Nilbarx did not know it was forgotten.
The forest world existed far from trade routes and far from war, a quiet emerald sphere wrapped in drifting mist and unbroken canopy. Sunlight filtered through leaves older than recorded history, breaking into gold-speckled beams that touched the forest floor only in scattered places, as if even the light were respectful of what lived beneath.
The trees here were not merely tall — they were ancient. Their trunks twisted and widened with the slow confidence of beings that had never needed to hurry. Moss grew thick along their roots, glowing faintly at dusk, while bioluminescent spores drifted lazily through the air like stars that had lost their way and decided to stay.
At the heart of one such forest lay a village.
No walls.
No shields.
No fear.
Homes were grown rather than built — wood coaxed into shape, branches bent and guided instead of cut. Stone foundations fused seamlessly with living roots. Lanterns hung from vines, their soft amber glow warding off darkness without ever challenging it.
Nilbarx did not defend itself because Nilbarx had never needed to.
And at dawn, as mist rolled low between the roots and the forest breathed itself awake, Elysara Vanyrith stepped barefoot onto the dew-slick grass.
She stood tall among her people — taller than nearly anyone else in the village — her pale skin catching the early light, her long golden-white hair braided down her back in a thick, intricate plait that reached the small of her waist. A few loose strands framed her face, shimmering softly as if touched by sunlight even where shade lingered.
Her eyes — sharp violet flecked with molten gold — swept across the clearing with practiced calm.
She did not rush.
She never rushed.
Villagers passed her on their morning rounds, offering nods, gentle smiles, quiet greetings. None bowed. None knelt. Yet instinctively, paths shifted to give her space. Conversations lowered as she passed, not out of fear, but respect that had never needed explanation.
"Morning, Lys," an elderly woman called from near the water cistern.
Elysara smiled softly. "Morning, Maera. How's the flow today?"
"Strong," Maera replied. "Like it always is when you're nearby."
Elysara paused at that, brow furrowing slightly. "Is it?"
Maera waved it off with a chuckle. "Old woman's superstition."
But Elysara lingered for a heartbeat longer, watching the water ripple just a bit more vigorously than it had moments before.
It always did that.
She turned away before the thought could deepen.
Some things were easier left unexamined.
She moved through the village with an ease that belied her size and presence. At six feet two, she should have stood out more. Should have felt cumbersome among winding paths and low-hung branches.
Instead, the forest seemed to accommodate her.
Branches lifted slightly as she passed. Roots never caught her feet. Even the air seemed to flow around her as if aware of her movement.
Elysara noticed these things.
She simply did not know what they meant.
She had been raised by the elders after her mother died — a quiet woman with gentle hands and eyes that once burned gold when the firelight struck them just right. No one ever spoke of her father. No name. No memory. Just absence.
"You're different," the elders had told her as a child.
"But different doesn't mean broken."
So she learned to live with the feeling.
The sense that she was… adjacent to the world, rather than fully contained within it.
She stopped at the edge of the village clearing where the forest thickened again, resting one hand lightly against the bark of a towering tree. The surface was warm beneath her palm — warmer than it should have been in the morning chill.
Elysara closed her eyes.
For just a moment, she felt it.
A distant warmth.
A low, resonant pulse.
Not sound — recognition.
Her breath caught.
She pulled her hand away quickly, heart pounding, irritation flaring at herself.
You're imagining things.
She always was.
Still, as she turned back toward the village, a single leaf drifted free from the branch above and settled gently at her feet — its veins glowing faint gold before dimming.
Elysara stared at it.
Then, carefully, she stepped around it and walked on.
The Dark Buddies arrived at midday.
They did not announce themselves.
They did not descend in fire or shadow or thunder.
They arrived the way professionals always did — quietly, precisely, already knowing exactly where they were going.
The forest felt it before anyone else did.
Birdsong cut off mid-call.
Insects vanished into bark and soil.
The moss dimmed.
Elysara felt the change like a sudden pressure behind her eyes.
She was in the center of the village when the first scream sounded.
It came from the eastern path — sharp, short, and abruptly silenced.
