The forest was unnaturally quiet.
Frost clung to every branch like white fire. Branches cracked under the weight of silence. Kaiden crouched low beside a splintered tree stump, one knee sinking into the snow. His mechanical eye adjusted against the interference in the air—flickering as the leyline's raw current distorted his HUD.
He was dressed in reinforced combat armor of a style only recently developed in the demon forges—thick leather under a shell of bronze-lined plates, powered partially by internal mana tubing that hissed faintly when he moved. Steam valves on his spine let out an occasional puff as his system regulated pressure. Bronze-capped shoulder plates bore the faint insignia of his new rank. A worn, oil-stained long coat trailed behind him, stitched with protective runes.
From his waist hung a short-bladed crescent sword forged from ley-steel, and a side-mounted mana battery affixed to his utility belt—already reading at half-drained. His right arm, more machine than flesh, flexed with a soft hum.
A communicator with a brass receiver was bolted to his collar, patched into a portable etheric relay unit that sparked weakly with magical interference. "Telemetry's glitching," he muttered.
Behind him, Sylen slinked through the trees. Her scouting gear was more elegant—slim matte greaves and articulated plating over padded leather. Twin throwing knives glinted at her thighs, and a brass mask covered the lower half of her face. Arcane goggles pulsed dull green over her eyes.
Kess trudged close, his bulky armor whirring with servos powered by an exposed condenser crystal on his back. A long-barreled pressure rifle was slung over one shoulder, alongside a collapsible arc-axe. Tubing ran from his armor into a small boiler unit strapped to his belt, hissing faintly.
Rav, the youngest, carried a field shotgun modified with a gear-fed shell loader and a heat coil backpack that radiated minimal warmth. His leather coat was stitched together from surplus gear, goggles too big for his narrow face.
"Is this the spot?" Kess muttered, his voice a gravel whisper through the analog static of their telecoms.
Kaiden nodded. "Closest surge point. Highest leyline disruption recorded here last week. Stay sharp."
"Figures," Rav grumbled. "We follow you up the ladder and end up freezing to death chasing ghosts."
Kaiden scanned the glade—half-dead trees, glinting frost, no wildlife. The leyline here pulsed unnaturally, as though the forest itself held its breath.
He felt it beneath his boots. A low vibration.
A warning.
"Hold formation," he whispered, pressing two fingers to his throat mic.
And then it hit.
A pulse—loud, ancient, wrong. The air warped. Mana howled through the glade like pressure inside a pipe ready to burst.
A detonation of violet energy erupted in a perfect ring, blasting snow into the treetops. Frost evaporated. The air stank of burning ozone and metal.
Kaiden dove sideways, rolling as a bolt of light slammed past him and split a tree with a hiss. Rav and Ferun were caught mid-step, paralyzed as arcane chains surged up their legs, trapping them in midair like pinned insects.
"Scatter!" Kaiden barked.
Sylen slipped behind a ridge of roots. Kess fired a pressure burst, the crack echoing across the trees, but it shattered against an unseen shield midair.
Then he appeared.
At the epicenter of the blast: a lone figure, standing as if untouched. Hooded robes of black and forest green layered in an almost regal cut, stitched with faintly glowing runes. A silver mask covered the face, blank and smooth save for a vertical slit where a mouth might be.
A staff floated just above his palm, not held—stabilized by magic or magnetism. It thrummed like a living thing.
A mage. But not one of theirs.
Kaiden rushed forward, his boots hissing steam. He deflected a glowing glyph with his bracer, sending sparks across his face. The mage said nothing. His presence didn't feel hostile—just cold. Analytical.
Then he vanished—not with the snap of teleportation, but as if rewound from the world itself.
Kaiden lowered his arm, heart hammering.
Not a warning.
A message.
Later That Night
They made camp beneath a rock shelf along a partially frozen stream. Mana-static still flickered like heat lightning through the trees.
Two soldiers—Rav and Ferun—sat hunched near a coal-fueled heater, their faces pale. The air was too dry, too still.
"Thought this area was neutral," Rav muttered, cradling a cup of boiled synth-leaf tea.
Sylen cleaned her knives, the grind of whetstone rhythmic. "Neutral doesn't mean safe. That wasn't kingdom magic. And it sure as hell wasn't demoncraft."
Kaiden sat at the edge of the firelight, half in shadow. His blade lay across his knees, but he hadn't moved in some time. The others had begun to notice.
Kess plopped down beside him, rifle resting against a gear crate. "You recognized it."
Kaiden blinked once. "Not the magic. But the rhythm. The structure."
Sylen turned to face him, brows low. "From your world?"
Kaiden hesitated. "Maybe. Or someone who studied it."
"That's comforting," Rav muttered. "We're being hunted by transdimensional history buffs."
Kaiden's voice dropped, quieter than before. "He could've killed us. He didn't."
Kess snorted. "So that makes it better?"
Kaiden didn't respond. The thought itched beneath his skin like rust.
A Few Hours Later
The crater hadn't cooled. It steamed faintly under the moonlight.
Kaiden knelt at its edge, the wind tugging at his coat. His mechanical hand scraped at the blackened earth until something caught—flat stone, etched.
Not glowing. Just there. Deliberate.
Runes in a language he didn't recognize. Not demon. Not kingdom. But layered. Mechanical in precision, magical in form.
And tucked among them, carved in simple block script:
Kaiden
His breath caught.
This wasn't a message from the past.
It was an invitation.