The gates of Elora were cracked open.
Not much. Just a sliver.
Enough for nine shadows and two machines to slip through into whatever waited beyond.
Nobody was making a big deal about it. No crowds cheering them off, no drums, no speeches about glory.
The Ashari weren't into that kind of thing.
Too much wasted energy.
Too much feeling.
But the quiet still felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath.
One by one, the Ghostline team said their goodbyes without really saying much at all.
Sera Lin hung back near the doorway, her fingers wrapped around a small woven charm another Thornkin healer had pressed into her hand. A seedpod that glowed softly with healing magic. One use only. She slipped it into her sash and kept quiet about it.
Varn Roath pressed his hand against the old root that snaked through the wall by the gate. The vine gave a little pulse under his touch, like it knew him, then pulled back as if it understood where he was headed—and that maybe it wouldn't see him again.
Liera Vossel gave a single nod to the Second Canopy banner hanging over the exit ramp. She didn't say anything. Didn't need to. Her eyes carried the whole forest with them.
Tern Vale dropped down next to one of the access ports along the wall, plugged in a small memory stick, and uploaded something—his tech notes, blueprints, half-finished designs. A little gift for whoever came after him. Just in case.
Syrran Drehl smacked the reinforced wall with his palm and grinned. "Don't fall apart on me while I'm gone."
Harka Slen just stood there, staring down the dark path ahead, impossible to read as always.
Kaelin Vorr caught General Ryss Alon's eye and gave him a quiet nod—one soldier to another. Said everything without saying anything.
Nyra Tal was already geared up and waiting at the edge, silent and still as stone. When the others showed up, she just turned and headed out.
Then there was Lio Venn.
He pulled Micah off to the side, just out of earshot. The younger guy looked beat—dark circles under his eyes, skin pale against the blue glow of his interface.
But he moved like someone who knew time was running short.
Lio held out a small device. Thin, triangular, about the size of a coin. "Tracker," he said. "Deepwave frequency.
Won't broadcast unless you turn it on yourself. Pings every thirty-six hours, no uplink, no callouts. But if you disappear, at least I'll have somewhere to start looking."
Micah took it, felt its weight in his palm. "Thanks."
"Wish I could do more."
"You've done plenty," Micah said quietly.
Lio hesitated, then put his hand on Micah's shoulder for a second. "Don't get lost out there."
"I'll do my best."
Micah stepped forward and pulled up the map overlay.
Soft light spread across the ground in front of them—a topographic view of their route to Sector Gamma Prime.
Steep ridges, areas where the ground liked to slide, old comm tunnels, and a narrow pass that only the best Ashari scouts knew about.
"This is where we're going," he said. "Main roads are a death trap. Too many drones watching. But this route?" He traced it with his finger. "Old supply paths. The slopes are brutal and the footing's sketchy, but it'll keep us out of the kill zones."
Varn Roath leaned in. "Rock's unstable?"
Micah nodded. "You'll have to trust your instincts."
Kaelin's eyes followed the line, giving a quick nod. "How long?"
"Two days to hit the ridge. Then we figure out what's next."
Sera looked up. "What about staying in touch?"
"You won't be," Lio answered before Micah could. "No relays, no uplink, no direct connection. You're going into a dead zone."
Syrran Drehl made a rough sound. "Perfect. Just how I like it."
The wind outside picked up, whistling through the half-open gate like a breath from somewhere deep.
The faint glow from Elora's outer wall caught the edges of their gear and cloaks—throwing long shadows across the mountain rock.
Micah took one last look back.
Elora sat quiet.
Its lights—blue, clean, and cold—only reached so far. Past the threshold, everything was raw, jagged, and dark. But it was theirs now. This was where the real work started.
"Let's go," Kaelin said.
Without another word, the team stepped through the gate.
Stone crunched under their boots. Thin snow cracked and gave way. The mountain opened up in front of them in all its harsh, breathless enormity—stone ridges like frozen waves, drops that vanished into mist, and the constant howl of high-altitude wind.
Micah took point, staying low as he started down the first ledge. One by one, they followed—Nyra and Harka sliding into flanking spots, Varn and Syrran close behind, Blitzfire humming quietly as it matched their pace. Kaelin brought up the rear, with Warden Pike's massive form moving beside him like a guardian.
No talking. No second-guessing.
