-0946 Military Hours
-Vallen Island, Fortress city of Leentar

The world is silent, perceptions muddled from dawn to dusk. The regret still stains my consciousness, even as this darkness consumes my soul.

There is nothing in this, my senses remaining dulled for an untold amount of time. While adrift in this prison of black, there was little else I could do but... think.

Restlessness takes hold of me, and yet my body stubbornly refuses to heed my mind. Only my thoughts fall under my control it seems.

A flare blossoms in this void, and I feel my spirit drawn to it. What will await me there? A new life perhaps, or an eternal paradise of wonders just as the Seers described. It consumes me, whatever is left of me and I let my soul become undone to this beacon of light.

Its warmth cradles my skin, in a way a mother would her child. With this feeling of peace within, I open my eyes meeting the eternal colours of green and blue.

An open field across a rolling meadow, blue skies rendered pure by drifting clouds, with not a person in sight. It feels unreal, even with the grass nestled between my toes. Soft whispers of the breeze cater to my ears as I will my legs to move, treading through the empty, yet haunting looking plains.

Like a dream, it all did not make sense. My senses were muffled, and with no where to go, I simply gaze at the strange lands before me. It was lonely.

As my time here lengthens, I find myself yearning for someone else to be here as well. Anything to answer the brewing question sailing over my thoughts.

Where am I?

My golden locks flicker about in this wind as I feel a presence behind, casting shadows along the grass to the left. Already I know this figure to be tall perhaps even imposing, but the meek shadows of its shoulders speak of this person being a woman.

"Welcome." The voice says, feminine and sweet like freshly made honey. A light within the dark that is this strange place, like an Angel.

I turn around, seating my gaze on the mysterious woman, questions at the ready. She stood there, a smile on her face and looking no more than fifty seasons old. As our eyes meet, I could only offer this young lady a silent greeting.

She was dressed in traditional Koyee robes, ancient articles of clothing not worn since the departure from the main lands of the far north. It was odd seeing a garb like this, more so given its pristine condition. Vibrant green with silvery locks of gold patterned around her waist, beautiful just as the archives proclaimed.

"W-who... are you?" I ask, cautious of her all knowing smile. Taking a step forward, the woman lifts a hand, levitating a crystal trinket in her palm for my eyes to see.

It radiates a wave of power beyond anything its size, making me question who the person before me is. More questions fill my heart as I meet the woman with a steely gaze, her bright golden eyes reflecting the sun like the purest of gems.

"You know me, you've always known," she mutters, shattering the crystal in her hand with her magic. She beckons me to her side and I accept, deciding to offer her my companionship as we stroll through the empty fields.

The silence between us continues and I look to the sky above, thoughts driven to a halt. The question still remains, where am I.

I look back to my last moments on the Ethornai, before that void of darkness. The bitter sound of sharp thunder and that searing pain on my chest, my vision darkening as blood soaks my inner tunic.

"Have I passed on?" I ask, offering a questioning look to the unnamed woman, ready to face this truth head in.

My words are fruitless, and I am aware of that. It was barely worth mentioning the obvious given my most recent memories. But still... deep down, I need someone else to tell me that, before I fully accept this.

I look at her with patience, and she in return offers me a pair conflicted eyes, the golden shimmers speaking of words yet to be said, important words yet to come it seems.

"Not yet, your time is far from over. You are not broken," she answers, whisking her attention away from me. She stops before a patch of flowers, kneeling to caress the petals with her palms, handling them with a troubled expression.

"You still have much to offer in your life, so my crystal gates will not open for you yet." I raise my brows over that statement, my lingering suspicion of her identity concluded with an answer.

"It can't be..." I raise a hand towards her, my expression a vibrant mixture of awe and surprise.

Is she really... is this what the Goddess as a whole truly looks like?

"No," she looks up to me, answering the question that lingered on my mind, "you perceive me through your memories, I'm only a small fragment of the Crystal Herald herself, a crystal shard if you will. Your mind conjures what I look based off your kind."

