2nd layer
The sky was a bruised purple, slashed by jagged streaks of lightning. In the oppressive gloom of the second atmospheric layer, a single, colossal tree dominated the landscape. Its branches, impossibly vast, pierced the clouds, and an otherworldly luminescence emanated from its heart, a beacon in the encroaching darkness. Zelaive, her face grim beneath the flickering light, led her expedition towards it. Their goal: to claim the legendary resources hidden within the luminous tree.
As they prepared to approach the tree, a masked scout, one of Zelaive's most trusted, hurried to her side. He tapped her shoulder gently.
"Zelaive, I need to talk to you."
Zelaive, who had been studying the tree through her advanced telescope, lowered it slightly, her expression impatient. "Spit it out," she said, her voice low.
"Forget the main entrance. Seriously. We'd be vaporized before we got close. This thing's got three layers of insane heat. We're talking 150 million degrees Celsius, then a billion and a half, and the core? 150 billion. It's a death trap."
Zelaive frowned, her gaze shifting to the lava flow that encircled the base of the tree. "Let's assess the lava's temperature first. It's the only other thing we can study before we attempt to go deeper."
"Already done. It's a relatively mild 15 million degrees. The problem is what's beneath the lava."
A murmur rippled through the assembled team. One of the warriors, a nervous-looking human, spoke up. "You mean... there's something under all that lava?"
Zelaive nodded curtly. "Yes."
The leader of the Orc contingent, a hulking brute named Grug, scoffed. "Impossible! There can't be anything left alive down there!" He looked down at the lava, his usually confident demeanor shaken.
Zelaive's patience was wearing thin. "If you're too scared, Grug, you can leave. I don't need cowards on this expedition."
Grug's face reddened. "Coward? You used us to get here, and now you're ditching us? You risked my people's lives, while your own team hasn't lost a single person!"
"They're stronger than your warriors," Zelaive retorted, her voice icy. "That's not my fault."
Grug, his pride wounded, roared and charged, his great axe raised high. But before he could reach Zelaive, a colossal figure materialized seemingly out of thin air. With a lightning-fast movement, the giant plucked Grug's head from his shoulders, crushing it in his massive hand before the horrified Orcs.
The giant addressed the remaining Orcs, his voice a deep, resonating rumble. "Now that your leader's… gone… what's the plan? Are you going to cower, or are you going to fight?"
Terror gripped the Orcs. One of them, a smaller Orc with dwarven features, spoke, his voice trembling.
"Are you… are you a Nephilim?"
"I'm a traveler," the giant boomed. "And if you lot can't lead yourselves, I will. I'm your new leader."
The giant's sheer presence was overwhelming. His words resonated deeply, silencing the remaining Orcs.
The half-Orc, half-dwarf spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. "If you're our leader... will you keep us safe? Promise you won't use us as shields?"
The giant let out a booming laugh. "Shields? You think you're just shields? We're warriors! I won't send you in as cannon fodder. True strength isn't just about brute force; it's about courage, and…" He thumped his fist against the half-Orc/dwarf's chest. "...heart. Follow me, and prove you're real warriors. It's not about pride, it's about what you do. Show me what you're made of."
A unified roar erupted from the Orcs, their spirits rekindled. The giant, his eyes fixed on Zelaive, gave a slight nod. The expedition would continue, but with a new, unexpected leader.
1st Layer
Zelaive's alarm blared, a jarring 8:24 AM. School started in 36 minutes. He'd dreamt of soaring trees and molten chasms, a vivid escape from the mundane reality of exams and step-sisters. He ignored his mother's calls for breakfast, the insistent ringing of his alarm, and even his younger sister, Marisse's, increasingly frantic attempts to rouse him. Marisse, in a fit of exasperation, launched herself onto her brother, finally jolting him awake with the reminder of the impending exam.
The ensuing scramble was chaotic. Downstairs, Jazel, his stepsister, stood perfectly composed, already dressed and ready for the day. Zelaive's immediate accusation of her failure to wake him was met with a torrent of justified resentment. Jazel recounted the numerous times she'd attempted to wake him, only to be met with indifference, a pillow to the face, or even a hurled book. This time, however, Jazel's patience had snapped. She delivered a curt "I don't care anymore," followed by the aforementioned book, this time aimed directly at Zelaive's head.
Zelaive, surprisingly unfazed by the projectile, countered with a surprisingly nonchalant, "I remember you throwing a book at me last time. About a year ago. It's okay. I'll forget everything, I'll even accept your annoying voice." Jazel, however, remained unmoved, leaving Zelaive stunned by her cold indifference.
At school, his friend Kent noticed Zelaive's distracted state. The exam loomed, but Zelaive's mind remained preoccupied with Jazel's unusual behavior. Their conversation was punctuated by Kent's good-natured ribbing about Zelaive's chronic lateness.
The exam ended, and as Zelaive walked home, he spotted Jazel. She was alone, carrying her bag, carefully concealed package, and her expression was unusually somber. He approached her, noting the flowers subtly peeking from her bag. His attempt to inquire about the flowers was met with a withering glare and a swift retreat. Zelaive was left baffled, muttering about Jazel's irritating behavior.
His confusion deepened. He knew Jazel. She was popular, yet fiercely independent, aloof, and seemingly incapable of forming close relationships. The image of the carefully hidden flowers gnawed at him. He couldn't reconcile the solitary Jazel he knew with the unexpected presence of flowers, and the sadness etched on her face.
The narrative then shifts to their first meeting a year prior. Their mother, visibly nervous, announced her intention to remarry. Zelaive, with uncanny insight, correctly guessed the news, shocking his mother. Marisse, though initially accepting, expressed her anger towards their absent father, Vince Mazerch. The family's initial awkward silence was broken by Zelaive and Marisse's joking threats against their father, a shared moment of dark humor that eased the tension.
A week later, on July 9th, Zelaive found himself on a train, heading to a family dinner with his mother's new partner. He noticed a wallet beneath a sleeping passenger. His attempt to return the wallet was thwarted by a well-meaning but ultimately clumsy woman who, seeing the sleeping man, tucked the wallet into her own bag. This act of misplaced kindness sparked a heated exchange between Zelaive and the woman as they debated the ethics of their actions. The train's departure sealed the encounter, leaving Zelaive to ponder the complexities of kindness and the unexpected consequences of good intentions. The incident left him questioning his own actions and the motivations behind seemingly simple acts of helpfulness.