Chapter 1

The Gate

The Steppes

Planet: Shuuyer

Continent: Adimsia

Country/Territory: Khimikia

Location: At least a thousand kilometers from anywhere

Date: 25th Day of Crobe's Waning, 2211 - 2211:11:25

A storm's brewing. It's the beginning of the rainy season on the steppes. Lightning flickers in the distance, steadily getting closer. However, the towering elf sitting hunched down under the thin, grass-covered tent pays it no mind. He's far too enraptured with the spectacle unfolding before him.

His joints ache as he sits on the squat camp stool. He's middle-aged for an elf, having just turned four-hundred. There was no celebration. He has no close friends or relations anymore. His copper skin and pale blue hair, once shining smooth, have dulled from so much time spent in the suns during his expeditions. The left of his upward-spiraling horns has broken off halfway up, a souvenir from his youth, when he got a bit overzealous in his studies and found himself face to face with the bear he was tracking. His bright elven eyes, black of sclera with white pupils and a faintly glowing red pupil, peer out through a slit in the tent.

“Danel Duska: zoologist. Notes for 25th of Crobe's Waning, 2211,” he mutters, holding up the recorder to his lips. “Time: 16:43. Have set up an observation post near the pod.”

Danel grunts as he leans down, plucking up his trusty, well-worn pair of binoculars to survey the pod.

“At present, it looks as though the coming of the rain has the pod on edge. They can sense something I don’t yet see. Will continue observation.”

The pod are kozien; large, lobster-like terrestrial crustaceans. Specifically, these are females, even larger than their speedy male counterparts. The females live in large pods where they look after the young. Males are loners who rely on their speed for defence. The majority of eggs laid are male, which are on their own from hatching, providing a steady source of nutrition across the steppes.

At the moment, they're milling into a circle. Their short but broad, flat tails are flared to help them look larger. Their antennae are deployed, flailing about, as they taste the air. They have sharp eyesight, but in this weather and tall grass, the extra perception is lifesaving. They know something they don't like is in the area. The swirling winds from the oncoming storm give them a scent of something approaching, but not enough to pinpoint the direction.

The females are now ushering their larvae into the center of the pod, forming a ring around them. Their splayed tails are moved over the young, while at the front, their flattened, blade-like arms unfold and refold, stretching and preparing for action. Fascinating behaviour. Danel grins in almost indecent anticipation. This was what he had been waiting all his life to see. There was only a handful of predators in the entire world that could put a pod of kozien so on edge. And he's here to observe some in a hunt at last.

Danel scans the rest of the waving grass now. The storm was nearing, the wind and rain whipping the tall grass around. He is sure the hunters he's been waiting for will not be too difficult to spot, even in the storm.

It is known that banmeti, "bone crushers" in the old tongue, or just crushers, feed on kozien. Plenty of discarded shells have been found in crusher dens. Likewise, the remains of dead crushers have been found bearing the hallmarks of cuts and broken bones from kozien claws and tails. Yet, no one has ever witnessed - or recorded witnessing - an actual hunt of kozien by crushers. If he's played his cards right, he should be the first.

“Kozien getting more anxious,” he whispers into the recorder. “Keeping lookout for banme—wait!”

He drops the recorder and leans forward, his hands gripping the binoculars tightly. There they are. Low, broad mounds are floating across the top of the grass towards the pod. From his position on top of the hill, he can see them, but the kozien are unaware.

At last, one dares raise its head just high enough to peer at the pod. It's outsized, mammalian, and square with a short, broad muzzle. Typically, the leader of the pack is its matriarch or patriarch. There's little sexual dimorphism in bone crushers. One needs to view the genitals to verify. They operate in multi-generational family units. The leaders are usually grandparents or even great-grandparents who lead until they grow too old, at which point the role is passed on to their oldest offspring.

He studies the head carefully. It's a powerful beast; he estimates it's over three meters long. The top of its body is covered in leaf-shaped keratin scales. The scales offer protection from the heavy ultraviolet light of the three suns in the system, as well as enough flexibility for a proper hunter. Its lower half will be covered in soft tan fur. The head is outsized for the body, featuring massive jaws that gave the group its common name. There are eleven recognised species in the group, ranging from half a meter with the Wattnan Lesser Crusher, to the hulking three and a half meter long King Crusher.

The crushers before him now are king crushers. Their outsized jaws feature a diabolical mix of teeth, with razor-sharp incisors and bullet-shaped canines, leading to powerful, bone-crushing molars. Danel checks the wind. The crushers are moving on the kozien from downwind, typical hunting behaviour among mammalian predators. If the wind weren't so loud, he's certain he could hear the pack tipping as they coordinate the coming attack.