"Then... you must have a name, even as a fragment. What do I call you?"

The Shard's voice, once resonant across the meadows now take on a more normal tone, so much it was believable to think she was no divine spirit, but a part of Elvenkind.

"You may still call me Vierra. I am the Crystal Herald, but also not. Your legends were right, we were once whole, but we shattered ourselves for this world. Now, we are many."

"I know." The knowledge she has unveiled were passed along from mother to child, father to son from the moment they could speak. And I am no exception to this.

Though it is perplexing to be , the focus of my turmoils lie elsewhere. "Where am I?"

"Memories... as I've said. Your memories," she emphasizes, a wistful sigh parting her lips, the simple act being so familiar to me, "But that is not important, I'm here to talk. Offer what advice I can, save your kind from stagnation."

Disbelief begins to take hold of my actions, and so I kneel beside this mysterious fragment of the Goddess. The plight for my home Island must be brought to the attention of the Crystal Herald... as a whole.

"The reason why I am here this close to your Crystal Embrace, is only because of this new foe in Sonarai." I say, anger welling up in my heart at the losses inflicted to the Warrior Contingents.

The number of lives given on behalf of my home Island, it was horrific. This immense feeling of despair, perhaps a glimpse to what the ancestors must have felt during the waning days of The Great Retreat.

She places a tender hand on my cheek, as if wiping away ghostly tears. "I know, they are a naturally curious race. Knowledge beyond even my own, and yet... naive in some ways."

"Who are they?" The Crystal Herald oversees all, she must know what they are if her previous statements are of any hint.

"Those who would assist, to help amend your grievances against your ancient enemies. Of course they are not perfect... but they are special."

The shock cements itself in my voice as I reply, arms crossed. "Forgive me, but I find that hard to believe."

They are bizarre perhaps, though that is all I would claim as a truth. Our ancient adversaries on the other hand, the ancestors crossed the vast ocean just to escape them, so we would never have to contend with their Kingdom.

It was so long ago, but if the Euralians are half the brutes they were during the Great Retreat, then to believe peace might be achieved is at best delusional.

"You won't need to," she answers, still cryptic in her words. "I have faith you will know what do to. We brought them to this world for change, and they shall deliver it," What could the fragment possibly mean by that?

I decide to press on, intending to gleam what I could from her. "I don't... understand."

"I have no desire to see your kind whittle away, my shard sisters too think that. So work with them, those who are noble even as they thread the path of battle and duty. We don't wish for your kind to stagnate on these islands forever."

"How will I-" Before I could finish, she shatters into a fine mist, glimmering like the stars on the darkest of nights. The robes she wore fall flat onto the grass, leaving no remnants of its owner behind.

The winds stop passing over my ears, their absence evoking a chilling silence. It feels foreboding, and as I up to the clouds I am met with a spark of fear.

Everything around begins to distort, the sky withers to a thundery grey, sun fading away from view. The horizon wavers and flickers, eroding what should have been the border where sky met land.

There is nothing to justify such a change, adding to my confusion. The chaotic shift of this place takes root further, and soon I am blind to my surroundings.

The roses beneath wither as the ground swallows me whole, powerless to stop this tide of smothering green. There is nothing I can do to escape this pit, leaving me with no other choice then to endure this foreboding experience until all that is left of my perspective, is this dream-like darkness.

Helpless... again.

Consciousness comes in slow, drifting like the ebb and flow of a faithful tide. An infinite duress without time under its behest.

The eternity etched all around me, it was my everything. It is the only thing. No longer did I possess the will to grieve or care. Who am I now?

"You will live..." An enchanting sound, like a siren's amidst this nothingness.

The beckoning call pulls me back together, though I remain a wanderer to this void.

Although muffled and distant, it calls out to me, the echoes of someone beyond my reach. This newfound warmth envelops me whole, her voice, her words, a ritual. All too soon I am ferried away from this abyss, slowly gathering my senses.

