Vescrutia: Legacy

Far beneath the Compound of the Yaarou Tribe.

The Yaarou Forge pulsed with a low, haunting thrum—like a heartbeat buried beneath the skin of a mountain. The walls glistened with rivulets of molten energy, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of blood, sweat, and metal.

Hitomi stood still, poised at the lip of the central anvil. Her robe trailed behind her like a spill of ink, her expression locked in a scowl carved from disdain.

She had never liked this place.

She didn't even like the concept of using Hexed Weapons. It reeked of submission. Of weakness. They were Instruments originally created as a crutch for the clan– something the Hexless could rely on should their strength not be enough. And if there was one thing Hitomi Yaarou loathed above all else, it was the notion of relying on anything other than her own divinity.

But after learning what did about the Bhalain Empire and their Mazoku soldiers, she'd be a fool to not utilize every resource at her disposal to ensure victory. As much as she hated to admit it, they were perhaps the most powerful beings she'd ever seen.

Other than herself of course.

Her gaze cut toward the Shi slaves–their worn skin slick with sweat as they toiled at the flame-fed crucibles. Robed elders drifted between them like phantoms, chanting in low, deliberate tones, weaving their voices into the seething atmosphere. These were the Yaarou's Forgemasters—a sacred sect of the Yaarou Eldership, entrusted with the creation, refinement, and consecration of Hexed Instruments.

Their work transcended craftsmanship–this was soulcraft. The art of binding spirits, souls, curses, and demons into sacred mediums/vessels that are then smelted into instruments of death.

One of them—a tall man, gaunt, and draped in ash-gray threads—stood vigil over the central anvil where Hitomi’s weapon began to take form. Another, younger Forgemaster approached with a basin clutched in both hands. The liquid within swirled with ritual compounds: the Xhi’on's blood, enchanted steel, powdered bone, and other ingredients so ancient and secret that Hitomi hadn’t bothered to ask.

Her offering was already inside.

Unlike most Xhi’on, Hitomi had refused to use the soul of any of the immortals held captive in the dungeon's abyss. She had chosen something far more volatile. Far more blasphemous.

The severed eyes of fallen Shi Shinobi.

The Serpent’s Gaze. Rare. Sacred. Feared.

Their eyes alone could drain the soul from a body before the mind even registered death. Until now, the Shi’s Denkotsu had been reserved for high rites, oracular scrying, potions, binding spells too dangerous to be spoken aloud. There were many other applications of their innate potential, but to distill that essence into a Hexed Instrument—especially one meant for the Xhi’on—was heresy.

Or genius.

Hitomi didn’t care which.

She watched as the basin was lowered into the forge’s heart. The liquid hissed and bubbled. The eyes writhed as they melted—like worms recoiling from light. Arcs of blacklight cracked between the basin and the suspended weapon: a sliver of blood, bone, and steel, pulsing with a sickly violet shimmer.

“How long,” she asked, voice silken and sharp, “until it’s done?”

The Forge Master didn’t move. His gaze stayed fixed on the forming weapon. The runes stitched into his sleeves pulsed in rhythm with the forge’s breath.

“It resists us,” he murmured. “The Serpent’s power was never meant to be bound. Its essence clings like thorns—”

“That is not an answer,” she interrupted, cold as frostbite.

The Forgemaster stepped forward slowly, peering deeper into the basin’s twisting lights.

“Then hear this, My Paragon. The weapon is incomplete. Unstable. Its essence slips—like sand through a cracked vessel.”

Hitomi’s expression didn’t change, but her silence was deafening.

The Elders voice dropped lower, sensing her discontent. “I fear.. you are forcing something into existence that cannot hold. If it remains as it is, the blade will fracture. Or worse, it will turn on its wielder.”

“Then fix it,” Hitomi said flatly.

“We cannot—not yet,” He replied. “It needs a stabilizing agent. Something of equal power to anchor the Denkotsu’s essence. A living tether. A sacrifice.”

She turned her eyes to him at last. Narrowed into fine razors..

“I assumed it would be ready before Ayune returned with the map,” She replied, her voice calm but thinner than ice. “I intended to leave as soon as she set foot on Yaarou soil. With the weapon in hand.”