The pod has become more agitated than ever. They're starting to clack their claws together in a threat display. However the attack plays out, it is a great day for zoology. Few care for it anymore. Populations have been dwindling across Shuuyer as the various elfkin and kithkin expand their own. Danel aims to help change that.

The kozien lower their antennae. This must be it. They know the attack is coming. They're moving their antennae out of the way of their claws, and of course, the snapping jaws of the crushers. It's fascinating to watch the kozien in their defensive ring. Is it entirely instinct? Are they communicating? Is it both? Kozien that have been domesticated show high levels of intelligence, even being used as heavy cavalry mounts. If they can understand the commands of a rider, surely they have some way of communicating with each other.

Danel's grin grows. This is it. It's going to happen. The pack has completely encircled the pod. He thinks he can count at least six individuals. Those are likely the adults. There are likely some older juveniles as well, hidden by the grass, that he cannot yet see.

A crusher makes a move. It darts into the clearing, snapping its jaws at the kozien, then darts back out of sight. The pod starts to move towards that threat when, a second later, another crusher bounds out to the left of the previous attack. This one gets a nip on the leg of a distracted kozien before ducking back out of sight, just barely missing a slashing claw lashing through the air where its head just was.

“Clever, clever,” Danel approves.

The pack is trying to confuse the kozien and find a weak point. They don't actually want any of the adults. It's the plump, nutrient-rich larvae in the middle they're after.

The rain starts in earnest, but he pays it no mind. He can't let anything distract him now. The attack has just begun.

Just then came a flash of light followed by a concussive force that he feels through the ground and his stool more than hears as it deafens him almost instantly. He nearly drops the binoculars, managing to bring them back up and looks through them again. His heart drops in despair. The lightning strike was so close that it spooked the kozien. Instead of remaining in their ring, they have now scattered, adults scooping the young up with their tails and attempting to flee. To Danel's horror, the crushers give chase but are also scattered by the unexpected movement and likely startled by the lightning as well. As he stares in disbelief, both the pack and the pod move off over a ridge and out of sight.

“No, no, no, no-no-no-no-NO!” Danel shouts, getting to his feet and throwing his binoculars to the ground, knocking over his tent in his rage.

“It’s just a bit of lightning! It’s just lightning! You put up with it every fall, you bastards!” he roars over the sound of the storm.

He's alone again. He sighs as his anger fades and disappointment sets in. He's spent two months here, stalking the wilds, waiting for his moment. And there it went, gone in a single atmospheric discharge. Who knows when he will get that chance again?

He grumbles as he starts to pack up his now soaking wet gear. He himself is already drenched from the downpour. It's then something gives him pause. What the hell had the lightning hit? He's, and his tent were the tallest things in the area. He now feels guilty for ignoring that risk. He'd have done no one any good fried to a crisp.

In fact, he's still putting his safety aside for the sake of curiosity. It had to have been right here. His ears are still ringing. He scans the surrounding area when a glint catches his eye. He squints, focusing. What could that be?

He crouches as low as he can, hoping to avoid calling down another bolt, which is difficult at his 206cm height, not including his one remaining full horn. As he nears, he remembers. Yes, there was a tree there. A small tree, but a tree all the same. It's about halfway down the hill he set himself upon. The ground is scattered with wood fragments. The lightning struck the tree, obliterating it. 

Danel moves forward slowly, puzzling. How had the lightning struck the tree and not him? He tilts his head side to side, trying to pick up the reflective glint he's seen before. Ah, there it is. He suddenly realizes he needs to be recording this, turning back to his half-repacked gear. He plucks out his recorder, hurrying back to the side of the strike.

“Time is now seventeen..." he checks his watch, "twenty-four. A lightning strike scared off the pod, breaking up the hunt. However, I’ve just seen something…”

He pauses, blinking. He thought it was a trick of the light, but there's a strange distortion in the air above the blast mark where the tree exploded. The roots are curled and blackened. It called down one hell of a blast. The distortion looks like a heat mirage, but it can't be that. 

He keeps moving closer, then starts to circle. He freezes again as he realizes what he is looking at. There is a sort of disc hovering in the air. It's transparent, but it's there. The shining is coming from directly beneath it.

Danel's heart jumps into his throat. He recognizes it now as a distant flash of lightning illuminates the scene again.