Warmth, fresh air and the incantations of a Life Anchor ritual. I listen on, opening my eyes to the person hovering over my stilled form. Golden manes surround a face yet to be discerned, the green shade of life mender magic flowing from her hands... and onto me.

Unfamiliar curtains of white silk surround my bed, the rich selections of flasks and healing ointments mark this room as a healing ward. This was not Sonarai Island, if only because of the Life Mender's tapered garb.

I lift my fingers with what little strength I have, perhaps hoping it is enough to alert the Vallen healer to my awakened state. The pain in my chest is unbearable, but I am alive.

She faces me, regarding my state with a hint of surprise, mouth stifling a gasp.

"Wh-wh...." I wheeze attempting to speak, my vain efforts giving way to a stifling cough. The sharp pain spreads across my chest, much stronger than jagged knives twisting within open wounds. Searing agony, just like my final moments aboard the Ethornai. How bad was I injured?

Tears, unable to be contained fall down my cheeks, the only sign of my torture as I hear the Life Mender utter empty words of reassurances to me.

"Please hold firm, I'm truly sorry for this pain."

Sorrowful as she may be, her empathy harbours no solace. "My name is Mira, bear with me. It is the only way..."

So painful... worse than death. The price to pay, to live another day. There is much still to be done with my life, the words of my Goddess forever planted in my thoughts.

The Crystal Herald deemed me worthy of her foresight, to be blessed with her presence just like the Seers. I have to endure this, for the sake of the Goddess if nothing else.

She thought me worthy of saving, this chance granted I will not waste.

======

-1438 Military Hours
-Visegrad Island, Western Coastline

The weak afternoon light continues on, breaking through the calm expanse of grey clouds in the wake of last night's thunderstorm. The cold air breezes through, still empty of any semblance of warmth.

This is where I find myself as time drags on, using my thoughts to stave off the monotony.

Seated along an outcrop of rock, I take the time to mentally run through the aftermath of Silent Reception. Previously, Task Force Anvil had no linguistic records of their society, that statement was a fact up until the recent incursion on that ship.

The intelligence secured on the vessel will in several areas, represent a breakthrough for the InOps team back on Tartarus.

The writing system employed by these gold haired inhabitants, even at a glance bears striking similarities to our own. And despite the language being an unknown, it did not undermine the familiarity I felt while initially combing through the handful of paper-like documents and files for anything of note.

This fascination was shared by the rest of my men, and was arguably the prime reason for our dissatisfaction with the rather intrusive assault. We all had our opinions on this, none of which are rather positive.

Before the train of thought could develop further, the familiar voice to my left brings me back to the present.

"Pilot's reporting in, says he's got us on visual from our west," Robert informs me, a steady tone to go in line with his hardened features.

I wait for the readout in regards to the reinforcing aircraft. "Can you confirm?" I direct the remark to James, spotting the binoculars on his hand.

"Hang on... affirmative have her in my sights, IFF confirms it's a Valor." He calls out, putting aside the device as he turns to face me. "Cruising towards us at a steady eighty Knots. Rotors in hover configuration, estimate six minutes tops before touchdown."

I nod in appreciation, monitoring the pilot's flight path. "Alright." The short wait begins as the rest of the strike team idles around, our mindless banter filling the atmosphere with a sense of informality.

The silhouette of the rotor-wing grows larger as it nears me, and I eventually pick up the distinctive hum of its engines. That distinctive sound is unmistakable for anything else, having entered the immediate airspace above our position.

The aircraft slowly descends, taking cue of our positioning through continued radio communications. The downwash stirs up a healthy amount of dust, its intensity felt along my extremities, through the gloves covering my hand and the lighter padding on my lower legs.

"Clear the area!" Douglas shouts out to get the researchers away from the intended landing zone, a relatively flat patch of gravel several meters away from the coastline.