The ForgeMasters bowed his head slightly, folding his hands into the long sleeves of his robe. “Forgive me, My Xhi’on. But that will not be possible.”

Hitomi’s gaze flicked back to the suspended weapon. The forming edge now pulsed with a rhythm that matched her heartbeat—too closely for coincidence.

“How disappointing..”

She sighed. Just then, an attendant hustled through the doors of Forge and bowed immediately after laying eyes on Hitomi.

“My apologies, My Xhion. But Elder Ayune is set to return to the compound within the hour.”

Hitomi's eyes glistened with excitement. “Finally.. some good news.” She said before walking toward the exit of the Forge, patting her attendant on the head.

“Inform Elder Jhun– the council will convene upon her return. I shall go prepare for her return."

The Council Chamber was silent save for the rustle of cloaks and the whisper of incense smoke curling into the rafters. Torches flickered low in iron sconces along the walls, their light catching on the polished surface of the war table—an immense slab of obsidian etched with the map of Edo itself. Veins of silver inlaid the borders of each nation, glowing faintly beneath the firelight.

Around it gatherered the minds of the Yarrou Council. Elder Jhun, ancient and grave, sat cloaked in sweeping violet robes, his hands folded within the folds like a tomb-sealed priest. His face, carved with the deep lines of too many winters, was calm—yet wary, with vermillion eyes barely visible beneath his drooping hood

Beside him, Elder Hayate leaned forward, the edge of his silver-edged cowl casting a shadow across his scarred cheek. He wore a robe of deep cerulean, his armor glimpsed beneath, subtle but ever-present—a silent reminder that he had once been a warrior of great renown.

Several others sat cloaked and faceless, veiled behind darkness and anonymity, silent as tombstones—watchers of history rather than participants.

At the head sat Hitomi, the Xhi’on, poised like a queen carved from stormclouds and steel. Her attire a ceremonial robe made from the finest silks. Her hair, straight and snow white, was gathered into a high, imperial tail, with a single ebony band etched with runes of power. Her crimson eyes glinted with restrained malice as she studied the map's center, one hand supporting her chin, the other rested idly on the table.

She did not move when the chamber doors groaned open.

Ayune stepped from behind them, her sandles echoing against the stone floor as she approached the table. She wore a sleek traveling cloak similar to Jhun's, with different runes etched onto her wrist and back. Her posture was straight, expression composed, betraying none of the exhaustion coiled deep in her muscles.

She met her Xhi’on’s gaze, bowed deeply, and spoke.

“My Xhi’on.”

“Elder.” Hitomi replied curtly, voice low and coiled with anticipation. “I trust you have not returned empty handed?"

“Indeed,” Ayune answered, her voice steady. “I have returned with much to report.”

She said, clearing her throat. “I was met by Iwa Owaki, the apparent Heir of the clan's legacy, and I was able to complete the exchange and secure the map—intact, unblemished.”

She said as she produced the jade case from beneath her cloak and stepped forward, offering it with both hands to the waiting hands of a veiled attendant who swiftly handed it to their Xhi’on. “Though the child required a demonstration, it was done with little effort. The first phase of the mission is complete, My Paragon.”

There was a quiet murmur through the hooded elders, a ripple of satisfaction.

But Ayune’s gaze did not waver. Her voice deepened with gravity.

“However, I must report... circumstances beyond expectation.”

That silenced even the faintest breath in the chamber.

“Before my departure, the facility was shaken by an emergency alarm—triggered by an unsanctioned aircraft approaching the Taka No Kamai's airspace. However, they allowed it entry after discerning it was flown by Sozen Owaki, the exiled and long thought dead brother of Iwa. He was not welcomed, nor expected. And yet... he came bearing a claim that I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it for myself..”

She took a breath.

“He declared that he had found.. and captured .. The Serpent’s Heir.”

There was an audible intake of breath from the Elders. A subtle shift in posture. Tension laced the air like drawn wire.

“Captured?!” Hayate barked, incredulous. “The Owaki has captured the Serpent's heir?!”

“You are certain of this?” Elder Jhun stirred, his voice measured but grave. “Could this not just be another crude example of Owaki deception?” He proposed, sharing a hopeful glance with Hayate. “For such a thing to occur when you are coincidentally visiting the Taka No Kamai.. It wreaks of posturing, does it not?”

