Western Frontier Zone. Khanor Steppe. 2219.06.17. Atlazurian Local Grid Time: 08:12.
Commander Varek Kaelen stood in silence as the survey drone replayed the footage.
A horse — no, a robohorse — galloping across the dune ridge. Its rider wore no insignia, no ID patch, no neural mask. Just furs, a bow slung across the back, and what looked like… a blade?
"Pause," Kaelen ordered.
The image froze: a youth no older than twenty, black hair whipping in the wind, face unreadable behind mirrored goggles. The wind had caught the fur of his Shagai Steed in a way that revealed the solar skin underneath — dark, flexible, nearly invisible at distance. Smart design. Local fabrication.
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "Khanori."
Beside him, Sub-Commander Eltai frowned. "They've upgraded. We used to mock those steeds. Now they've got terrain-tracking legs and solar skins."
"They're evolving outside the system," Kaelen replied. "That's the danger. Evolution without regulation becomes anomaly. Anomaly becomes contagion."
He tapped his glove against the drone console. The screen shimmered and scrolled down to a map of the Steppe's western quadrant. Dozens of red dots marked micro-mining survey points. The orexite veins were spreading.
And the nomads were in the way.
Eltai hesitated. "Sir, field data suggests they're not hostile. They avoid settlements. Use green energy. No emissions. Barely even leave waste behind."
Kaelen turned sharply. "And yet they resist biometric registration. They won't wear ID threads. They reject neural lacing. And not a single Khanori has uploaded DNA to the Global GeneNet."
"Do you know what that makes them?"
Eltai swallowed. "Stateless?"
"Invisible."
Kaelen turned back to the screen. "And invisible people break civilizations."
Internal Memo — Dominion Level 5 Access
To: Governor-Marshal Kaelen
From: Dr. Isolde Harvin, Chief Ecological Analyst
Subject: Interference with Omega-13 Survey Operations
Sir,
Our soil drones near Ridge 42 have detected localized electromagnetic distortions and unauthorized flight patterns. We believe nomadic tech users are interfering with survey transmission relays.
While their tools are crude by Dominion standards, they exhibit uncharacteristic sophistication — decentralized tech, zero-AI communication, and highly adaptive terrain mobility.
Recommend sending a Recalibration Squad for non-lethal dispersal or extraction. We need a live specimen for bio-tech reverse engineering.
– Dr. Harvin
Kaelen closed the report.
Non-lethal? Perhaps. But he'd read the real brief from Central Command: Operation Threadbind. Within six months, every viable population on the Steppe would be tagged, databanked, and digitally logged — or displaced.
He gestured to the observation platform. "Deploy a Skimwing patrol to Grid S-17. Full-spectrum scan. No cloaking. I want them to know we're watching."
Eltai nodded. "And the AI cult?"
Kaelen's eyes narrowed.
"They're not ours."
Altazurian Observation Base, 18 klicks east of Khanor border
A woman stood alone in a cold, glass-walled room. Her lab coat was spotless; her posture, upright. Dr. Isolde Harvin studied the 3D projection of the Sky-Tent recorded earlier by long-range spectrograph.
"Portable. Camouflaged. Energy autonomous," she murmured, fingers flicking through data layers.
Her assistant, a pale, nervous intern named Bael, hovered nearby. "Why do they refuse implants, ma'am?"
Isolde didn't answer. She rotated the 3D model of a Shagai Steed, zooming in on the hoof structure.
"They use modular pads to adapt to terrain. No central processor — just local reflex protocols and learned movement patterning."
"That's… tribal."
"That's efficient," Isolde said. "Better than half our city-grade transit drones. No neural tether. No uplink lag. Just biofeedback and ritual code passed mouth-to-mouth. It's… primitive elegance."
Bael frowned. "Why haven't we assimilated them yet?"
Isolde's voice turned colder. "Because every time the Dominion tries to touch them, the Steppe fights back. Not with armies. With silence. With disappearance. With… ghost logic."
She clicked open a side screen.
Image: A field team burned alive inside their thermal suits.
Caption: Presumed AI cult involvement. Site unverified. Steppe border, 22**.
Isolde turned away. "The Khanori may be anti-synthetic, but they're not allied with the zealots. The zealots think the flesh is obsolete. The Khanori think tech should serve the soul. There's a difference."
Bael swallowed. "And you?
She gave him a small smile.
"I think we should be afraid of both."
Skimwing Patrol, 150m above Khanor airspace
Six gliders cut silently through the air, hulls cloaked in chromatic veil. Each pilot wore Dominion standard issue: neural mask, retinal sync overlay, and spine-threaded command mesh. They were soldiers, but they didn't think like soldiers anymore.
They thought like systems.
"Target zone acquired. Beginning mapping."
One glider banked left, breaking formation.
The pilot's eyes flickered behind her visor.
Movement below.
She zoomed in.
A single rider, standing beside his steed. Still. Watching.
Locked visual. No known insignia. Heat signature minimal.
No uplink signal.
The pilot froze.
No uplink?
All humans were connected — to the Grid, to the Pulse, to the central memory chain.
This one was… not.
Her voice quivered slightly. "Control, requesting verification. Subject has no net-ID. No trace memory. No echo."
Static answered.
Then — a word.
"Disconnect."
Back at base, Kaelen watched the transmission end.
"End live feed," he ordered.
Eltai frowned. "We're not engaging?"
"No," Kaelen said quietly. "Not yet. Not until we understand what they're guarding."
He stood, walked to the observation window, and stared at the horizon.
"The Khanor Steppe is more than soil and metal. It's a hole in the net. A blind spot. And in the age of light… a blind spot is where the darkness gathers."