I stand up, getting a mental head count on the survivors. Counting the individuals within the crowd, the number predictably ends at a nine. Just from initial observations alone, it was clear they had no intentions of delaying their departure off the Island.

The researchers regard my presence with a slight undertone of weariness, their guarded looks highly suggestive of thoughts that were better off ignored, no doubt cautious of the cold exterior I presented.

Basing the observation in tandem with my persona over the past few hours, it was understandable they would consider me as unapproachable, even intimidating to an extent.

Their perception of me is justified, even though it wasn't the full spectrum of my character. If there are any indications of them being aware of it, they did not make it obvious.

"In rows of two, once the doors open up make your way inside," I say, ending the statement in a tone that leaves little room for discussion.

The aircraft touches down without much hassle and soon its side doors open up to reveal the interior, a relatively empty cabin guarded on both sides by two of its crewmen. Bolted to the hull of the aircraft, the Fifty Caliber guns remain active as the two door gunners conduct their initial sweep of the exterior for any possible targets.

Douglas steps to the front, directing his words at the survivors. "Cleared, everyone get onboard."

His statement melts the hesitation surrounding the researchers, and soon they all begin making their way towards the Valor. Deciding to tie up some loose ends, I head towards a specific person, entering into her field of vision.

"Remember to relay everything you've told me to your colleagues," I promptly remind Doctor Evans, "more likely than not, these people are the ones responsible for creating the ruins on Objective Spartan."

The question is still up on how exactly they are related, several theories could be scrounged up to explain this, though given the lack of supporting information as of now, I can only speculate at best.

"Of course I will..." she retorts with sleep deprived eyes, not bothering to face me. "It's.... it's just horrible what happened, we could have done better."

"I honestly disagree," I give her my opinion, looking at the issue from a logical standpoint, "the task force stayed away from them, kept mostly to standing orders regarding contact. And the locals still attacked the outpost."

We had every right to assault the ship after that unprovoked attack. On a personal note, I would consider our actions aboard that vessel to be along the milder spectrum in regards to retaliatory strikes.

Evans places a hand under her chin, giving me the reigns to the conversation. "Not much I can say to refute that. Though... I'm sure there's more to this, I don't think they're stupid at all."

Multiple images flash through my head, the memories pertaining to the inhabitants.

"Definitely not." Her opinions in general differ from mine significantly, though this is an exception to the statement.

Pausing for a moment to allow Evans a chance to further elaborate, her continued silence prompts me to reconsider our situation.

Looking around, I spot the rest of the survivors already onboard the aircraft, patiently waiting for the woman on my left. This evidently isn't the time for a discussion.

With the observation noted, I disregard the topic entirely. "I've kept you long enough. You need to get going, you're the last one." I give Evans a small nod before walking away, hearing a muffled farewell from the distance as I join the rest of the strike team further away.

The stirs of several engines fill the air as the three Jaguars prepare for the imminent take-off, their respective pilots diligently conducting the necessary pre-flight checks.

"...equired to handle this mission?" A commotion draws my attention to the far right, spotting the conversation between Robert and Higgins.

"We're able to without support, don't worry," Robert curtly affirms. "Tartarus Base needs you more than us right now. Not... particularly happy to know we have Euralians there, I don't exactly trust them."

"Same for me ever since the Midnight incident," Sergeant Higgins acknowledges, lining his words with a disapproving tone. "Still don't like how your fireteam will be operating alone. My men are willing to support your unit. If you really need it, we could stay behind. Our rations will last us two more weeks, three if we have to stretch it."

I push myself into the conversation, getting their attention, "Offer is good... but it's a pass. Recon only, no more than that."

Although it is arguably a viable option, the additional manpower will not be necessary in reconnaissance, especially so when the area of operations is strictly within Visegrad Island.

A single fireteam is more than sufficient for this, anymore is a waste based on personal experience.

Continuing on from the brief pause, I further specify the justifications. "And, like I said before, Official operations are permanently terminated. You don't have the authority to override that, neither do I."