Ayune closed her eyes for the briefest moments before she responded. She wanted to share in Jhun's skepticism..

“I have not seen his strength but.. his eyes,” Ayune said, almost shuddering at their memory. As if his gaze was evidence enough of the Serpent's return. “The words struck Lord Iwa like a blade. He believed it. And his reaction… It was not one of skepticism, but exhilaration. The kind that cannot be feigned.”

Hayate's expression grew darker. “If the Heir exists and the Owaki have truly captured them, then their mask of pacifism will soon crumble. With the Serpent and the Ring of Power in their possession, the Owaki holds a blade to the throat of all Vescrutia.” He said, glancing at Elder Jhun and Ayune, who shared his brewing sense of urgency.

“We must act.” He added, with a nodded consensus from the other elders. “Swiftly–less we allow the Owaki to develop a stranglehold across all of Edo.”

Ayune nodded. “I would be inclined to agree.”

Hitomi however, hadn't said a word on the matter– much to the chagrin of Elder Jhun. Instead, she was laser focused on the Owaki's map she sprawled open on the table in front of her.

Finally she leaned forward, her brow furrowed, but her tone tinged more with interest than alarm.

“What the hell am I looking at?” She said flatly, her patience holding firm despite her brewing frustration. “These aren't coordinates.. This isn't even a map of any region on this planet.”

She said, her gaze lingering on the scribe of worn parchment. Her initial thought of course was that the Owaki had played them, which wouldn't be outside of their duplicitous nature. But Ayune’s recount of the exchange conveyed no hint of skullduggery. The Sunless Ritual had been a rite that the Owaki had sought after for centuries– they wouldn't risk losing out on it.

“Whatever. How long until the cartographers can decode it?” She asked, and Ayune approached with care.

“If I may, my Paragon. The map is not a traditional one–I too was confused until I decoded its secrets myself. The location is hidden using the planet's constellations–starborne coordinates, as opposed to geographical.” She said using her finger to draw parallels on the map so that her peers could properly visualize it. “I've managed to narrow it down to Muu or Maderia, but it shouldn't take our cartographers more than a few hours.”

Hitomi's brows arched in genuine surprise. She even smiled at Ayune as she tried to visualize the map as a cluster of stars. “I'll be damned. You managed to do all that, during the two hour ride back?” She said, leaning back in her chair, lips curled in satisfaction.

“Well done, Lady Ayune. I want this decoded immediately–" She said, snapping her fingers and an attendant collected the map and disappeared through the doors of the chamber. "–and contact Hyperia. Inform them that I will be starting my campaign within the day.”

“What— today?!” Elder Jhun swiveled in his seat. His sandstone skin flushed a shade red with emotion. “Hitomi– My Xhi’on, for many reasons, I believe this to be unwise.”

He exclaimed against his better judgement, but he was prepared to endure the cutting gaze that followed if it might save his Xhi’on's life.

“Oh? And why is that?” Hitomi asked, her tone playful, but cruel.

Jhun hesitated, but only for a moment before he pressed on.

“My Paragon, with all due respect, the existence of Serpent's Heir changes everything. The child of prophecy is said to be Ain reborn— The Serpent reincarnated, with his Endless Art more powerful than ever.” Jhun refuted, his vermillion gaze stilled with a calm urgency. “If the Owaki have this in their possession, coupled with the strength of the Ring of Power, then the power balance in Edo has already shifted. Drastically.”

The Elders remained in silent agreement. Jhun's words settling like stone in their bellies. Hitomi, however, seemed uninterested. And unbothered.

“Has it?” She said with a smile–a cruel, knowing smile.

“I wasn't made aware of this. Strange. I thought I was the one who determines the power dynamic on Edo? Me. Your Xhi’on.” She said with sharpness behind her words. A scathing, serendipitous tone that made Jhun reconsider his genuine concern.

“Have you forgotten?” She said, her glare extending the question to the room before her voice dropped to a venomous hush.

“Or would you all prefer a demonstration?”

The stillness that followed was palpable. Not a single breath slipped from the void. Each of them familar with how macabre the Xhi’on's demonstrations of power and dominance were known to be, and the imagery alone was enough to quell their doubts.. or at least shudder them for the time being..

