Dr. Belut, leading the way with a practiced ease that belied the unsettling environment, chuckled softly at his assistants' exchange. "Focus on the data, gentlemen. Discomfort is a luxury our subjects cannot afford." He adjusted the scanner on his wrist, its soft green glow cutting a faint path through the perpetual, milky fog. "We're heading for Grid C-9. A patch of phosphorescent lichen grows there, the primary food source for the Glasswing Moths we're studying. It should be a straightforward collection."
Kevin nodded, his senses extended not in a perfect sphere, but in a conscious, uneven push of aura. He imagined it not as a bubble, but as a series of delicate, probing tendrils, feeling ahead for the texture of life—and the emptiness of deception. It was mentally taxing, like trying to write with his non-dominant hand, but the theory felt sound. In this place where everything lied, a blunt instrument of perception was worse than useless.
The ground beneath their boots was a spongy, unreliable mat of peat and twisted root. Strange, bioluminescent fungi pulsed with slow, sullen light from rotting logs, and the air hummed with the clicks and whirs of unseen insects. The fog itself seemed alive, swirling in pockets of colder air that carried faint, misleading scents—one moment the cloying sweetness of overripe fruit, the next the acrid tang of decay.
"Doctor," Haka called from the rear, his voice tight. "The scanner's picking up a mild neurotoxic pollen cloud about fifty meters to our east. Wind is shifting... it might drift our way."
"Noted. We'll divert slightly west. Kevin, keep an eye on our perimeter. Some of the larger flora here can have... surprising mobility when sensing chemical changes."
Kevin increased the output of his probing En, focusing the tendrils of aura towards the eastern flank. He didn't detect a solid mass, but rather a diffuse, sticky intention in the air, a predatory patience that felt alien. "Confirmed. There's something there. It feels... expectant."
Belut shot him an appreciative glance. "Good. That's the Whispersnap Willow. It releases pollen to gauge disturbances. If we'd walked through it, the roots would have reacted. Let's give it a wide berth."
They adjusted their course. Toby, the complaining assistant, had fallen silent, his eyes wide behind his goggles as he stared at the fog-shrouded silhouette of the willow they were avoiding. Its branches hung limp, dripping with moisture, looking utterly inert. The idea that it was somehow aware of them was profoundly unnerving.
After another twenty minutes of careful progress, Belut held up a hand. "Here. Grid C-9."
Before them, the gloom was pierced by a soft, ethereal blue glow. A fallen, massive tree trunk was covered in a carpet of lichen that emitted its own light, like a slice of captured twilight. Fluttering around it, almost invisible save for the faint refraction of the lichen's glow, were dozens of delicate moths with wings as clear as polished crystal.
"Beautiful," Belut breathed, all business now. "Haka, Toby, begin collection. Sample from three distinct patches. Use the vacuum collectors on low setting—we mustn't disturb the micro-ecosystem in the lichen mat. Kevin, if you would maintain watch. The Glasswings themselves are harmless, but their beauty often attracts... other observers."
Kevin positioned himself with his back to a relatively sturdy-looking tree, his gaze sweeping the misty clearing. His irregular En stretched out, a net of perception with holes and concentrated patches. He focused on areas where the natural sounds of the wetland seemed to dampen or where the fog patterns swirled against the faint breeze—potential signs of concealed presence.
The collection proceeded smoothly for several minutes. The soft whir of the collectors was the only human sound. Then, Kevin's aura brushed against something. It wasn't a physical shape, but a void—a patch of air that swallowed his sensory tendrils, returning no information at all. It was directly between them and the path they had come from, about thirty meters away, and it was slowly shifting.
"Doctor," Kevin said, his voice low but carrying. "We have company. Behind us, ten o'clock. It's not registering normally. It's a... blank spot."
Belut didn't turn, but his hands stilled. "A blank spot? Describe it."
"Like a hole in my awareness. The fog, the sounds, even the feel of the Nen around it... it all just stops at a boundary."
A grim understanding settled on Belut's face. "A Shroud Stalker. A feline predator that doesn't hide its body—it projects a perception-dampening field. It makes the world forget it's there. It must have been tracking the pollen shift or our heat signatures. How close?"
"Twenty-five meters and holding. It's circling. Assessing." Kevin could feel the edges of that unsettling void tracing a slow, predatory arc around their position. His own ability, the latent resentment within his Nen, stirred in response to the alien, predatory hunger in the air. He forced it down, keeping his aura focused on sensing, not reacting.