The emphasis on the word carries over, highlighting their inability to take part in covert operations. The undertone was by no means an insult to their capability as soldiers, rather a technical limitation based solely on their classification as regular troops within the New Eden garrison.

Looking down in deep thought, Higgins considers my statement with a heavy look brewing in his eyes. A few seconds pass before he levels his gaze at me, firm acceptance reflected in both the Sergeant's eyes and features.

"Understood, I'll relay your fireteam's AAR to Tartarus command when we get back," he answers in a firm voice, issuing me a nod while getting aboard the nearest Jaguar.

"Thanks," I answer, expressing my gratitude through the professional tone as much as possible.

"Good luck with the recon," Higgins remarks to the two of us, relaxing his shoulders within the aircraft, solidifying his decision to bring his squad back to the main continent.

"Safe trip," Robert says, extending his well wishes to Higgins and his squad.

The conversation effectively ends as I slide the side doors close. Two consecutive knocks resonate through the hull as I hit the Jaguar's exterior with a closed hand, considering the gesture my personal way of saying goodbye to the occupants within.

Soon the three Jaguars alongside the Valor take off from the area, with the only witnesses to the squadron's departure being me and my men. The sound of their retreating engines gives me some pause, knowing from this moment on, we are genuinely alone.

The Island's ambient wildlife takes over, a peaceful chorus of chirps and shrills, supported by the returning lull of the coastal waves. It is us against everything here.

I use the moment to consider the main objective of today's mission, motioning the rest of my men to gather into a loose circle.

The researchers have been a strongly adamant of additional task force survivors, all of which are presumed to be military personnel. Several observations taken from Black Viper drones support the notion, both before and after the assault.

Although the firm consensus is they were taken to Gemini island as captives, the main concern right now will be to fully assess this island's military presence and capabilities, and determine if a future rescue operation on Gemini is feasible.

I discuss the finer details of the movement with the rest of my fireteam, open to any new suggestions regarding the route towards the Island's settlement. Several contingency plans are revised, and are promptly changed accordingly in quick succession, much to my approval.

With the prelude done, we proceed inland, getting ourselves accustomed to the denser undergrowth of tree ferns and the occasional critter foraging below. I pick up the soft gush of a waterfall in the distance, following the source to spot a healthy riverbank through a curtain of leaves and unkempt vines.

The former glimmers in the afternoon light, covered in droplets of rainwater. The aftermath of the last night's thunderstorm, every move I make disrupts the thicket of leaves, sending their droplets trickling down around me.

I lead my men through them, caution applied to our every move. Senses still on high alert, we step into a clearing adjacent the river bank. Getting a bearing on the surroundings, I trace the river's direction back further upstream until the waterfall comes into view. Its impressive width followed by the shorter height marks this as a block type waterfall.

Admittedly the sight is beautiful, to say the cliff is huge would be an understatement. Water readily gushes down at the top, the eroded rocks splitting them apart to form these imposing columns of water. The base of the falls were coated in a thick haze, hiding the plunge pool from my sights.

"Looks a lot like Blue Nile Falls," Douglas unexpectedly adds in.

I look to him, slightly puzzled. "No it doesn't."

He reciprocates my gaze, "Before they developed it."

The words clear away my confusion. "Of course." In retrospect, I should have known he would be referring to what it looked like in the past.

Although an interesting sight, we have to keep going. "Still a long ways to go, we best move on."

"Agreed," Robert says, offering the waterfall a parting glance.

The sound of gushing water fades away as we advance parallel to the river, keeping in a loose wedge to facilitate our situational awareness and firepower to any possible ambush. The possibility was there, and that is reason enough for me to maintain the basic infantry formation.

Like my men have done many times prior, we work seamlessly together, covering each other's blind-spots in this mess of a forest, supporting one another through the tedious journey towards the local village.

