Black Meridian had positioned their camp a short distance north of the smoldering Katashakan village, tucked behind a low ridge where the jungle thickened into dense foliage. Vines hung from twisting branches overhead, and broad leaves formed a natural canopy that cloaked the tents and equipment in shifting green shadow. The air was thick with humidity and the muffled sounds of distant wildlife.

The covert Concordat strike team had been efficient and merciless in clearing the target area. The cleanup crew dragged the last bodies to the burn pyre, already roaring in a column of black smoke that clawed toward the sky.

“That’s going to stink if the wind shifts this way…” a soldier muttered.

The Katashakans were strong hunters, but they were no match for Black Meridian. These men were trained for exactly this kind of work: silent, precise, in and out before anyone knew they were there. Secure the site, let the researchers take their readings, and exfiltrate without witnesses.

“That village wasn’t on the map, was it? Shame they had to live so close to the line. Practically living on top of it,” another said idly.

“The real shame was all the women. It’s always business with the commander. Never have time for anything fun,” his companion added with a sarcastic laugh.

The commander emerged from the black canvas tent, tall and imposing, every movement deliberate. The heat slicked his dark hair back against his head, but he moved with unhurried precision. At his hip hung a curved sword with a darkened steel pommel engraved with Black Meridian’s insignia: a black diamond bisected by a single straight line.

“Tighten up. I want the full perimeter secured. We move to the next site by sundown. Reports of Dominion scouts heading west. I don’t want to cross paths with them on the return.”

The squad straightened. The commander had earned their discipline. He was strict, but he kept them alive, avoiding fights when possible and striking with lethal force when necessary.

“Sir, initial scans show heightened residual weave at the next site. We might want to—”

THWUMP.

A shockwave tore through the camp. Air folded in on itself like a collapsing lung. Trees bowed under invisible pressure. Thin fissures split the ground beneath their boots. Every soldier clutched their skull as psychic force stabbed through their minds.

The rumble passed. Leaves drifted down around them. Ears still ringing, the soldiers scrambled to readiness.

“Contact!”

“Direction? Was that the line?”

The commander shook his head, trying to clear the buzzing in his thoughts. “Form up. Weapons out. That wasn’t the leyline. That was alive, and it came from the village.”

Two scouts slipped into the treeline while the commander led the rest down the slope toward the smoldering ruins. Or rather, what should have been the ruins.

Hours earlier, Black Meridian had left the village in ruin. Now even that ruin was gone.

The pyre, the huts, the bodies—everything had been erased. A thin veil of dust hung in the heavy air, drifting like falling ash. Each descending flake rippled with shimmering pulses of psychic aftershock. The squad felt them as waves of heat and prickling static brushing across their arms. The air smelled faintly of ozone, and warmth radiated from the cracked earth as though lightning had struck moments before.

As the commander's squad crossed the clearing in silence, he signaled a silent query to his scouts with hand signs: [Target? Mage? Beast?]

The scouts replied:

[I see something]

[One target]

[Human]

The commander tightened his grip on his sword. With a brief nod, the squad converged, stepping carefully across fractured soil and uneven ground.

The land sloped sharply inward where the village once stood, broken into jagged ridges and deep cracks. Split tree trunks and torn roots jutted from the crater walls. The entire settlement had been blasted into a bowl of shattered earth.

As the dust settled, a lone figure came into view: a man with wild dark hair, on his knees, clothing torn to shreds, panting hard. Cracks in the earth radiated outward from his position as if he had been the epicenter of the explosion.

One scout raised his bow, drawing the string taut.

The commander lifted his hand to signal—

—but before he gave the order, a lone robed figure standing behind him cleared his throat.

The commander glanced back, eyes narrowing with irritation. After a brief pause he exhaled through his nose, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Fine… hold your fire.”

The wild man collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground.

The commander stepped forward, expression shifting from annoyance to cold interest.

“He comes with us.”

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