“...that won't be necessary, my Xhi’on.” Ayune said quickly, her voice tense.

Hitomi responded with a scoff, “Clearly that isn't true.” She said, returning her gaze to Elder Jhun. “The doubt and disrespect is beginning to annoy me.. I plan to get a handle on that very soon.”

Hitomi then rose from her seat, causing the Elders to do the same until she lifted her hand.

“Remain”

Her voice carried absolute authority.

“I've heard tale of the Serpent's heir.” She said condescendingly. “A fable told by broken Shi to lessen the weight of their shackles. Let me remind you of something.. B'halia is not a fucking bedtime story. They are a threat worthy of my attention– not some magic Shi dog with wings.”

She gestured toward the map, “I want this decoded within the day, and Hyperia updated no sooner.”

Elder Jhun composed himself and spoke once certain Hitomi had finished. “Your Champions. Will they be accompanying you on your journey?”

“They will not.” She replied plainly. “They will remain as the Vanguard until my return.”

Elder Hayate opened his mouth to retort what he believed to be an idiotic idea– to face the Bhalian Empire's forces alone would be sure suicide. But he didn't want to trigger Hitomi's wrath, as Elder Jhun had nearly done seconds ago. He remained quiet.

They all did as Hitomi made her leave. Their thoughts now swelling against the furthest corner of the room.

The sun hung low behind the ridges, casting long shadows across the tarmac of the Yaarou Compound. The wind swept harsh across the tarmac, kicking up grains of crimson dust and rattling loose prayer chimes strung between pylons.

Hitomi stood at the edge of the stone runway, one foot resting on the worn line where countless warships had landed before. She wore no armor. She was dressed in an auburn hakama, loose yet disciplined, and enchanted cloth wrappings bound across her chest— blessed and hardened beyond steel.

Lightweight bracers hugged her wrists and ankles, their metallic surface shimmering faintly from the mix of sorcery and fire that had birthed them in the Yaarou forges. Her long ivory hair was tied back into a sleek braid that swayed gently in the wind like a whip. And of course, the infamous Ring of Hatred, pulsing faintly along her middle finger as she gazed toward the clouds.

Behind her, several robed figures stood in a quiet half-circle—Elders of the Yaarou Council. Their robes were heavy with age and woven from dusk-colored thread, adorned in fraying sigils of Moirai. Beneath their hoods were the marks of time—crow’s feet, sun-dappled skin, eyes sharpened by decades of judgment.

It was Jhun who broke the silence, his gravelled voice like stone grinding against a whetstone. “The map could very well lead to a weapon. A vault. Or something worse.. I doubt The Empire would cross sea and storm for mere trinkets alone.”

“Nor would they pursue it blindly,” Ayune added. Her hood was lowered, revealing streaks of silver in her braided hair and the hard line of her jaw. Her eyes, however, softened with concern. “If we knew what they sought, we could prepare. A storm is brewing, and it only worsens our chances of locating this treasure.”

Hayate, the youngest of the serving Elders, adjusted the scroll-case slung across his shoulder. “Coordinates aside, there are markings the cartographers have yet to decipher. The language predates even the era of the First Xhi’on. Whatever lies buried in Muu—was either hidden there with purpose, or does not wish to be found.”

Hitomi didn’t respond right away. The wind tugged gently at her braid, whispering secrets only she seemed to hear.

“..Well that's too bad,” she said finally, eyes still locked on the distant sky. “Because whatever it is, I'm coming for it.”

Jhun tapped his staff once more. “And what do you make of it, My Xhi’on?”

Hitomi shrugged dismissively, brushing a windblown strand from her face. “It isn’t our job to interpret the treasure. Only to get there first. Hyperia’s High Chancellor will know what we’re after. That is why they’re coming.”

There was a pause, weighted and tense. The Elders shared loaded glances before Jhun spoke again. His words far more deliberate this time.

“We’ve reviewed Hyperia’s intel, and.. The enemies you may face on Muu. The.. B'halian Executioners.."

“You speak of the Mazoku,” Hitomi said, turning just slightly.

He nodded. “Yes.”

