10,000 Years Too Late

A pale wash of late-afternoon light fell across the broken cobblestones as Voss Thane led them back from Sporelight Haven. Even the smell of distant fungal spores—sweet and earthy—lingered on Riley's leathers and Surya's loose tunic. A faint ash haze clung to the rooftops overhead, marking the boundary between these rural outskirts and the grim city core beyond. Each step, each scuff of worn boots, reminded them of how far they'd come in a single day.

They arrived at a low-slung building Moira had assigned as their safehouse. Cracked windows faced a dingy alley, and a battered door hung askew, but once inside, the space proved unexpectedly neat: a handful of cots, a rickety table, and a hearth still holding the warmth of last night's coals. The air here—threaded with the faint tang of old cooking—felt oddly comforting after the sterile brightness of the greenhouse.

Surya slumped onto a wooden chair near the hearth, elbows on knees. "Haven't felt this beat since we first started these so-called 'raider drills.'" Despite his tired posture, a half-grin twitched across his face.

Listik (Kayode) brushed past, giving him a light shove. "Speak for yourself. A little fungus-lore won't kill us… as long as you keep from mixing the lethal stuff."

From across the room, Shen jotted something into his battered notebook—always collecting details. He paused, tapping his pencil against the spine. "That greenhouse was too lavish," he murmured, scarcely loud enough to be overheard. "Someone must've spent a fortune to keep the ash out." His brow tightened, as if even the thought was a puzzle piece he yearned to fit somewhere.

Riley took a seat on a stool, propping her sturdy Zelion arms on her thighs. "Let's not dwell too much on how they pay their bills, yeah? We have our own secrets to guard." She spoke gently, but tension hovered in her dark, reflective gaze. Indeed, each of them knew how precarious their situation felt—fresh from a doomed raid, revived by some Axis power, yet feigning to be just another band of novices.

Angela, half-lidded as usual, nestled on a cot, eyes drifting to the high, cracked ceiling. "We can't hide in plain sight forever," she said softly, her voice husky with a day's exhaustion. "But we can hold out a while."

Alexander exhaled, crossing his arms. "I suppose it's enough for tonight." In the hush that followed, he seemed to measure the lines in the plaster. "If we keep outpacing normal trainees, someone—Voss, Morgan, or worse—might start asking why."

No one responded immediately. Surya tapped the sole of his boot against the table leg, setting it into a small, jittery tremor. The sound underscored their collective unease. Eventually, Listik spoke, voice low. "We keep playing normal," he said simply. "Pretend we're just talented. Nothing more."

Shen shut his notebook. "Still worried about the rumors," he said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "We were at the brink of death in that raid—really, we died. But if the city stumbles on that truth? Or if they guess we're not… entirely normal? It'll get ugly."

Riley inhaled, gaze cast downward for a moment. "We can't let that happen. Not until we're strong enough to handle… whatever the city might do."

In the hush that followed, the wind outside rattled a loose shutter. For a moment, nobody spoke, as though they each carried a private weight. Then Surya, half-laughing, lifted the tension. "Fine. Let's file this under 'tomorrow's problems,' shall we? Right now, I'm starving. Anyone else?"

---

They scrounged up leftover stew from a pot on the hearth. It proved watery, but warm enough to take the edge off the late-hour chill creeping into the walls. Between spoonfuls, the group drifted in and out of conversation—jokes about fungal transformations, quips about Surya's near-disasters with spore extracts. Yet beneath the surface banter, a taut awareness bound them. They shared glances as if verifying no one was about to mention the real reason they learned so fast: their improbable second lives.

Listik caught Shen's eye over the rim of a chipped bowl. The older notebooks in Shen's pack might hold records of the final moments of that ill-fated raid. They both knew the risk if such notes ever fell into the wrong hands. One subtle nod, and Shen understood: keep everything hidden.

In time, the stew pot ran low, and hunger gave way to weariness. Riley stretched her arms, testing her Zelion body's raw strength, while Angela half-dozed against a corner pillow. They were settling into a lull when Shen suddenly sat upright, tension etched in his shoulders.

---

In the front corridor, faint voices rose—Voss Thane and Morgan, returned from a brief errand. Shen heard them through the closed door, their tones subdued but urgent. A handful of words bled into the quiet: "…Salvarose daughter…" and "…the missing survivors… alliance…"

Shen stiffened, adrenaline spiking. He glanced at the group. Angela blinked, half-awake. Surya and Listik exchanged questioning looks. Riley's eyes fixed on him, sensing his alarm. With a silent gesture, Shen slipped away from the main room, creeping down the hall. The glow of an ash-lantern left swaying shadows on the cracked plaster, every footstep a potential betrayal of his presence.