Silver. The deadliest substance known to elfkin, just above gold and copper. The three Primetals. The forbidden substances.

"It's... some sort of... disc... and... something silver..." Danel dictates to the recorder as he resumes circling the scene.

The base must be artificial. It looks polished. The tree must have grown over it. Biological and botanical beings are not affected by the Primetals to nearly the same extent as elves. Some have slight allergic reactions to it, but for a jorric being like an elf, it will leave scars and wounds that can never be healed. He understands now why the lightning struck here instead of his tent. While he was taller, the amount of electric buildup over here must have overpowered it. He wonders what caused it to happen now, rather than before. Perhaps between the last rainy season and now, the tree grew enough to touch the metal properly. At which point, it became a natural lightning rod.

Danel raises his eyes back to the disc. The way it affects the light passing through it makes him certain it is moving somehow. Perhaps rotating. His hearing is steadily returning, and even though the continuing downpour, he becomes aware of a faint humming noise, clearly coming from the disc and the still mostly hidden base. Yet as he watches, the rain begins to wash away the dirt, exposing more of the base. He wants to fetch a shovel, but that would risk calling down another strike, he's sure.

With little else for it, Danel returns to his gear, packing up the rest of it as best he can, before moving further down the hill. He finds a fallen log and sits, draping the tent over him rather than trying to set it up again, and waits. He's cold, but he doesn't care. He can't risk being unable to find this site again. Minutes tick by as he watches, shivering, waiting for the rain to let up and the storm to move on. His eyes are fixed on the site, blinking slowly. Now that he knows what to look for, he can see the disc clearly. It's oval-shaped, and clearly, not the entire object is rotating. So it must be the disc's substance that is rotating. Curious.

Three hours later, the rain finally begins to let up. The distant white glow of Bora has already set. It's been some time since he's heard any thunder now that the ringing is fully gone. Danel rises, tossing off the tent covering, and picks up his collapsible spade, then returns to the site, sparking up a lantern.

"Now the rain has abated, I shall continue my observations," Danel dictates to the recorder. "I was correct before, it is a disc. I'm not certain about the material. It may be a manifestation of Jor..."

He pauses, closes his eyes, and relies on his other senses.

"I can only smell the scent of rain and burnt wood from the lightning strike. Yet... yes... the disc or its base is making a noise. A very low hum. Interesting. I am going to attempt to reveal more of the base beneath the disc."

At this, Danel pulls on some soggy gloves, unfolds his collapsible spade, and sets to work. As best he can, Danel crouches down, steadily and delicately using the shovel to scrape off more of the mud and dirt. He approaches it like an archeologist forced to use the worst tools possible, but he has little choice. He's a zoologist. This isn't entirely his wheelhouse.

An hour later, he thinks he's exposed enough. It's an entire structure, it seems, but he only exposed the base directly underneath the disc. The base is mostly stone, but with a large silver plate of sorts, around a meter wide, set atop it. He'd have done more work, but the close proximity to that much silver has been steadily giving him a headache. Even with work gloves, he doesn't dare touch the shining metal.

Danel turns his attention to the stone surrounding the basin as closely as he dares. 

"Now... what's this...?"

There are intricate runes carved around the hexagonal edge. Six, a significant number on Shuuyer. All cultures, be they elfkin or kithkin, hold the number three and its multiples as sacred, representing the three major celestial forms of Bora, Crobe, and Kvum. He sits back on his haunches, raising his eyes to the sky. The stars are gone, covered by a new wave of clouds. More rain is on the way. He moves the lantern closer to the base, studying the runes closely. He doesn't recognize them, but their presence is curious.

Runes are evidence of kithkin, a method of drawing out the natural Jor inherent to everything. Elfkin were blessed long ago by Kvum to manifest and use Jor without them, though it still takes years of practice and study to properly control it. Danel himself was never much good at it. His studies and passions lay elsewhere. It lies out here, in the wild, with nature. As such, runic magic works just fine for him.

Danel rubs his chin. There's a mist in the air again. It will begin pouring again soon. He should get back to his proper camp. He starts looking over his gear for something to mark the location as best he can, so he can find this spot again quickly.

He pauses as his ear twitches. His eyes dart around, scanning the rolling horizon. There was a low, unfamiliar sound. It sounded biological, and somehow both near and far away at the same time. He keeps listening, only his eyes moving.

There it is again. His head snaps automatically in the direction it came, but he finds himself looking straight into the distortion of the disc. Had it come from the disc or beyond it? He shifts slightly to the side by a meter or so, moving as quietly as he can, listening.