Ayune’s fingers tightened around the prayer beads at her wrist. “They do not fight as mortals do. They do not bleed as monsters do.” She said softly, shuddering from memory of the holographic visuals they'd been shown. “The power they command within their voices alone.. My Xhi’on, they are not natural.”

“I am not concerned with what they are,” Hitomi said, flexing her wrists. The bracers clinked softly as if eager to speak for her. “I've been told they can die. Little else matters.”

Hayate sighed through his nose. “It– It is not that we doubt your ability–”

“Careful,” Hitomi interrupted, eyes narrowing with a trace of sharpness.

“Of course–,” Hayate said smoothly. “We are simply exercising caution.”

The wind howled across the compound, sweeping the chimes into a frenzied rattle. For a moment, no one spoke.

“Let us send an envoy,” Ayune offered gently, pivoting. “Or even a small guard. You may not require your champions, but it is unwise to walk into Muu alone.”

Hitomi turned her head just slightly, looking over her shoulder at them. The wind pulled at her braid, strands of white gilsenting like silk.

“No.”

The word hit like a gate slamming shut.

Hitomi turned fully now, her gaze settling on her council like the sun staring down a mountain.

“And this is precisely why. Once I kill one,” she said holding up her index finger, voice soft but razor-sharp, “..all this chatter ends. No more talk of if I’m ready. No more half-lidded glances when I enter the chamber. No more of your mutterings of lineage and duty and wisdom. Just one kill. One corpse. That’s all it takes.”

Ayune inhaled through her nose, barely audible. “And if there are more than one?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Hitomi’s lips. “Then I will kill them, too."

The wind shifted.

A faint tremor rose in the soles of their feet—no quake, just the soft, familiar vibration of something colossal approaching from above. And then, breaching the distant clouds, came a Hyperian Shuttle—a sleek, obsidian vessel equipped with engines whispering the language of storms.

“Speak of the devil..” Hitomi muttered, turning back toward the sky. “I think that's my ride.”

Behind her, the elders stood in silence, hands clasped behind their backs, faces carved from stone. They did not respond. They had exhausted their wisdom. Only their faith remained.. somewhere buried beneath their doubt and skepticism.

The shuttle hissed through the clouds, breaking the stratosphere in a soundless descent toward the verdant expanse of Muu. From the viewport, the world below unfurled like a primal dream—an endless sea of emerald pierced by silver rivers and the obsidian veins of jagged cliffs. The trees here were titanic, their trunks as wide as towers, their canopies vast enough to block out the sun. They touched the clouds like fingers of a forgotten god, ancient and unmoved by time.

Inside, the shuttle was still. Cool. A sterile silence broken only by the low hum of its internal systems. Hitomi sat alone, arms folded across her chest, her gaze fixed on the shifting greens beyond the glass. Her eyes did not wander. Not even as footsteps approached—soft, deliberate, too light for a soldier.

“Ahem, Lady Xhi’on,” came a voice—nasal, clipped, and precise. “Might I—have a word?”

She didn’t look. “You may.”

A man in layered gray robes took the seat across from her. His frame was slight, almost swallowed by the burn-resistant plating stitched into his attire. The symbol of Hyperia glinted faintly on his chest. “You'll have to forgive me. I don't have much experience speaking with royalty.”

A hovering data console buzzed beside him, casting pale blue light across his face as he adjusted the thick lenses perched on his nose.

“My name is Dr. Cyvell, liaison of the Chancellor’s scientific division,” he began. “Your objective is the retrieval of an endangered species—classified as the Valkyr.”

He tapped the console. A holographic projection shimmered into existence, rotating with scan, models, bio-signatures. “They are a prehistoric race of apex predators. They, too, are natives of B’halia but the Mazoku’s visceral take over limited the resources available. However, Muu's Naten rich soil provides a perfect environment for it to flourish.”

He took a moment, allowing Hitomi to absorb his words, but her expression was apathetic at best. He adjusted his glasses before he continued.

Cyvell cleared his throat and continued. “We caught signs of one during our earliest scans—but then it vanished. Gone, as if the jungle itself devoured it. Fortunately, we mapped a theoretical migration path before it slipped off-grid.”

The hologram shifted, overlaying a winding route across dense topography.

“You’ll drop just north of the Onyx Trench. From there, a three days’ hike puts you in the heart of its territory.” He swiped again, conjuring a detailed render of the creature.