Elysara turned.
The elders were already moving, faces pale, fear dawning too late.
Figures emerged from between the trees — armored silhouettes of blackened metal and crimson sigils, visors glowing faintly green. Their movements were efficient, coordinated, devoid of hesitation.
Dark Buddies.
Elysara did not know that name.
She only knew the wrongness of them.
"Get the children inside!" someone shouted.
Too late.
One of the armored figures raised a device — not a weapon, but a scanner. It swept across the village, humming softly as it passed over bodies.
Most registered nothing.
Then it passed over Elysara.
The device screamed.
The Dark Buddy froze.
Another stepped closer, visor tilting.
"Trace resonance detected," the second said. "Low yield. Diluted."
Elysara felt heat surge in her chest — sharp, instinctive, violent.
"Run!" she shouted, though her feet were already planted.
She did not know why she didn't run.
The first Dark Buddy raised his arm.
Elysara reacted without thinking.
The air between them ignited.
Not into flame — into pressure.
The Dark Buddy was hurled backward as if struck by an invisible force, crashing into a tree hard enough to crack the trunk. Leaves burst into fire where he hit.
The village screamed.
Elysara stared at her hands, breath ragged, eyes wide.
"What… did I do?"
The other Dark Buddies reacted instantly.
Weapons came up. Restraint fields activated. A net of crackling energy slammed around her before she could move again, pinning her limbs mid-motion.
She screamed — not in pain, but in fury.
Golden sparks flared along her skin, lighting the net from within.
The Dark Buddies paused.
One lowered his weapon slightly.
"…Not enough," he said. "Barely registers."
"Bloodline confirmed though," another replied. "Golden trace. Too thin to harvest."
Elysara struggled, teeth bared, eyes blazing violet-gold. The net tightened.
"Then why keep her?" the first asked.
A third Dark Buddy stepped forward, insignia marking him as a commander.
"Because Terragorn is paying for anything with Golden resonance," he said. "And this one will scream loud enough to be heard."
Elysara's heart pounded as they dragged her forward, away from the village, away from the forest that suddenly felt very far away.
She locked eyes with Maera as they passed.
"I'm sorry," Elysara whispered.
Maera shook her head, tears streaming. "You were never broken."
The forest roared as the Dark Buddies vanished into shadow.
And Nilbarx — forgotten, peaceful Nilbarx — was left burning.
Elysara awoke in darkness.
Stone pressed in on all sides, cold and heavy, humming faintly with power older than language. Chains of black crystal bound her wrists and ankles, not painfully, but absolutely.
She tested them.
They did not move.
The air smelled of earth and iron and ancient pressure.
A presence loomed beyond the shadows.
"You are weaker than I hoped," a voice rumbled.
Elysara lifted her head slowly, eyes adjusting.
Stone shifted.
A massive form emerged — not humanoid so much as shaped into one, towering and immense, carved from obsidian and living rock.
Terragorn.
"You carry the blood of creation," he continued calmly. "But it is diluted. Faded. Incomplete."
Elysara met his gaze without bowing.
"Then why am I here?" she demanded.
Terragorn studied her for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
"Because even an echo," he said, "can call its source."
The chamber grew colder.
Far away — across stars, across war, across fate — Danny's chest tightened painfully for no reason he could name.
Creation stirred.
And something ancient remembered itself.
Elysara did not scream.
Not when the chains tightened imperceptibly, responding to the spike of defiance in her pulse.
Not when the chamber around her shifted, stone plates grinding as Terragorn's domain subtly rearranged itself to better contain her.
Not even when the truth of his words settled into her bones like frost.
An echo can call its source.
She lifted her chin instead, spine straight despite the weight pressing down on her from every direction. If Terragorn noticed the defiance, he did not comment. He circled her slowly, each step accompanied by the low, tectonic groan of stone sliding against stone.
"You do not know what you are," he said. "That is… unfortunate. But ignorance has never stopped blood from remembering itself."
Elysara's heart hammered, but her voice came out steady. "You burned my home."
Terragorn paused.
