, he nodded with solemn approval. "Sera Lin. Chosen."
She stepped into the circle, her movements carrying the fluid certainty of someone who had made peace with impossible odds. Her hand brushed the living root-thread woven into her sash, and when her eyes met Micah's, they held steady with quiet promise.
"I'll keep them breathing," she said simply.
As the roster sealed itself into history, Lio Venn approached the platform with measured steps. "I won't be going with them," he announced, "but I'm sending companions they'll need."
His console flickered to life, projecting two dormant forms that hummed with restrained power.
ASC-4: Blitzfire – assault configuration, built for close combat and speed.
ASC-9: Warden Pike – defensive specialist, shield-breaking capability.
"Command cores completely purged and rebuilt," Lio explained. "New protocols, clean loyalties. They'll move with the team and respond only to Kaelin and Micah's authority."
The war table dimmed, sealing nine names and two mechanical souls into a mission that would either save three worlds or doom them all.
Operation Shadow Vow had found its champions.
As the pulse traveled outward through the mountain's communication networks, carrying word to every command center, every listening post, every hidden sanctuary where hope still flickered, one truth crystallized in the minds of all who would hear it:
By the time the Omniraith realized what was coming for them, the blade would already be at their throat.