“The creature is massive. Two tons of muscle, standing about five feet at the shoulder and nine feet long from snout to tail. Think Bengal tiger meets obsidian stag. Adaptive coat. Antlers like jagged black glass. Claws capable of tearing through titanium alloy plating. But its most dangerous attribute—”

He paused, unsure whether to continue.

“—is what we’ve dubbed their Zones. A field passively generated by its antlers and fangs. It extends 50 to 250 meters in radius. In that space, all supernatural phenomena go inert; No naten, no spectral tech, no enchanted interference. Even energy-based augmentations deteriorate once within its proximity."

Hitomi’s gaze shifted—just slightly. “And you want it captured?”

“Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly. “The Empire won’t hesitate to destroy it. However, if capture is impossible, retrieve what you can—bone, tissue, the antlers if they’re intact. The Chancellor believes it could be a natural counter to Mazoku physiology.”

Her lips curled faintly. “..a silver bullet.”

He adjusted his glasses, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Something like that. The Empire certainly fears their potential.”

She turned then, facing him fully for the first time. “And what of the enemy? Have your scans done their job?”

Cyvell tapped the console again. The image shifted to a live drone feed of B’halian troops moving through dense jungle trenches. Their movements were swift, coordinated. But none of them were eight feet tall with anthropomorphic features.

“They’ve deployed a forward force—conscripted races, auxiliaries. Mercenaries. No Mazoku..”

“Cowards,” she scoffed.

Cyvell hesistared, “They’re calculated. Highborn Mazoku are too valuable to risk. But if they sense competition.. If they get desperate..” he trailed off.

“They’ll escalate,” she finished.

Hitomi stood, slow and deliberate. “Fine. Then I’ll make them escalate.”

Cyvell blinked. “I—I beg your pardon?”

“If they are hiding their monsters,” she said, voice low and resolute, “I’ll give them a reason to release them. Burn the first wave. Crush the second. Make them desperate enough to show their real teeth.”

There was no bravado in her voice. Just ice-cold resolve.

Cyvell’s throat bobbed. “I-I must remind you—the Valkyr is the mission.”

She turned, meeting his gaze with a glint of iron. “And you’ve brought weapons designed to kill Mazoku, yes?”

The scientist hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Of course.” He gestured to the hovering console, prompting a secondary drone to slide into the room, carrying a large, gunmetal case.

“These are our first-issue Anti-Mazoku Equipment units—A.M.E.s.” He placed his palm against the case. It hissed open. “This is the MK-I,” he said, lifting a sleek autorifle from its foam cradle. “Lightweight. Fires hyper-condensed Necromatter—engineered to rupture cell integrity and disrupt regenerative abilities. Converts to a sidearm on command.”

He pressed a button and the rifle folded into a compact form. Elegant. Lethal.

Hitomi accepted it wordlessly. She found it heavier than it looked. But after testing the grip and gauging its balance, she holstered it. “What else?” She pressed.

Cyvell continued, drawing a sheathed blade from the case, “This is the MK-II.” The katana shimmered faintly within its scabbard, threads of light pulsing like veins along its surface.

“A vibrational saber infused with gravimetric distortions. Capable of severing a target at a molecular level.”

He offered the weapon and Hitomi took it, sliding it against her back without even drawing the blade.
“It won’t take me three days to get there,” she said, eyes drifting back to the canopy below.

Muu loomed now—vast and alive, the jungle rising like a wall of ancient breath and unseen eyes.
“This shouldn't take more than a few hours.”

The shuttle’s undercarriage groaned as it tore through the jungle canopy, the repulsorlifts flaring with a shrill hum as they steadied its descent. Muu greeted them with silence—a humid, oppressive stillness that chilled warm bones. The ramp hissed open, exhaling a cold breath of sterile mist into the choking heat. Steam curled over moss-drenched roots and disappeared beneath the ferns.

Before Hitomi could step forward, Dr. Cyvell’s voice rose beside her—muted slightly by the distant rumble of thunder rolling over the canopy.

“One last thing..” he said, his tone carefully measured. “The Monarch’s orders were… thorough.”

She turned just enough for her gaze to catch him, eyes narrowing like drawn blades.

