The forest greeted them like a threshold to another reality.
Lucan stepped out first, his boots pressing into a spongy layer of ground that gave slightly under his weight, like memory foam mixed with warm moss. It wasn't soil—at least not by Earth standards. A slow pulse came through the surface, faint and rhythmic, almost like the heartbeat of the land itself.
The trees that rose around them weren't made of wood. Their trunks were thick and coiled like a helix, braided strands of deep gray and indigo that pulsed with soft veins of blue-green light. Instead of bark, the surface was smooth and semi-flexible, like warm stone mixed with something alive. When Lucan brushed a hand against one, it felt slightly moist, not with sap or resin, but something cooler—like condensation forming on skin.
"Not trees." Lyra muttered, her gaze traveling upward. "Not even close."
Above them, the canopy didn't fan out in leaves, but in vast, translucent membranes that caught the filtered light from the swirling violet sky. These membranes shifted ever so slightly, like lungs inhaling the air and breathing it back. Occasionally, a ripple passed across them, distorting the light and throwing shadows across the forest floor that moved on their own rhythm.
Creatures stirred within the trees. Not birds—but things like floating lanterns with wings, trailing filaments that glowed and swayed behind them as they glided silently. Some circled high above in the upper canopy; others perched quietly along the fibrous outgrowths of the trunks. When disturbed, they released small puffs of glittering dust that drifted down like snowflakes of static.
Kaa-thyr stopped ahead, waiting as Lucan and Lyra caught up.
"Where exactly is this society?" Lucan asked, stepping beside the towering figure. "Are we close?"
Kaa-thyr didn't answer, but turned toward a dense patch of undergrowth, its clawed hand brushing aside some twisting vine-like strands. Beneath them was something odd—a kind of stone panel embedded in the forest floor, etched with circular patterns that hummed softly underfoot. At Kaa-thyr's gesture, the lines brightened.
From the ground nearby, a strange shape began to rise. At first it looked like a pile of tangled roots, but as it unfolded, Lucan realized it was a form of transportation.
It was unlike any vehicle he'd ever seen. Elongated, low to the ground, and almost organic in its construction. The frame looked grown more than built—made from some composite of living fibers and metallic bones. No wheels. It hovered slightly off the surface, supported by a low humming field of energy that shimmered faintly beneath it. Its shape was vaguely mantis-like, with a smooth outer shell that opened like petals to reveal a space inside.
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "We're riding... that?"
"It moves," Lucan said, tilting his head. "That's good enough for me."
Kaa-thyr stepped forward and tapped a panel near the front. The creature-machine let out a soft whir, and its sides peeled back, revealing three seats embedded into the inner structure. Each one molded itself slightly as they approached, adapting to their shape and size.
Lyra climbed in first, her hand brushing the inner surface. "Feels alive."
Lucan followed. "Maybe it is."
The moment they were seated, the outer petals folded inward, sealing them inside. A soft glow bathed the interior. It wasn't dark—but the light had no clear source. The vehicle lifted silently, adjusting its angle before drifting forward above the mossy trail.
Outside, the forest shifted. As they moved, the landscape began to change gradually. Trees leaned in odd angles, and bioluminescent vines crawled between their trunks like veins. Fungi the size of small huts rose from the ground, their caps layered with strange, flickering patterns—almost like a language. Small insect-like creatures darted in and out of sight, some with crystalline shells, others shaped like needles or flat blades. A few hovered near the vehicle, tracking them with curious, unblinking eyes before darting away again.
Lucan leaned back slightly. "I keep expecting something to jump at us."
"It's not hostile." Lyra said, watching the movements outside. "More like... curious."
Kaa-thyr remained motionless in the front, but the vehicle continued on a set path, moving with the ease of something that knew where it was going.
Lucan broke the silence. "Do you think this society actually lives out here? Among all this?"
Lyra hesitated before answering. "It makes sense. You'd have to be part of this ecosystem to survive it. If they built this world—or even just adapted to it—they'd know how to stay hidden."
Lucan looked through a side slit in the structure. "Feels more like the world built them."
The path widened, and for the first time they saw signs of civilization.
Not buildings—not yet—but formations that looked sculpted rather than grown. Stone arches protruded from the forest floor in symmetrical clusters, wrapped in pale golden vines that glowed with slow pulses. Between the arches, long strands of silk-like webbing stretched like bridges, connecting tree to tree. Strange glyphs hovered above them—shifting mid-air symbols that weren't written on anything, but floated in place like holograms.
"It's beautiful." Lyra whispered. "Like an alien cathedral."
Lucan nodded. "And quiet. Too quiet."
"No wind. No rustling. Just... breath and light."
They continued forward, passing under one of the larger arches. As they did, a low tone rang out from above—not a warning, but a kind of chime, soft and welcoming. The vehicle slowed slightly, as if acknowledging the sound, then proceeded.
Then the forest began to thin.
The trees grew farther apart, and the light ahead brightened. As they crossed into a wide clearing, the change was immediate.
The ground shifted from mossy softness to a smooth, glass-like surface that rippled faintly with every step the vehicle took. Surrounding them were structures—tall, curved towers made from materials that looked like metal, crystal, and bone fused together. None had windows, but each one emitted a low hum that vibrated gently in Lucan's chest.