He reached a slight bend where the hallway opened toward the foyer, close enough to make out the low timbre of Voss's voice, the quiet timidity of Morgan's replies. Huddling by the corner, Shen held his breath, and swallowed, straining to hear.

> "If the Salvarose name cements a new alliance," Voss said, "they'll likely use the 'miracle' of Jennersen's survival to unite the city. And if the missing survivors resurface, it'd bolster House Salvarose's claim."

Morgan made a soft, thoughtful noise. "But what if the Operating Theatre or Incisors find those survivors first? It'd undercut House Salvarose, or turn it into a race." A cautious sigh. "We can't ignore that we might profit, if we find evidence of who they really are."

Shen felt a cold spike in his gut. They're so close… They're talking about us. About Dana. Or "Jennersen," as the city now knew her. He squeezed his eyes shut, controlling his breath. The more they talked, the more he realized how precarious the crew's position truly was: Voss had no idea the people he was training were the very survivors he hoped to locate.

Voss's voice dropped, forcing Shen to shift closer. He worried he'd be spotted.

> "House Salvarose is gaining. The daughter's… changed a lot since the raid. She's forging ties with the Operating Theatre. We can't get shut out of that. If we can't locate the survivors, we'll at least keep an ear out for any clues."

Morgan hummed agreement. "Then we watch our new recruits carefully too—who knows? One day we might find we already have them under our nose."

Shen's heart pounded so loudly he feared they might hear it echo off the walls. He pulled back, inhaling the stale corridor air, sweat pricking his temples. They're actively hunting for any sign of the missing survivors. For a breath, it almost felt as though the old cracked plaster and the dull ash-lantern flicker threatened to swallow him.

---

Shen could feel his heart hammering in his ears as he drifted back down the dim hall, the old plaster seeming more cracked and ominous than before. The faint smell of ash-lantern oil mingled with whatever stew the crew had salvaged for supper—a homely scent at odds with the dread in his chest. He didn't want to cause panic, but how could he hide what he'd just heard?

He entered the cramped common room on light feet. Riley (Reveen), Surya, Angela, Alexander, and Listik looked up from the rickety table, spoons halfway to their mouths, eyes already tinged with unease. Angela, half-dozing, blinked awake the instant she saw Shen's face.

"Something happened," Riley said gently, no question in her tone.

Shen nodded, trying to keep his voice down. Voss and Morgan might be close enough to overhear. "I heard them talking about… the Salvarose daughter. And the missing survivors," he whispered, heart lurching at the memory. The others set aside their bowls, tension thrumming across the circle.

Listik's brow furrowed. "They suspect we're them, is that it?"

"Not exactly—yet, almost or kind of" Shen continued, forcing a steadiness he didn't feel. "But they're definitely on the hunt. They know House Salvarose is rising, especially the daughter—Dana—who's forging some major alliances. And if the so-called 'miracle survivors' show up, they might unify half the city behind them." He swallowed hard. "Voss basically said if he found any sign of who those survivors are, he'd hold a powerful bargaining chip."

Surya dropped his spoon with a rattle. "So we are that chip," he said, a half-laugh strangled by worry. "Great. We'll either be used by Voss or used by House Salvarose. Who's next?"

Riley's lips parted in protest. "Dana—Jennersen—wouldn't use us," she murmured, her Zelion height seeming suddenly small beneath the flicker of the lantern. "She's one of us."

Alexander pressed his back against the wall, exhaling slowly. "There's a difference between what Dana wants and how the city might twist things. You know politics can force people's hands, especially if she's trying to steer a faction."

In the silence that followed, the aging walls seemed to breathe with them, each subtle crack in the plaster an echo of tension. Listik looked grim, arms folded across his lean frame. "Then we keep quiet. We keep training. And if we do talk to her—Dana—we do it on our terms."

Shen nodded, pulses of conflicting thought filling his mind. We have to reach her eventually, but how? And if we wait too long, will others discover us first?

Angela's voice, low and half-lidded, murmured, "We can't let them pit us against her. That's the worst outcome."

Riley rested a hand on Angela's shoulder. "Exactly. So hush for now. We act clueless, let Voss think we're normal recruits, keep leveling." A flicker of bitterness crossed her face as she recalled how easy it was for them to surpass normal raiders.

Surya forced a grin that didn't meet his eyes. "Hiding in plain sight—our favorite pastime."

Hardly had the group steeled themselves when footsteps sounded in the corridor. They hastily reassembled around the battered table, feigning calm. The door swung open, revealing Voss Thane and Morgan returning from the front hallway. Morgan clutched a small basket, from which the soft scent of fresh bread wafted, incongruous in the stale gloom of the safehouse.