Cyvell raised a hand and gestured toward the storm-streaked sky. Three additional transports cut through the clouds behind them, their hulls gleaming with Hyperia’s black-and-silver insignia. They landed in swift succession, kicking up cyclones of dirt and foliage. Troops disembarked with clinical precision—light infantry, scouts, and a couple of mech-suits bearing sensor arrays pulsing with ambient scans.

“We will be deploying our own search teams– tasked with covering adjacent sectors that your route doesn’t include.” Cyvell explained. “They’re under strict instruction not to engage unless absolutely necessary.”

“I don’t need help,” Hitomi replied, stepping out into the jungle floor, her boots sinking slightly into the loam. “You can tell them to stay here.”

“With all due respect, these men are not here for you." Cyvell said, lifting his chin. “They're here for the Velkyr, on orders of our Monarch. You may be the tip of the spear, Lady Xhi’on, but you’re still a part of a larger hand.”

Hitomi lingered there for a moment—silent, unreadable. She said nothing, but Cyvell felt her narrowed gaze cut through him in a way no blade ever could. But before her presence could turn his bowels to water, she continued forward into the treeline, leaving Cyvell standing alone aboard the ramp of the ship in a trembling, cold sweat.

---

At the base of the shuttle ramp, one of the soldiers stepped forward– a young lieutenant. His exosuit whirred softly with each motion, sleek armor glinting with pale blue lights. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his brow beneath his visor, betraying nerves that his voice couldn’t quite suppress.

“Lady Xhi’on,” he called out as she passed him. “Our scanners have identified movement through the Onyx Trench. Multiple units, fanning through the region in tactical formations.”

She didnt break stride. “Are they Mazoku?”

“Most likely B'halian scouts and infantry. No Mazoku heat signatures yet.”

She clicked her tongue in frustration. “Figures..”

The soldier hesitated, then spoke again. “If you'd permit it, my unit and I can guide you toward the last ping. We’ve been briefed on your clearance level— We’ll be sure to stay behind you, no interference–”

“No.” She said flatly as she passed by him. “You’ll only slow me down.”

“W-wait!” The soldier stepped pressed on, his grip along his rifle tight with conviction. “We can be useful. If nothing else, we can be your eyes in the canopies!”

Hitomi stopped, and slowly turned to face him.

“Then stay in the canopies,” she said, her voice low. “Keep your scanners sweeping the fringe, keep your comms online. I'll call you if I find it, but if you value your lives.. you'll stay out of my way.”

The soldier swallowed hard and nodded.

And then, just as quickly as she turned back around, she was gone.

---

Hitomi cut through the forest like a blade unsheathed—less a figure than a whisper of uncanny speed beneath the shadows. Branches didn’t sway when she passed; Birds remained silent in the canopies, their instincts dulled by a presence they couldn’t perceive. Even the insects—always the last to flee—remained still, caught in the hush that followed her passage.

The dropships’ scanners tried to follow her—lines of red flaring across HUDs in panicked bursts—only to lose her again. She was too fast. Too fluid. Untethered to inertia, pattern, or friction like a ghost weaving through the undergrowth.

Hitomi’s pulse slowed with her stride, inversely proportional to her blistering speed. And soon, the world around her slowed into focus— Her breath came steady and her senses honed to a razor’s edge.

She was not hunting the Valkyr.

Not truly.

Sure.. If it was alive, she would retrieve it. Deliver it to Hyperia and let their scientists prod, measure and name it. But that was not her purpose..

She was hunting glory.

Hitomi was here to slay a god.

She had never seen one up close—never fought one. But she knew the Mazoku's legend, and the grip it held on Vescrutia. The entire world around her feared them like vectors of death, and for good reason. Their arrival terraformed maps. Their anger swallowed continents. Entire civilizations cities were erased beneath the stampede of a single soldier. And yet, she couldn't be more excited.

Oh, how she hungered for her chance..

To stand before a Mazoku and survive would make her immortal– consecrate her legend.

But to kill one?

To drag its broken corpse to her people and drop it at their feet?

That was the ascension of a true Xhi’on. That was how you changed history.

And somewhere, out beyond the trees and tremors and humming canopies, one of them waited. She could feel it—just beyond the silence.

Waiting to be found.

Waiting to die.