Conditions on the ground remain relatively quiet, aside from the occasional complaint against the jungle terrain. No armed patrols thus far have crossed into our intended route, drone coverage supplying the necessary intelligence to keep it that way.

Being on foreign soil, isolated from all forms of contact to the rest of humankind, there is a lingering a feeling of loss that was difficult to put into words.

======

-1757 Military Hours
-Tartarus Base,

"....and may your courage be known to the Crystal Herald, for you are children of this world, no less than the trees and stars. Be at peace, as your memories age gracefully ever after, in the minds of those you left behind," I say with my head bowed in deep respect, eyes closed as is expected of the prayer.

This was not about forgiveness and it never will be, but I will uphold the honor and dignity of these fallen Rangers. It is through the Euralian Warrior Code of Heritage that I am compelled to offer these fellow warriors their final eulogy and respects, so their souls may be at peace.

Oswin continues on in my steed, contempt for the enemy absent in his voice for once. "Take you will, through her crystal gates, honor and pride as esteemed warriors of Yhunia above all else. May Vierra welcome your hearts of steel into her embrace forever more and beyond," he ends, left fist clenched with an emotion I cannot discern.

A sad knot settles within me as I set my eyes to the front, gazing at the empty slabs that denote the grave of each warrior. How many of them were lovers to someone else, drafted to this war because of their affinity to magic, just like me? To fight for reasons above their own, for their nation even as they oppose in secret.

I will never know any of them. Their faces, memories, and everything else that makes up the worth of a person... all lost en masse. What were they like when not on the fields of battle? Had it not been for the war between our nations, perhaps I would have forged a friendship with them.

Silence falls again on the graves, the flag of the Yhunian Rangers on solemn vigil as it flutters to the winds, fluttering underneath the deep gold of the evening sky. Euralians and Humans alike preside over this ritual, a wide gap keeping us separate.

Unlike the humans, we kneel before the graves, unarmed with a shred of modesty.

Their soldiers stand firm and dignified, unbreakable stature with their weapons held upwards upon their right shoulders. They have a strange way to convey respect, to move as though they are of one mind and purpose. I am not one to question a culture's way, but to stand as though you are expecting an attack is hardly how one should present themselves.

I remain on one knee, alongside my fellow comrades. Helmets placed on the ground, nestled among the grass right beside us, our faces were revealed to our fallen enemies as a sign on respect from warriors of a great nation to another equally great one.

The wait for dusk begins as I wait for the sun to set behind the mountains, slowly watching as the clarity of daylight fades. Using my restless cape to tell the strength of the wind, I notice its gradual decline to a halt, it is perfect.

The setting sun symbolizes the departure of their souls, from one world to the next, an unbroken process led by fate itself. The stale air offers nothing to my senses, though I believe this marks the passage of their souls.

"It's over at last," Sephra looks up, eyes meeting a dark blue sky. This marks the end of our Schtum'Ra, an ancient ritual given only to enemy fallen, of those who died too far from their homelands to receive a proper funeral.

I remark, retrieving my stave amongst the grass. "It is." Never in my wildest thoughts would I imagine myself partaking this rare ritual.

"Group, attention!" The human leader to the front of his formation yells, prompting his fellow soldiers to tighten their postures, as if awaiting a further command.

I listen on, curious as to how the human soldiers will act in the wake of our sermon. "About face!" I nod slightly to myself, pleased in the knowledge my assumption was correct.

They heed the command, their order of movement unified as they turn behind, drawing my eyes to their incredible footwork that speaks highly of well practiced efficiency.

The manner in which the humans did so was intriguing, using their legs to pivot their bodies around. It was sharp and precise, not an action wasted on unneeded gestures, only the bare minimum.

Oddly it fits these people well, quite telling of their organized military culture. Just like my impressions of them, to be so rigid and dauntless in the face of dangers and more.

"Forward, march!" They walk off, again in that particular style, back towards their stronghold of shadowed grey and angular buildings. The soldiers depart, leaving us with the aftermath of our Schtum'ra.

