Gray woke up from his pod. His mind felt like crap. It felt thick, slow, disconnected. As if something had been stolen from him in his sleep. Despite resting for over ten hours, he felt like he had been dragging his body through sand.
He rubbed at his eyes, cold sweat still clinging to his temples, and rolled out of the pod. It released a low hiss as the seals disengaged behind him. Around him, the other kids were waking up as well, each one bearing the same glassy, unsettled look. Nobody spoke.
A pale blue light shimmered in front of his eyes.
[Status: Weakened]
Gray stared at the word "Weakened." He touched his ribs. His stomach didn't ache with hunger anymore, but he felt fragile. Like his bones were hollow, like his muscles had been replaced with thread. He dismissed the display with a blink and a sigh.
A voice rang out from the corridor.
"Everybody, please follow me!"
The speaker was a man wearing a moss green camo suit, the type soldiers wore in the old war documentaries. He looked strong and experienced but he lacked any formal identification. No badge. No patch. His boots were military-grade, but his eyes were private and tired. Not a man of orders. A man of tasks.
One by one, the kids filed into line behind him. Gray took the rear. As they walked through the cold steel corridors, the ship groaned softly like it was waking up from the same bad dream. They passed stairwells, empty storage bays, sealed weapon lockers. Some kids whispered. Most just stared at the floor.
Eventually, they arrived at a wide loading bay.
Then came the horn. A deep, mechanical groan. Something shuddered beneath them as the back ramp began to lower.
Gray's eyes strained against the pallid, unnatural light that bled into the chamber, a sickly luminescence that seemed to leach the color from his very skin.
He stepped forward, and what waited for them outside stole the air from his lungs.
Nyxterra.
The beach that greeted them was a mockery of a tropical paradise. Not that he had expected one, but the reality was a profound violation of every natural law he knew. The sand was a blasphemous, colorless expanse. It wasn't white like powdered coral or gray like storm-tossed gravel; it was ashen, a fine, gritty powder that crunched with the grim finality of crushed bone under his boots. It stretched into a misty distance, devoid of life or history.
Above, the sky was a vast, bruised canopy of violet, shot through with lurid, greenish undertones that pulsed like a sick heart. There were no stars, no sun, only this perpetual, alien twilight. Clouds did not drift; they swirled in a slow, viscous vortex, a languid maelstrom as if the heavens were caught in the act of draining down some cosmic plughole, pulling the light and hope from the world with them.
The sea, if it could be called that, was a different horror altogether. It lay utterly still, a sheet of obsidian glass stretching to the bruised horizon, reflecting the sickly sky without a single ripple or wave. It was not water but a void, a profound emptiness given liquid form. There was no crash of surf, no gentle lap against the shore, only a silent, imposing presence, deep and unknowable and hungry.
Far ahead stood a forest, a silhouette of jagged teeth against the throbbing sky. Its trees were all wrong. The trunks were long, unnaturally thin spires that gleamed with the faint, slippery sheen of wet skin freshly peeled back. They stood too close together, their branches contorted into arthritic angles. And the leaves, they did not flutter. They hung like thick, glistening strands of raw muscle, a deep, venous purple. They twitched and shuddered when the rare wind passed, not with the rustle of foliage but with a faint, wet sound, like meat on a hook.
The silence was the most oppressive weight. It was not a peaceful quiet but an absolute void of sound. There was no cry of gulls, no buzz of insects, no distant rumble of life. The world was mute, and in its place was a dull, persistent static buzz that vibrated deep within his inner ear, a phantom noise that seemed to be the sound of the silence itself, gnawing at the edges of his sanity. The air was thick and heavy, each breath a conscious effort, tasting of ozone and something metallic, like old blood on the tongue.
Far above, Gray spotted something which shook his heart.
The sun...it was...cracked.
He was lost at words. He had never seen something like this in his whole life.
Before he could react further his thoughts were cut off.
"Move!" barked the man in camo.
The group walked down the ramp like prisoners stepping toward execution.
Gray gritted his teeth and looked around. Armed personnel surrounded the ship. They were probably private contractors. Portable towers stood half-assembled in the sand, humming faintly with shield generators. Supply crates were being moved via drones, and dozens of metal cases were stacked high near the beach's edge.
Once the group reached a marked-out square in the sand, the man turned to them.
"You're now officially in Nyxterra. Don't ask questions, just listen."
He took out a clipboard and began reading names.
"You've all been assigned roles based on aptitude, risk tolerance, and strain compatibility," he said without emotion.
A murmur passed through the kids. Gray's pulse quickened.
The list was called quickly. Some were tasked with helping unload supplies. Others were told they'd be runners, scouts and couriers who would assist on short-range errands.
Gray's name came near the end.
"Gray. Perimeter Cargo Escort."
He felt the words land heavy on his back. Escort? That meant guarding something. Out here?
The man continued. Three others were called for the same duty.
The first was a large, burly, broad-shouldered man named Myre, five-seven years older than Gray, built like a brick wall with a scar running across his jaw.
The second was a sharp-eyed girl named Lyleen, who hadn't spoken since boarding. She moved like she had training.
The last was a small, pale child no older than ten. His name was Oryn, and he looked terrified.
"These four will escort high-priority cargo through the outer zone," the man said. "You'll move with an armed survey unit. Stick together and obey orders."
They were given fitted vests, radios, and knives. Each of them also received a black band around their wrist with a blinking light.
"Tracker," the man explained. "It reports your heartbeat, and location. If it goes red, you're dead. If it pulses white, its picked up something unusual."
Oryn whimpered softly.
Before Gray could ask what the cargo actually was, a distant sound interrupted the moment. A long, low shriek, not from a beast, but from the land itself. It faded quickly, but not before everyone tensed up.
The man didn't flinch.
With a small bell chime the blue screen popped up again, this time it displayed something entirely different.
[Territory Name: Ring of pale ash]
[Territory Rank: Rank I]
[Territory effect: "The roots remember your sins."]
[Dominant strain: Wither]
Gray narrowed his eyes, focusing on the words he read. He focused specifically on the Territory effect.
'The roots remember your sins? What the hell is that supposed to mean.' The more he thought the more confused he became.
"Welcome to the Ring of Pale Ash. Rank One. Don't let the number fool you. It only means fewer things want to eat you here." The cold voice snapped Gray back to reality.
Gray swallowed hard and followed the rest of his new team. Trying hard not to think about what he had just read. He walked towards the waiting transport skiff. A black hovercraft. Gray was secretly stunned, it was his first time seeing such a thing.They climbed aboard with their escort unit. The hovercraft itself was split into two cabins, the front cabin for drivers. And the back cabin for passengers. It also had a small armory.
Gray took the sight of the shore in once more, it was possible he wouldn't ever see it again.
As the transport rumbled to life and lifted off the ash-colored sand, Gray sat near the open side. The forest loomed in the distance, twitching with windless motion. He gripped his wristband. It blinked calmly.
He didn't trust it.
None of this felt real. The colors were too dead. The air too sharp. The silence too alive.
And then he saw it.
Far along the ridge of the tree line. Past the low dunes and flickering air , something moved.
A shape.
It stood still, like a statue. Too tall. Too still.
He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. His pulse ticked up. It didn't disappear. It didn't flinch.
It was watching.
Gray looked away instinctively.
When he glanced back, it was gone.
The wristband on his arm blinked once.
White.