They jumped from rock to rock, stone to stone, slowly disappearing into the storm-dark cliffs. The mountain swallowed their tracks, burying every sound under snow and wind.
Above them, the city kept watch.
And then Ghostline was gone.
The snow had quit falling by the time Elora disappeared behind them.
The sky turned the color of old iron, the silence getting deeper.
When the team made it down the final ridge, Micah called a halt.
Below them, half-buried in time and ruin, lay what was left of the Burned Fold—the site of some brutal fight from way back.
The land was all jagged and scarred, twisted steel bones poking through the frozen dirt. Everywhere they looked: rusted Omniraith drones, dead sentries, shattered armor plating like empty shells.
Micah pointed to a half-collapsed structure leaning against the cliff wall. "Tunnel entrance is through there. Old Ashari evacuation route. Should get us close enough."
Nobody argued. The shadows felt heavier here, like they remembered what went down.
The group ducked under a sagging support beam.
Their boots hit metal now instead of stone—warped and groaning under their weight.
The tunnel walls were lined with scorched metal plates, patches of frost clinging to busted conduits. The deeper they went, the colder it got—not just the air, but the feeling.
Like the mountain itself was telling them to turn around.
Tern Vale muttered, "What could possibly go wrong?"
Kaelin didn't look back. "Want me to make a list?"
"Not really," Tern said. "Just trying to lighten the mood."
Sera managed a small smile. "We'll be okay. We've been through worse."
Syrran grunted. "Only thing worse than this was a full collapse near the Abyssal Trench. Crushed half my unit. I walked out. Barely."
Varn chuckled. "Stone falls harder than water, friend."
"You've never been in a trench quake," Syrran shot back.
"Doesn't matter," Nyra said sharply. "Save it. We're not alone down here."
Micah raised his hand. Everyone froze. A faint buzzing hummed through the tunnel, so quiet it was more of a feeling than a sound.
ASC-4 floated silently above them, its sensors blinking red. A silent message popped up on Kaelin and Micah's displays.
> Drones. Patrol. Above.
The air went tense like a stretched wire.
Micah pressed two fingers against the tunnel wall, signaling for quiet. The group spread out into the shadows, disappearing behind debris, dead piping, and bent metal.
Nobody breathed.
Overhead, just barely audible, the whir of Omniraith patrol drones cut through the air.
Their scanners pulsed in steady intervals—sweeping for movement, heat, sound. They moved slowly but precisely, scanning the rocks above the tunnel entrance.
Minutes crawled by. Then more.
Two hours later, the drones drifted away, their shadows disappearing like a retreating tide.
ASC-4 moved back into scouting position.
Micah let out his breath. "Let's move."
They pushed on in silence.
Eventually, the tunnel opened into a natural rock formation—a crack in the mountain leading to an old maintenance access point. Cold wind slipped through narrow gaps in the stone. They were getting close now.
One final turn, and light spilled in from above.
The team emerged onto a snow-dusted cliffside covered in frost-veined moss and stubborn trees clinging to cracks in the rock.
Below them lay a collapsed canyon wrapped in layers of mist and broken stone. At the far end, built right into the cliff itself, was a maze of shattered labs and exposed infrastructure—Sector Gamma Prime.
The lab looked dead, but faint glows pulsed in the deepest corners—machines still running, terminals still flickering like eyes that refused to close.
Micah held up his fist. "Wait here."
Nobody argued.
He slid forward alone, steps impossibly quiet.
His cloak shifted between shades of stone and shadow.
The Hollow stirred inside him, guiding his movement, sensing something old and raw.
He reached the edge of a high ridge and crouched down. From here, he could see the whole layout of the facility.
A whisper crawled up his spine.
*This is where it all started.*
Micah didn't flinch. He remembered what happened here—what Voss had lost. What he had begun. What might end here.
He lifted a signaling mirror and flashed three short pulses, one long.
Behind him, one by one, the team crept into position.
Varn stayed low, eyes scanning for ground entry points. Liera nocked an arrow and whispered something to her bow. Nyra mapped possible breach points with silent hand signals. Harka was already gone, a shadow waiting to strike.
Kaelin joined Micah at the edge. "This is it."
Micah nodded. "The ghosts are loud here."
Sera's voice came softly from behind them. "Then we make sure they don't scream for nothing."
Micah stared down at the ruins. "Let's dive in."
And with that, the Ghostline team got ready to descend into the storm.