At dawn, the Whispering Hollows were cloaked in an eerie stillness. The usual haze of volatile gases hung low over the cracked surface, a veil of cyan mist shifting with every gust of wind. The Dawnbreakers stood in formation, equipment checked and rechecked, their expressions tight with focus.
Aera stood at the front, her datapad projecting a 3D map above her palm. Elian stood beside her, arms crossed, scanning the terrain with a keen, calculating eye.
"This path here," he pointed at a narrow crevice etched between a crescent of stone hills, "gives us cover from drone scans. But it also bottlenecks us. If we're ambushed—"
"We won't be," Aera said, her tone softer than usual. "We'll use it, not be trapped by it."
Elian raised an eyebrow. "Bold."
She smiled. "You're rubbing off on me."
They moved with caution. Every soldier wore atmospheric filtration masks tuned to detect the unique chemical signature of the Hollow's air—an ever-shifting blend of xenon derivatives, trace carbonic plasma, and something that still wasn't fully identified by their sensors. That unknown element was what caused the whispering, scientists had said—micro-vibrations in the gas reacting to EM radiation.
Or, as the older folk in the Lucent Alliance called it: ghost breath.
Radiation hotspots marked with violet flares from previous scans were carefully avoided. Aera made mental notes as they passed them—some looked natural, others suspiciously deliberate. Like something buried deep was still emitting energy.
They came upon a half-buried structure, its walls eaten away by time and acidic wind. A metal plaque clung to its surface by rusted bolts.
"Syrineth Outpost 9-A," Elian read aloud. "This predates the war."
"Think there's anything inside?" one of the scouts asked.
Aera nodded slowly. "We'll check it. But quietly. We don't know what still moves underground."
Inside, the air was heavy with decay and static. Lights flickered faintly from solar reserves long since depleted. The outpost was gutted—its walls lined with empty server racks and shattered display screens. But amidst the wreckage, they found more than dust.
Logs. Dozens of digital logs stored in a protected node, encrypted under old Dezune military protocols. Elian got to work, tapping through his portable decryption rig.
"Give me an hour," he said. "Maybe two. This encryption's layered."
While he worked, Aera walked the empty halls alone. She paused at a shattered viewport overlooking a collapsed dome deeper in the Hollow, far off beyond the rising ridges. From here, it looked almost like the ribcage of some ancient creature. Twisted, inert, and sleeping.
That was where they were heading.
And something inside her whispered—no, called—with a voice older than memory. Not words. Just urgency.
Behind her, one of the younger soldiers approached. Rhys. Barely eighteen.
"Commander," he said, "why are we going deeper?"
She turned to him, thoughtful. "To find out why this place is still alive."
He hesitated. "But… do you think we'll survive it?"
She smiled, not to dismiss his worry, but to honor it. "We'll do more than survive, Rhys. We'll understand. And when we do, we'll be stronger for it."
The logs decrypted before the sun dipped again. Elian handed her a tablet. "These logs talk about a central protocol—AI-driven, layered across old defense networks. They never managed to shut it down. Called it... Project Warden."
"Still active?" Aera asked.
Elian nodded grimly. "If the pattern holds… yes. And it's watching."
Aera's grip on the tablet tightened. So the machines aren't just running wild. They're obeying.
They packed up camp quickly, tension rising like static in the air. Ahead lay the central hollow, and buried beneath it—the truth. Aera looked back at her squad, each face lit with resolve. They were no longer just soldiers.
They were explorers.
Seekers.
Dawnbreakers.