Voss offered a polite nod. "We brought something to tide you over—Morgan's harvest supply. Thought you might prefer it to stew dregs."

Morgan managed a tight smile, adjusting their round glasses with anxious fingers. "It's no gourmet spread, but… well, spore-free bread is better than the alternative."

Surya forced a hearty laugh. "We'll take it." He gestured them to sit, though no one fully relaxed. Every exchange now bristled with hidden tension.

As they passed the bread around, Surya and Angela resumed their playful bickering about adding spices to leftover stew, while Alexander and Listik asked Morgan vague questions about how to cultivate mushrooms. All the while, Riley observed Voss's body language—his casual posture, the flick of his gaze toward each of them, as though measuring whether any sign might reveal they were more than they claimed.

Shen sensed that Voss was checking each reply for cracks in their facade. His pulse quickened when Voss said, offhand, "I keep hearing rumors about House Salvarose's new alliances. The city's enthralled by Jennersen's comeback. Some call it the biggest miracle since the One-Eyed Pilgrim tales. Funny how these stories captivate people."

He paused, eyes drifting to Riley or Shen for a reaction. Riley offered only a neutral nod. "Miracles do catch folks' imagination, yeah." She pressed her lips tight, giving no ground. Voss let the moment hang, but Morgan interjected with a forced laugh, guiding talk to safer topics of greenhouse maintenance.

Despite the tension, the meal ended without incident. Voss and Morgan claimed they had "supplies to store" and departed again, leaving behind a hush that felt heavier than any they'd known. Shen noticed how Surya exhaled in relief, and how Angela slumped a bit more, exhaustion from the double-layers of pretense.

---

Night's shadows stretched into every corner of the safehouse as they cleaned up scraps of bread and stew. The lantern's flicker revealed tired faces. No one announced bed, but slowly they drew closer, forming a ring of battered chairs and crates.

Listik leaned his elbow on his knee, scanning them. "We played normal well enough tonight." He rubbed a palm across his jaw, checking for any tension. "But I don't like it. Feels like we're lying with every breath."

Surya snorted. "We are lying with every breath. But it's either that or get roped into a conspiracy we can't handle."

Alexander sat with hands folded, considering. "We have each other. That's more than any normal raider group can say. We supposedly overcame death to be here. We can handle a little deception, right?"

Angela gave the barest shrug, her gaze drifting. "It's not lying that gets me—it's the waiting. Knowing any day, they might figure out who we are, or that we're leveling too fast." She closed her eyes briefly. "And that might lead to House Salvarose. Lead to… Dana."

At the mention of Dana, the hush thickened. Riley bowed her head. For all her Zelion strength, uncertainty wreathed her shoulders. "We just trust her, yeah? She'd never turn on us."

A faint stirring in Shen's chest told him he believed that, too, even if politics could warp good intentions. He tapped his foot once, releasing tension. "We trust her—Dana—but we watch Voss, Morgan, everyone else. No one else must suspect we're the missing survivors."

They nodded in unison. For a moment, the battered chairs and flickering lantern formed a fortress of shared purpose. Surya cracked a jest about how dull it was having to "play dumb," drawing half-laughs. Listik rolled his eyes but smirked. Even Angela, half-lidded, let out a wry sigh.

---

A soft hush blanketed the room as the night deepened. One by one, they retreated to cots or corners, too keyed-up to sleep but too tired for more talk. Shen lingered near a narrow window, cracked open to let out stale air. Past the alley, ash-stained rooftops glimmered faintly under a veil of clouded moonlight.

He pressed the worn cover of his notebook to his chest, recalling the hush of Voss's voice, Morgan's excited mention of "House Salvarose," and the dire possibility of them being discovered as survivors. The faint swirl of the Axis interface danced at the edge of his vision, awarding minor XP for the day's progress, a chilling reminder that they were leveling in a game no one else knew existed.

Dana, he thought, letting the name echo in his mind. His memory conjured the old glimpses of her—edgy confidence even in hardship. If she truly rose high among the city's powers, what would it mean for them, her friends who were supposed to be dead?

He exhaled slowly. They would keep training, keep quiet, until they were ready. No rumor, no alliance, no cunning figure could tear them apart.

Darkness settled deeper across the safehouse, wrapping each drifting soul in equal parts fear and determination. Shen shut his eyes at last, notebook tucked away, the faint glimmer of the ash-lantern tracing streaks on the worn floorboards. Tomorrow, they would face more training, more secrets, and the uncertain march of a city on the brink. For now, they had each other, and that was all they needed to keep on breathing.