A faint flicker of something—consideration, perhaps—passed through the molten veins running beneath his obsidian skin.
"No," he said. "Your home burned because it was weak. Because it existed without understanding the forces moving beyond its trees."
Elysara clenched her jaw. The chamber grew warmer, heat rippling outward from her chest before she could stop it. The stone floor beneath her feet glowed faintly gold, veins of light spreading outward like roots.
Terragorn stopped completely now.
He turned.
Slowly.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Elysara sucked in a sharp breath as the chains vibrated, reacting to the surge. She forced herself to breathe—slow, controlled—the way the elders had taught her when emotions ran too hot. The glow faded, retreating back beneath her skin.
Terragorn watched every moment of it.
"You suppress it instinctively," he said. "Without training. Without knowledge."
"What do you want?" Elysara demanded.
Terragorn leaned down until his massive, stone-carved face was level with hers. His eyes burned like magma trapped behind iron gates.
"I want the Golden Dragon," he said plainly.
The words sent a strange shock through her—recognition without context. The phrase felt heavy, important, like a title whispered in half-forgotten dreams.
"I don't know who that is," she said, though part of her already knew the lie in it.
Terragorn straightened. "You will."
He gestured, and the chains slackened just enough for her to lower her arms, though they remained locked.
"You are not powerful enough to serve as a battery," he continued. "Your blood is too thin. Your creation resonance too faint. Bones would have discarded you."
Elysara's breath caught at the name, though she did not know why.
"But Danny," Terragorn went on, voice resonating through the chamber, "will not."
Her pulse spiked.
"Danny?" she whispered.
Terragorn's lips curved in a slow, deliberate smile.
"Yes," he said. "That name stirs you. Good."
The chamber darkened slightly as a projection flared into existence before her—stars unfolding, systems spinning, and at the center of it all, an image resolved.
A young man standing amid fire and storm, golden light burning beneath his skin.
Danny.
Elysara's breath left her in a rush.
She had never seen him before.
And yet—
Her knees nearly buckled.
The chains caught her.
Her chest burned, heat surging outward in a wave that cracked the stone beneath her feet. Golden-white light flared across her skin, veins of brilliance threading through her arms and neck before dimming again.
Terragorn did not move.
He simply watched.
"So," he rumbled. "The echo recognizes its source."
Elysara stared at the projection, heart pounding, mind racing. Images flooded her thoughts—dreams she'd never understood suddenly snapping into focus.
Gold fire in the sky.
Wings cutting through cloud.
A roar that felt like home.
She shook her head violently. "I don't know him."
Terragorn tilted his head. "You do not need to know him," he said. "Blood does not require permission."
Elysara's voice trembled despite her effort. "You're going to use me."
"Yes."
The simplicity of the answer was almost worse than cruelty.
"I will place you where he cannot ignore you," Terragorn continued. "I will allow him to feel you—your fear, your pain, your calling. And he will come."
"And when he does?" Elysara asked quietly.
Terragorn's eyes flared brighter. "Then he will choose."
"Choose what?"
"Creation," Terragorn said, "or loss."
Silence settled heavily between them.
Elysara closed her eyes.
For a moment, she let herself feel everything she had been holding back—the grief for Nilbarx, the fear gnawing at her chest, the strange, terrifying pull toward the image still burning behind her eyelids.
Then she opened her eyes again.
"You're wrong," she said.
Terragorn raised a brow.
"You think I'm bait," Elysara continued. "But you don't know him."
A faint smile tugged at Terragorn's mouth. "Enlighten me."
"If he's anything like what I feel," she said, voice growing stronger, "then he won't come because you threaten him."
She met Terragorn's gaze unflinchingly.
"He'll come because it's right."
Terragorn studied her for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
The sound echoed through the chamber like an earthquake.
"Ah," he said. "You truly are his blood."
He turned away, stone grinding, already losing interest.
"Rest," he said over his shoulder. "You will be useful soon."
The chamber dimmed further as he departed, leaving Elysara alone with the fading projection of Danny and the pounding of her heart.
Far away, aboard the WhistleDawn, Danny jerked awake from a half-doze, breath hitching sharply.