Creatures moved here. Some humanoid, others more fluid in form. None approached. They simply watched, heads turning as the transport glided forward.
Lucan sat straighter. "We're here."
The vehicle came to a soft stop at the center of the clearing. A platform rose up from the floor, and the outer shell peeled open again, exposing them to the strange air and silent crowd.
Kaa-thyr stepped down first, then gestured for them to follow.
Lucan climbed out slowly. The air here was cooler, sharper, and carried a faint metallic tang. Lyra joined him, her eyes scanning the tower-like structures.
"Where is this place?" she asked softly. "It's not a city… but it's not just a village either."
"It's... a sanctum." Lucan said, the word coming out before he fully understood it. But it felt right. Sacred, quiet, not built to be seen—only reached.
A figure stepped forward from the crowd—slightly taller than Kaa-thyr, with a crown of shimmering metal woven directly into its skull. Its head was elongated, but smoother than the others', and a translucent helm encased its upper face like a second skin. Two narrow slits glowed beneath the surface, steady and watchful. The robe draped over its form didn't behave like fabric—more like sheets of liquid metal stitched together, flowing with a soft shimmer as if resisting the air around it.
As it moved, several others emerged from behind—taller than Lucan, though not as towering as the leader. They were all of Kaa-thyr's species, but built differently. One had a lean, almost serpentine frame, with long limbs that moved too fluidly to be entirely comfortable to watch. Another was bulky, chest broad and thick with plated scales that shifted slightly with each breath, like plates on ancient armor. Their skin shimmered faintly in hues of obsidian, deep red, and muted bronze—each variation subtle but distinct. Some had faint scars or strange ridges along their limbs, signs of battle or experience.
Lucan's eyes tracked them instinctively. Their movement wasn't aggressive—if anything, they moved with the careful poise of trained guards—but there was no mistaking their awareness. Each one watched him and Lyra with a steady, unnerving focus. Silent, alert, ready.
"More of Kaa-thyr's people." Lucan muttered, mostly to himself. "Guess he wasn't the last."
Lyra's voice was soft. "They all look like they came out of the same nightmare."
Lucan leaned a little toward Lyra. "At least they're not pointing anything sharp at us."
"Give it a minute." she said under her breath. "They haven't said anything yet."
The leader responded. A few more exchanges passed between them—sharp and clipped at first, then slow and deliberate. Lucan couldn't understand a word, but he could feel the intent. Not anger. Not warning. More like… negotiation.
It raised a hand in a gesture that Lucan didn't recognize but instinctively felt meant welcome.
No words followed. Just silence.
Lyra whispered, "I guess we'll find out what comes next."
Lucan took a deep breath, steadying himself as he looked out over the alien city.
The figure lowered its hand, then stepped closer. A soft hum escaped from beneath the helm—a sound that fluctuated in tone, like trying to mimic a word without knowing how it should sound. Then, with deliberate slowness, it pulled something from within its robe.
It looked like a shard of metal, thin and curved, with faint pulses of light running through it. It glowed gently in the leader's palm, not unlike the pedestal from earlier—but far more personal. The leader extended the object toward Lucan.
Lucan stared. "Is that for me?"
Kaa-thyr stepped beside him, speaking in that strange guttural rhythm again. The leader responded in kind, and though Lucan couldn't catch any meaning, the pace and posture told him this was not an argument. It was insistence. Reassurance.
Then, broken English.
The leader struggled to form the words. "You... no speak. No know... understand."
Lucan blinked. "Yeah, I got that much."
The leader pointed toward the device. "This. Give... understand. Learn." Then it pointed to the back of its own neck, fingers tracing a line from the base of the skull to the upper spine. "Place. Connect."
Lucan hesitated. "It goes into me?"
The leader nodded once.
Lyra stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Wait. You're seriously considering—"
Lucan looked at the device again. The pulses had synced with his heartbeat, he realized. Faint, but there. Like it was... waiting.
He glanced at Kaa-thyr. The being gave a slow, subtle nod.
Lucan exhaled. "If they wanted to kill us, they would've. This isn't about trust. It's about survival."
"You don't even know what it'll do." Lyra said, voice low but tense.
"I don't." Lucan admitted. "But I don't think we get through this place deaf and blind."
He turned to her, voice softer. "Besides… better I do it. If something goes wrong, at least you're still safe. No point in both of us risking it."
Lyra's frown deepened, but she said nothing.
Lucan gave a small, lopsided smile. "And maybe once I can actually talk to them, I'll be able to ask what the hell we've landed in."
He reached out and took the device.
It was warm. Almost too warm.
The leader gestured for him to turn, and when Lucan did, one of the robed beings behind them stepped forward with careful, practiced motion. Long, thin fingers brushed aside Lucan's collar, and then—
A flash of heat. Not pain, but something sharp and immediate, threading into the base of his spine. The device didn't pierce skin—it melded with it. Metal softened, then solidified again.
Lucan's breath hitched.
Light flared in his vision. Not blinding, but white and full of motion. A thousand sounds crashed through his ears all at once—whispers, echoes, pieces of a language unfolding like scattered leaves in the wind.
He tried to speak, but the world tilted.
Lyra caught his arm. "Lucan?"
His knees gave out.
The last thing he heard before the dark took him was the leader's voice—clearer now, almost familiar.
"Now... understand."
And the world went silent.
[End of Chapter 10]