Once more. His head is drawn again to the disc. It has to be the source. He runs a hand over his recently dried hair as he thinks, feeling tiny drops of water falling onto his bare palms and wide ears.

"I am... hearing a strange sound now..." he tells the recorder. "It... sounds as though it is coming from the disc. I cannot identify the sound, but I have a feeling it is biological..."

Danel looks around. There are a few branches and sticks lying around. Disposable objects. He picks one up and turns his eyes back down to the base.

He can't put a finger on it, but his instincts tell him this strange object is not dangerous. Despite the heavy amounts of silver, it is far too beautiful in its construction. It is a work of art, not a weapon of war. So, what is the disc?

He looks down at the stick in his hand. He takes a deep breath and takes a couple of steps away from the disc and the base, just in case. He nods to himself and tosses the stick at the disc. Instinctively, he closes his eyes, turning his head away, covering it with an arm.

He's not sure what he expected to happen, but it certainly was not: nothing at all. He turns back to the disc. There it floats in the sprinkling rain. Danel leans to peer around it. The stick is not there.

"Interesting..." Danel mumbles to no one in particular. His curiosity raised, he looks for another branch. Finding one, he steps back up to the disc.

"Alright, let's see if my luck keeps holding out..."

He takes another slow breath, thinking an oath to Bora, and tosses this branch as well, this time not turning away. His eyes widen as the branch vanishes as it passes through the disc.

Danel stares, trying to process the test results. It did not seem like a dissolution. The disc did not appear to disintegrate or otherwise harm the branch.

A possibility dawns on Danel. It couldn't be. But he must know.

Danel turns, moving about, looking for the longest remnant of the tree he can find. It's becoming difficult in the increasing rain. Finally, he settles upon the longest, still covered in shining leaves.

Turning to the disc, he takes one last bolstering breath.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters to himself as he moves the branch closer.

He closes his eyes and braces himself for whatever will happen when the branch touches the disc. He nearly drops it when a strange tingling starts in his hand. He opens his eyes. The branch is halfway into the disc.

“Okay… so I haven’t been electrocuted or disintegrated or worse… score one for me,” he says, drawing the branch back out. As he pulls it near, the rest begins to come back into view. It is not in fact destroying the sticks.

Then it happens. Something tugs on the branch, so suddenly he almost stumbles.

“Hey,” Danel exclaims, jumping back instead.

The branch fully returns from the disc. He lifts it, studying the end. A clump of leaves has been stripped away.

“What in Bora’s name…?”

He turns his attention back to the disc, and as if fully out of control of his body, he sticks the branch back in.

After another minute, there are a few more tugs. Mostly gentle, but every now and then a firm one. He begins to pull the branch back once more when something grabs onto it hard and tugs. The branch slips from his hands, but not before it knocks him completely off balance, and he stumbles forward.

Danel shouts and holds up his hands, but it's too late. He stumbles straight into the disc. The tingling he felt in his hands washes over his entire body. His stomach floats with a strange lifting sensation before he's almost thrown to the ground. He grunts as his face lands in hot, but wet dirt.

A cascade of gravely lows and hoots sound off, mixed in with honks of alarm. Something heavy stamps into the ground right beside his head, causing him to leap to his feet in alarm despite being winded by the landing.

The creature before him is like nothing he has ever seen before. It stands as tall as him at the shoulder, with a head larger than his entire torso. Small but sharp, curious eyes study him from halfway up the skull. The mouth is broad, beaked, and flat, almost shovel-like, with two tusk-like canines descending from the upper jaw. It has four legs and two small arms and hands. They're so small, he's certain at a glance they're vestigial. The top half is mostly black, with cream-coloured spots that transition to a creamy underbelly. A copper stripe runs along each side of the skull, fading into the black of the dorsal. At the back, he can see a stubby tail shaking, whether from curiosity or agitation, he cannot tell. The skin on the back is a segmented shell, resembling scales fused into armour.

It could easily crush him with its many pillar-like legs or bite down on him with that broad mouth, but it does not. Instead, it keeps watching him. It's then he notices the end of the branch sticking out of the beak. It opens and closes its mouth, the flick of a tip of at tongue visible as it strips the leaves from the branch, which falls to the ground, bare.

More movement on the periphery draws his attention. There are more of the strange creatures, moving about him, watching with that same wary but curious manner as the first one he saw. Some are around the same size, but many are smaller, clearly calves. They're dragons, but like none he's ever seen before. 