"Danny?" Jake asked from across the compartment.
Danny pressed a hand to his chest, creation energy flaring instinctively before he forced it down.
"I—" He swallowed. "I felt something."
Solmara turned toward him instantly. "What kind of something?"
Danny shook his head slowly, unsettled. "Not a stone. Not Terragorn."
He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation.
"It felt like… someone calling my name."
The sigil stone resting nearby pulsed once.
Soft.
Steady.
Almost… encouraging.
Danny opened his eyes, dread and determination mingling in equal measure.
"Someone with Golden blood," he whispered.
Solmara's expression darkened.
"Terragorn has moved," she said.
And somewhere deep within a stone prison, Elysara Vanyrith sat alone in the dark—no longer just a captive, but a signal.
Time lost meaning in Terragorn's domain.
There was no sun to rise or fall, no cycle to mark the passing hours. The stone itself dictated rhythm—slow, grinding, patient. The air pressed in with the weight of deep earth, humming faintly with power drawn from places where planets were born and buried.
Elysara learned quickly that Terragorn did not intend to break her.
He intended to wait.
Her chamber was not a dungeon in the way she had imagined imprisonment. There were no iron bars, no filth, no screams echoing from unseen corridors. The space was vast and severe, walls carved smooth by hands older than civilizations. Crystals embedded in the stone gave off a dim, steady light—enough to see, never enough to forget where she was.
The chains remained.
Not painful.
Not cruel.
Unyielding.
They hummed softly when she moved too much, resonating with the faint creation energy in her blood, reminding her—gently, mercilessly—that escape was not an option.
Elysara sat with her back against the cool stone, knees drawn up, braid loosened now and spilling pale gold across her shoulder. She stared at her hands, turning them slowly, studying the faint shimmer beneath her skin.
Golden.
Not bright. Not blazing.
Diluted.
She hated that word.
"Not enough," she murmured bitterly.
The stone answered—not with words, but with a subtle vibration. Not hostile. Almost… attentive.
Elysara closed her eyes.
She had always been different. She had always felt things others didn't—the warmth in fire that wasn't heat, the way the forest seemed to lean toward her, the way storms made her heart race instead of fear.
And the dreams.
She had never told the elders about the dreams.
Gold flame curling across endless sky.
Wings blotting out stars.
A roar that felt like grief and fury braided together.
And now there was a face.
Danny.
She did not know his story. She did not know his pain. But the moment she had seen him in Terragorn's projection, something ancient inside her had recognized him.
Not as a savior.
Not as a king.
As kin.
Elysara's fingers curled into fists.
"I won't be your weapon," she whispered into the empty chamber. "I won't be your trap."
The stone hummed again.
Different this time.
Warmer.
She startled slightly, sitting up straighter. "Can you hear me?"
The vibration deepened, resonating faintly through the chains and into her bones.
Elysara frowned. "You're not… answering."
But something shifted.
Not outward.
Inward.
A pressure built behind her sternum—not painful, but insistent. She focused on it, breathing slowly, the way Maera had taught her when emotions ran too hot.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Ground yourself.
The pressure spread.
Her pulse synced with it.
Golden-white light flickered beneath her skin, faint but unmistakable. The chains tightened automatically, reacting to the spike—but this time, the light didn't surge.
It stayed.
Elysara gasped softly.
She wasn't pushing.
She wasn't forcing.
She was… listening.
The stone beneath the chamber responded, veins of light flaring and dimming in slow rhythm, like a heart learning a new beat.
Far away—across stars, across void, across war—Danny froze mid-step.
He was in the GAMBIT's upper observation ring, staring out at the slow drift of stars, the recharged sigil stone secured behind containment fields. Solmara stood a short distance away, reviewing telemetry, while Jake and Swift argued quietly about Switchblade modifications.
The sensation hit him like a memory he'd never lived.
Warm.
Familiar.
Achingly close.
Danny's breath caught.
His creation energy reacted instantly—not flaring outward, not burning, but tightening, drawing inward like a tide pulled by the moon.
"Solmara," he said quietly.
