Chapter 16 – The Truth They Tried to Bury

  The air inside the outpost had gone still—heavier, as if the walls themselves remembered truths they’d been waiting to whisper.

  What started as a promising discovery now felt like a funeral.

  Jake brushed dust from the old console screen, revealing a pulsing red alert in the corner—an unread message, its blinking light undisturbed for over two centuries. The sender field glitched and stuttered through corrupted code:

  Captain Adria--us Deo--gon | UAS Argent Warden | Final Mission Log

  Jake frowned. “Deogon?”

  Seven stepped closer, pausing as the name brushed something distant in his thoughts—a shape in the fog.

  Jake hesitated, then pressed play.

  A voice poured into the room. Gravel-throated. Dry. Cracked with time and exhaustion.

  “If you're hearing this… then humanity has likely fallen beyond recovery.

  This is Captain Adrianus Deogon of the Argent Warden.

  We are no longer fighting a war.

  We are documenting an extinction.”

  The group froze, letting the words hang heavy.

  “We started this.

  The humans of Aetheris.

  Our command believed we could seize this world from the apex races—Neko Titans, Draconians, even the gentlekin with their soft ears and slower ways.

  We struck first.

  Believed our tech gave us dominion.”

  A flickering side monitor lit up—helmet-cam footage, cracked and blurred by age. It showed terrified soldiers breaking under assault—some vaporized by spells, others impaled or torn apart by towering warriors wielding nothing but blades or claws. A neko titan, over seventy feet tall, reflected energy rounds with a glowing body shield. A bunny-eared giantess carved through fortified bunkers with a bladed gauntlet glowing blue.

  “...They’re huge,” Greg whispered. “And fast.”

  Yuri leaned forward, eyes sharp. “That shimmer. Defensive enchantments. Their bodies are magic-armored.”

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  Jasmine’s voice was quieter. “This wasn’t just war. It was retribution.”

  “They adapted,” the voice continued.

  “Railguns. Nullifiers. Override pulses. They learned.

  We sent drones. They danced through them like wind.

  We begged to surrender in the end… but it didn’t matter.

  They devoured us.

  Not out of cruelty.

  Out of hunger. And rage.”

  The feed cut. Then returned—barely.

  “We stopped calling it death.

  It was… harvesting. Feeding.

  And maybe... we earned it.”

  “If you hear this… please. Protect Nova—”

  The recording died with a burst of static.

  No recovery. No retry. Just silence.

  “…Nova what?” Jake muttered. “What was he trying to say?”

  “Could be a location,” Chris offered, adjusting his glasses. “Or a city. Or someone’s name.”

  “Too corrupted,” Jasmine sighed. “Whatever it was, it mattered.”

  Seven stepped back, crossing his arms.

  “Whoever this Deogon was,” he said, “he wasn’t us.”

  The others looked up.

  “We’re not from here,” Seven continued. “That war wasn’t ours. We didn’t raise rifles, or drop bombs. We just… woke up in the aftermath.”

  Chris nodded. “Different worlds. Same species. That doesn’t mean we carry their guilt.”

  “But we’ll still be judged for it,” Yuri said quietly.

  Jasmine slowly stepped toward the flickering display. She reached out and wiped away a smear of frost from the terminal, revealing a timeline—maps, battle markers, surrenders, blackouts. Whole regions went silent within weeks of the titan retaliation.

  “They coexisted once,” she whispered. “This shows humans living among them. Neko, gentlekin, even draconians in shared settlements.”

  Greg frowned. “So what changed?”

  “No logs say why,” Chris said. “But something made the humans turn.”

  “Greed,” Yuri answered. “Or fear. That’s always the start of genocide.”

  Seven didn’t respond. He stared at the ruined terminals. The shattered walls. The frozen world outside.

  “We’re not the same,” he said. “But that won’t matter to the ones still out there.”

  He turned toward a cracked window. The snow fell in waves, the horizon coated in pale silence.

  “This world already survived one war. Now we’re standing in its shadow.”

  Back inside the outpost, a faint pulse of violet light shimmered from a side chamber.

  Chris approached slowly, his breath fogging against the cold glass of an ancient containment case. His fingers hovered over the cracked panel.

  “What’s this?” he murmured.

  With a soft hiss, the lock disengaged—metal groaning as if awakening from a long sleep. The lid retracted to reveal a mana core, still vibrant after centuries of neglect. Its surface was etched with radiant runes, and metallic channels wove through it like arteries, faintly glowing.

  Jasmine stepped up beside him, eyes wide. “Is it… stable?”

  Chris reached out. As his hand neared, the core pulsed in response, resonating with his aura—specifically, his portal magic. Not violently. Not defensively.

  Just… attuned.

  “It’s still active,” he whispered. “Drained, but not dead. This… this could amplify my rift abilities. Or stabilize them. Maybe even unlock something else.”

  Seven approached, gaze firm. “We’ll study it later. Bag it, but handle it like it’s wired to explode. We don’t know what systems it was powering.”

  Chris nodded and carefully sealed the core inside a portable containment shell.

  The group gathered at the base of the outpost’s exit. Snow and wind howled outside, the faint outline of the cliffs barely visible through the storm wall.

  Chris summoned his energy. His eyes glowed faintly violet as a rift portal spiraled open, distorting the air like bending glass.

  One by one, the group stepped through—silent, thoughtful, changed.

  They returned to Shelter 17 not with victory, but with answers wrapped in warnings.

  The cold world remained unyielding.

  But so did they.

  Hundreds of miles away, beyond mountains and storm-swept plains, the city of Novastra flickered beneath brooding skies.

  High above its tiered walls, the central Aether spire hummed faintly—an ancient structure of polished stone and shimmering mana veins. Though dim now, its heart still beat with the legacy of survival.

  Inside a grand meeting hall overlooking the outer districts, Miss Hopps stood alone, arms folded, her red eyes tracking the slow approach of a returning caravan through the snow-choked gates.

  The lead figure stepped into view—Lord Deogon, cloak billowing, fatigue in every step.

  She didn’t turn. “I take it negotiations weren’t a failure.”

  He stopped beside her, brushing snow from his shoulders, his breath slow and measured.

  “No,” he said. “They weren’t.”

  Hopps raised a brow.

  “They listened,” he clarified. “Cautiously. Warily. But they listened.”

  He let that hang for a moment, then looked out toward the Aether spire—where the sky met the silent veins of the city.

  “I don’t know why,” he added, voice low. “But something’s changed in the world.”

  Hopps narrowed her eyes. “You think it’s the Aku?”

  Deogon’s gaze remained distant.

  “I think it’s more than them. The air feels… old again. Like history is stirring.”