It's then that Danel notices the other, perhaps strangest, part of the scene. It's now daytime. He looks up at the sky, shielding his eyes a bit. There's Kvum, and further away the red of Crobe, and a tiny but bright dot marking Bora.

Danel looks over his shoulder. There's the distortion of the disc. Beneath it is the base, fully exposed. The ground around it and beneath his feet is covered in a sparse but tall grass. The full base is large, larger than what he uncovered. It's shining as water from the bottom of the disc falls onto it, clearly brought over from the rain back where he came from. He rubs his head in disbelief.

It's a portal or gate of some kind. But is it a portal to where, or when?

A new sound perks his ears. A piercing cry. He turns to face it, seeing two forms approaching in the distance. These aren't on the ground; instead, they're swooping down from on high. More dragons, but these aren't alone. They have riders.

These dragons are far longer and slimmer than the ones he's already seen. Their wings are enormous, with long, slender necks and tails. The heads are small without adornment. Their underbellies are pale, with green backs and yellow stripes.

Danel stands his ground as they land, galloping and folding up their wings as they near. His eyes rise to take in the riders now. Somehow, he's sure they are the larger threat.

They're clearly kithkin, he can see that much. They are very broad-shouldered, with barely any neck, and large, blocky heads. The foreheads look thick, with a row of small horns running from just above the eyebrows back over the temples. Their ears are rounded on the bottom with pointed tops, and tufts of fur inside. The eyes are forward-facing, with a broad, flat nose ending in a black snout in between. They look to be covered in soft fawn fur with white undersides and dappled white spots on the shoulders of the rider on the left, who has removed his top, which appears to be tied around his waist.

Danel keeps his hands half-raised, hoping they take it as a sign of compliance and meaning "no harm." They are dressed simply, wearing hardened boots, trousers of a light, loose fabric, and, on the right, an embroidered tunic. Ominously, both have objects slung over their shoulders. The ends sticking up look to be stocks of some kind, clearly projectile weapons. His throat tightens.

The riders dismount. To his relief, they do not seem angry; instead, they are just as confused as he is. Their eyes move from him to the disc and base, and back as they approach, neither going for the weapons on their backs. Their mounts shift and snuffle the grass, folding up their outsized wings. 

"Dan zuba din?" the shirtless one says. Danel's sure it's a question, but he doesn't have the faintest idea what they are saying.

"...E zuba din...?" the other asks, looking Danel up and down in confusion.

Now that he's face-to-face, he can see that both are the same height as him, not including his one and a half horns. He can even see, through the fur, that both are almost solid muscle. The necks, in particular, are so muscular that they are difficult to notice. 

Danel slowly puts a hand on his chest.

"My name is Danel," he says, slow and steady.

The pair exchange a look. They clearly don't understand him any better than he understood them.

He taps his chest a couple more times. "Danel. Danel Duska. My name is Danel Duska."

They keep looking at him, confused. The one in the tunic points to the base and disk.

"Shin rayi bin ton an? E yaba yiyi?"

Danel shakes his head to show he doesn't understand. Charades it is.

He turns to the disc, pointing to it, then himself. Feeling silly but not knowing what else to do, Danel starts moving around it in circles, studying it. He can feel the pair's bemused looks. One of the more rotund beasts he first saw has moved up to the tuniced one, nuzzling his arm. The newcomer scratches it with a clawed hand.

So, they are shepards of sorts, then, Danel notes. This is their herd... of course, they want to know what the hell the strange-looking man is doing in the middle of their flock.

Danel picks up the branch, keeping his movements slow. The newcomers narrow their eyes a little. Danel raises the branch and returns it to the disc. Just as before, the tip vanishes, and a tingling sensation overcomes his hand. He mimes it being tugged and falling forward. He's not sure what tells him so, but judging by their looks and body language, they appear to understand. Danel looks back at the disc. He could jump through it right now and, hopefully, be back in his own place or time. He could get through before they could ever get their weapons around to fire at him.

And yet, as he looks back at the pair, he realizes how little he wants to. He's found a new place, with new creatures, and new peoples. No, really, he'd much rather stay.

One of the strange cattle now nuzzles his own hand. He glances at the ranchers. One makes a strange flicking motion with his hand. As their overall demeanour does not seem to change, he takes it as a sign of approval. He raises his hand and gently presses it against the beast's nose. The hardened scales are warm to the touch and dry. He rubs it up and down the broad snout. The beast gives a faint shudder and coo that he's sure is pleasure.

Oh yes. He'd much rather stay.