She looked up immediately. "What is it?"
Danny pressed a hand to his chest. "It's happening again."
Solmara's eyes narrowed. "The same signal?"
"No," Danny said slowly. "Stronger. Clearer."
He closed his eyes, letting himself feel it.
Not a command.
Not a cry for help.
A presence.
"I think…" His voice wavered. "I think she's alive."
Solmara stiffened. "She?"
Danny opened his eyes, gold flickering faintly in their depths. "The one Terragorn took. The diluted blood."
Solmara swore softly under her breath.
"Terragorn is escalating," she said. "He's not just threatening you now. He's establishing resonance."
Jake stopped mid-argument. "Resonance with who?"
Danny swallowed. "With me."
Back in the stone chamber, Elysara gasped as the pressure suddenly answered.
Not in words.
In warmth.
In a sensation like someone standing on the other side of a closed door—close enough that you could feel their presence through the wood.
Her eyes flew open, heart pounding.
"Danny," she whispered again, not knowing why the name came so easily.
The stone thrummed in approval.
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, surprising her with their suddenness.
"I don't know you," she said shakily. "But I feel you. And I don't want you to come here."
The chains rattled softly.
The stone's response shifted—gentler, steadier.
It did not pull.
It did not demand.
It simply was.
Elysara laughed weakly through her tears. "You're stubborn, aren't you?"
Somewhere deep in Terragorn's domain, stone shifted.
The Elemental Lord stood in a vast observation hall, watching ripples of golden resonance spread through his territory like cracks in glass.
His eyes narrowed.
"She's stabilizing," he rumbled.
A lesser elemental approached cautiously. "Is that… bad?"
Terragorn considered.
"No," he said. "It is useful."
He turned, massive hands clasping behind his back.
"Let her feel him. Let him feel her. The longer the thread stretches, the stronger it becomes."
"But what if—" the elemental began.
Terragorn's gaze snapped toward him.
"What if the Golden Dragon refuses?" the elemental finished weakly.
Terragorn smiled slowly.
"Then the echo will suffer," he said. "And creation will answer."
Back aboard the GAMBIT, Danny stood very still.
"I don't know where she is," he said quietly. "But I know she's… strong. Stronger than she thinks."
Solmara studied him. "You are forming a bond."
Danny shook his head. "No. Not like that."
He hesitated.
"It feels like… recognition. Like meeting family you never knew you had."
Solmara's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "That is dangerous."
Danny nodded. "I know."
Jake crossed his arms. "So… what's the play?"
Danny looked back out at the stars, jaw set.
"The play," he said slowly, "is we don't let Terragorn decide the terms."
The sigil stone pulsed once behind him.
Affirming.
Far below stone and fire, Elysara closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.
For the first time since Nilbarx burned, she did not feel alone.
And for the first time in her life, she understood that her blood was not weak.
It was waiting.
Terragorn did not rush.
That was the mistake lesser tyrants always made—confusing inevitability with urgency. Terragorn had existed since worlds first learned how to break themselves apart. He had watched stars burn out of arrogance and civilizations collapse under the weight of their own certainty.
He understood patience.
And now, patience was the blade.
Elysara felt the shift before she saw anything change.
The chamber's hum altered pitch—subtle, nearly imperceptible, but wrong. The light dimmed another fraction. The chains tightened just enough to remind her they were still there.
The warmth inside her chest flickered.
Not extinguished.
Interrupted.
She inhaled sharply, eyes snapping open. "No."
The stone beneath her feet cooled, the faint golden veins retreating into darkness.
Terragorn stepped from the shadows.
"You felt that," he said calmly.
Elysara rose to her feet despite the chains, spine straight, chin lifted. Even now—alone, restrained, powerless—she carried herself like someone accustomed to command.
"You cut it off," she said.
"I limited it," Terragorn corrected. "A signal left unchecked becomes… inconvenient."
Her eyes burned violet-gold. "You're afraid."
Terragorn laughed—low, rumbling, like boulders grinding deep underground.
"Fear?" he echoed. "No, child. I am curious."