I take a deep breath to rid myself of lingering thoughts, proceeding to offer the Human Lore Savant my gratitude.

"You have our thanks, for allowing us this," I say, earnest in my words.

Richard Gotthold looks over my shoulders, attention firmly anchored on the black rift to the distance. "It's the least we could do, your nation's emphasis on traditions... we understand it."

"We best leave the Rangers to their lonesome, we've done our part," Oswin joins in, his bitter tone coinciding with a pair tired eyes.

With her arms crossed, Sephra expresses her thoughts, mindful of her choice of words. "Those rangers were from the Yhunian far east. 2nd Ranger Division, the Shadowed Hunters."

"How could they mistake the humans to be Euralians, when the closest battle sites back then were at least five days away," Oswin muses, fully expecting his question to remain unanswered.

"Perhaps they believed they were warriors of the 6th Royal Cohort?" I weakly offer, aware of the southern settlements on which the 6th are defending, and still are as we speak. They were the closest to the Fredgal Alps on the day of the attack.

"I hardly believe that to be the case, not when we are so different to the humans," he reasons, though he refrains from adding on, keeping to a vow of silence as we trek back to the safety of the human fortress.

I pry my focus back to more pressing matters, seating my helmet back on my head, offering the suspiciously silent human my renewed attention.

"I suppose we should get going," I muster the will to end this train of thought, my legs in constant motion towards the lit borders of the human fortress.

"I'd imagine you three are hungry, especially after what you've done today," Richard turns to give us a fleeting glance, me in particular knowing well as I am in charge.

"We definitely are," Sephra answers faithfully alongside me, giving the human a nod.

"Dinner's already being prepared from your supplies, so if there's no objections..." he ends, leaving the statement open to interpretation.

I give him a meek smile, gratitude in great abundance for their hospitality. "We certainly have no desire to refuse the offer."

"Same place in our mess hall, 2nd floor." He informs us as we near the fortress, greeting his fellow Lore Savants along the way as he parts ways from us.

Destination in mind, I lead the way towards the building that served a function similar to that of a tavern. Though that comparison may perhaps be a little misleading, seeing as the food is served free.

Entering the building, I spot the amusing mixture of white coated humans and finely garbed surveyors, each group keeping a mutual distance from one another.

Climbing up the stairs, the ambient conversation of the human's English language and our own Nul'Kurai diminishes as I reach the 2nd floor, spotting a lone Broadwing rider seated in a corner, immersed in a book.

It is presumably one Myandra has brought along from Drossal, and if her disregard for her surroundings is of any hint, the book is intriguing. As I have noticed, her interests in the human fortress greatly diminished once it was undoubtedly clear the human elites she worked alongside were nowhere to be seen.

I am aware they were duty bound to places that their leaders prefer be kept hidden. Though it is suspicious, it is not my place to pry further.

I hold back a sigh, loosening the tension on my shoulders and legs with a few stretches. The scene was bleak for the humans, each day that passes, the gateway between our world and theirs grows ever smaller.

Everything has a beginning and an end, it was clear the Rift was dying. Magic was in abundance in this world, but not on the other side. But why it ever formed at all, not a single one of us truly knows.

Many conceivable options have been tested in the hopes it would spark the Rift back to its once lively myriad of colours, only to be destined to fail.

If the seasoned minds of our best fail to uncover a way to at the very least mend the dying fabric of the Rift, these humans will have to... accept the fact they will be imprisoned here forever.

My dinner lies before me, but like the precarious situation the humans face, I did not have it in me to be pleased at all. Not when I can see this hopeless endeavor through their eyes.

===End===

"The greatest value of this Rift, is that it brings into sharp focus the essential nature of our humanity. When we first stepped into this world, we knew nothing. Ironically, this was where we knew ourselves the best."

-Elias Cameron, Expedition 01 Field Team Leader. [ Active ]

Excerpt from Preliminary Report Genesis circa April 2nd 2046