"Finish up," Belut ordered his assistants, his voice calm but urgent. "We have two minutes. Then we move, calmly and directly, back towards the vehicle. Do not run. Running triggers its chase instinct. Kevin, you are the rearguard. If it closes in..."
"I'll engage," Kevin finished, his eyes fixed on the empty patch of fog that his other senses screamed was occupied. The theory was over. The Trickster's Nest was about to deliver its first practical exam.
A sharp, humorless grin cut across Kevin's face. Toby's complaint, born of prior experience, was a valuable piece of data. The cry for help echoed again, a perfect mimicry of human desperation, tinged with just the right amount of breathless panic. It was a script, repeated. The 'Trickster Crows,' as the team called the wetland's vocal mimics, were apparently creatures of habit.
Dr. Belut didn't even break stride. "Audio lure. Corvus mendax. Record the frequency and tonal modulation, Haka. Compare it to the sample from last week. See if it's the same individual or a different one learning the call."
Haka was already tapping on his portable device, a small parabolic microphone extended towards the sound. "Recording. Pattern seems identical, Doctor. Likely the same roost."
Kevin, however, didn't dismiss it. His irregular En, still probing the fog like cautious fingers, brushed against the source of the sound. He didn't feel a bird-like shape. He felt a complexity—a dense, layered aura that wasn't just mimicking sound; it was projecting a faint, psychic impression of fear and urgency, a low-grade emotional broadcast meant to cloud judgment. It wasn't just a recording; it was an experience.
"It's not just auditory," Kevin said quietly, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "It's... emotive. It's trying to make you feel the need to rush, to abandon caution."
Belut stopped, turning to Kevin with renewed interest. "Emotive projection? That's a new datum. Are you certain?"
"Positive. It's faint, like background static, but it's aimed at stirring panic. It makes the logical part of your brain—the part that knows it's a repeat—argue with your gut instinct to help."
"Fascinating," Belut murmured, making a note on his own wrist-mounted computer. "Evolution of deception from mere mimicry to psychological manipulation. Note that down, both of you. Corvus mendax suspected of low-level empathic projection to enhance lure efficacy." He glanced at Kevin. "Can you pinpoint it? Non-lethally, if possible. A tissue sample from a new vector would be invaluable."
Kevin nodded. He retracted his En, focusing it from a wide net into a single, needle-thin thread of aura. He pushed it through the soupy fog, past the deceptive cries, seeking the core of that complex, manipulative presence. Jin's theory about will and aura felt tangibly relevant here; he wasn't just sensing a body, he was tracing the intent to deceive.
"There. Sixty meters, one o'clock, high in the canopy. The big, gnarled tree that looks like it's split down the middle." Kevin pointed, his finger steady.
Belut followed his gaze, raising a pair of enhanced binoculars. After a moment, he let out a soft, satisfied sound. "Got it. Brilliant. It's not a crow at all. The plumage is mimicking bark and lichen. It's almost perfectly still. Haka, prepare the tranquilizer rifle. Low yield. We'll take a feather and a blood sample."
As Haka moved with efficient precision, Toby watched Kevin with a mix of awe and unease. "You can... feel it lying?"
"Something like that," Kevin replied, his attention still partly on the emotive broadcast, now analyzing its ebb and flow. It was a form of Nen, he realized—a weak, innate one, woven into the creature's very biology. The wetland wasn't just a place of physical traps; it was a gauntlet for the mind and spirit. Every step required you to question not just what you saw and heard, but what you felt.
The soft thwip of the tranquilizer dart was barely audible. A moment later, a small, bizarrely camouflaged bird tumbled silently from its perch, caught in a net Haka had positioned below. The cries for help ceased abruptly, leaving an eerie silence broken only by the drip of water and the hum of insects.
"Excellent," Belut said, his scientific fervor overriding the inherent danger of their surroundings. "A magnificent specimen. This alone makes the trip worthwhile. Now, let's collect our lichen and return. The Stalker is still out there, and I'd prefer not to be carrying fresh samples when it decides we're interesting enough to approach."
He looked at Kevin, a genuine respect in his eyes. "Your unique perception, Kevin, is going to revolutionize our mapping of this sector. You don't just see the traps; you perceive the mind behind them. That is the key to surviving the Trickster's Nest."
As they moved toward the glowing lichen once more, Kevin felt a grim sense of alignment. This internship was exactly what he needed. Here, learning to shape his En into an irregular, probing tool wasn't just an exercise—it was a matter of life and death. And learning to distinguish his own inner turmoil from the predatory emotions projected by the environment was perhaps the deepest lesson of all.
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