He approached slowly, every step deliberate. "You should not be able to stabilize resonance on your own. Your blood is too thin. And yet…"
He gestured.
The air before her rippled.
An image formed—Nilbarx, as it had been.
The village bathed in soft green light. Children laughing. Elders speaking beneath the trees. Maera standing by the cistern, smiling.
Elysara's breath hitched.
Then the image burned.
Dark Buddies descended. Fire tore through the canopy. Screams echoed.
Elysara cried out, lunging forward instinctively, chains snapping taut as she struggled uselessly against them.
"Stop!" she screamed.
Terragorn watched without emotion.
"This is what happens when echoes forget their place," he said. "Creation abandoned them. You abandoned them."
"I didn't!" she sobbed. "I fought!"
"And failed," Terragorn said evenly. "As you always will."
The image faded, leaving only stone and silence.
Elysara sagged, breath shuddering. Tears streaked down her face, burning hot against her skin.
Terragorn crouched slightly, bringing his massive form closer to her level.
"But he will not fail," Terragorn continued softly. "Danny."
The name struck like a hammer.
"You felt him reach back," Terragorn said. "You felt the resonance align. Tell me—did it hurt when I severed it?"
Elysara swallowed, jaw trembling. "Yes."
Terragorn nodded once. "Good."
Rage flared through her grief, sharp and sudden.
"You're using him," she snarled. "You don't want me—you want him."
"Correct," Terragorn said. "And now you understand your role."
Elysara met his gaze, fury blazing. "I won't break him for you."
Terragorn studied her for a long moment.
Then he stood.
"You misunderstand," he said. "You will not break him."
He turned away, stone grinding.
"You will call him."
The chamber shifted again, the walls pulling back, revealing a vast opening beyond—a chasm that dropped into darkness lit by rivers of molten light far below.
Terragorn gestured.
"Look."
Elysara stepped forward reluctantly, chains extending to allow her movement to the edge.
Below, she saw it.
A sigil stone.
Dormant.
Drained.
Cracked.
Its light was faint, wounded, struggling.
Her breath caught painfully. "That stone… it's dying."
"Yes," Terragorn said. "And it will continue to do so."
He turned to her, eyes blazing. "Unless the Golden Dragon comes."
Elysara's heart pounded. "You'll kill worlds for this."
Terragorn's expression hardened. "Worlds die every moment. I am merely choosing which."
He leaned closer, voice lowering. "And you, Elysara Vanyrith, will decide how many."
The name hit her like a shock.
"You know my name."
"I know your blood," Terragorn replied. "Names are trivial."
The chains loosened slightly—not enough to free her, but enough to tempt.
"You will feel him again soon," Terragorn said. "I will allow it. You will call to him. Not with words—but with truth."
Elysara's hands trembled.
"What if I refuse?"
Terragorn smiled.
"Then I drain the stone," he said. "Slowly. Painfully. Every fracture will echo across creation. And he will feel it."
He turned away.
"Rest," he said again. "The next time you feel him, you will understand what to do."
The chamber sealed behind him.
Darkness pressed in.
Elysara sank to her knees, shaking.
"I won't," she whispered fiercely. "I won't be your weapon."
Her chest burned as the warmth returned—faint, fragile, but real.
Danny.
Far away, Danny doubled over suddenly, clutching his chest as pain lanced through him—sharp, unfamiliar, wrong.
"Danny!" Jake shouted, rushing forward.
Danny gasped, teeth clenched, creation energy flaring wildly before he forced it back down.
"It's her," he said hoarsely. "He's hurting her."
Solmara's face hardened. "Terragorn has revealed his hand."
Danny straightened slowly, eyes blazing gold—not wild, not uncontrolled.
Focused.
"He wants me to come," Danny said. "On his terms."
The sigil stone behind them pulsed—uneasy.
Danny exhaled, steadying himself.
"Then we change the terms."
Back in the stone chamber, Elysara pressed her forehead to the cold floor, breath ragged.
"I'm still here," she whispered into the silence. "I don't know you… but I won't let him break you."
The stone beneath her pulsed faintly.
And across the void, creation answered.