“You want to do what?” S?urtinaui asked, half-confused, half-amused.

  Jack threw his arms wide. “You’ve never heard of Power Rangers?! Come on! I thought at least one of them would’ve made it to Requiem by now! Maybe you just didn’t know what you were looking at—but either way, that’s what I’m going for!”

  She blinked slowly. “I have no idea how to help with that. I don’t even understand the concept.”

  Jack sighed like a teacher dealing with the world’s densest student. “Okay, okay, picture this: five people—sometimes six or seven—each with their own color-coded armor, theme, and weapon. They fight monsters, shout stuff like ‘It’s morphin’ time!’, and then—boom!—transform with flashy lights and sound effects. They get special powers, pilot mechs, and kick the bad guy’s ass with a giant sword made out of friendship.”

  S?urtinaui blinked again. “…Friendship.”

  “Hey! Don’t mock it till you fight it,” he added quickly, remembering that harem squad he took out.

  She tilted her head, ignoring that outburst and getting back to the topic. “So… they use something like Ryun to create armor that manifests from willpower?”

  “Uh… yeah!” Jack said, snapping his fingers. “Exactly that! Except instead of Ryun, it’s—well, usually some kind of mystical energy, alien tech, or time-traveling morph grid. Point is, I want that.”

  S?urtinaui rubbed her temples. “So let me summarize before I lose brain cells. You want to channel your Ryun through your Echo Authority and manifest armor that matches your power—activated by some kind of trigger phrase like these ‘Power Rangers.’”

  Jack grinned. “Now you’re getting it! Think of it—Dimensional Echo Armor, glowing lights, energy plating, maybe a helmet with a cool visor—tell me that wouldn’t be badass!”

  S?urtinaui sighed but couldn’t hide a smirk. “Badass, yes. Practical? Debatable.”

  “Practical is for side characters,” Jack said with a wink. “I’m the MC.”

  “Then as your mentor,” she said dryly, “I guess it’s my moral duty to make sure your transformation sequence doesn’t kill you.”

  Jack pointed finger-guns at her. “See? You do get it.”

  She exhaled through her nose, already regretting agreeing to this training session. “Fine. Let’s see if we can make your ‘morphin’ time’ work with Ryun physics.”

  They tried.

  First attempt

  Jack clapped his hands together. “Echo Armor: Red Nova Mode!”

  A bright pulse erupted, but instead of armor, a glowing Ryun cube floated between them like a broken lantern.

  S?urtinaui squinted. “That’s… not even remotely armor.”

  Jack frowned. “Abstract start. Gotta crawl before you morph.”

  Second attempt

  He flared his aura, golden light swirling. It shaped itself into something helmet-like—until it sprouted wings and screamed. Loudly. Then exploded.

  “That one screamed,” S?urtinaui said flatly.

  “Yeah, uh… morphing noise effect,” Jack muttered.

  Third attempt

  He pulled in more Ryun, and for a brief second armor did form across his torso. Gleaming plates, sharp and perfect. Then it slid off his body like water and disintegrated.

  “Okay,” S?urtinaui said, “now it’s just evaporating.”

  “Why is this so complicated?!” Jack groaned, ruffling his hair.

  Fourth attempt

  He took a deep breath, steadied his stance, and called on both his natural Ryun and his Dimensional Echo Authority. The air shimmered. The energy pulsed—alive, heavy, bending the space around them. She saw it: armor blooming across his limbs like mirrored light, fractal plates forming perfectly for one heartbeat—then shattering like glass.

  Jack kicked the floor. “This made sense! Why isn’t it working?!”

  S?urtinaui placed a hand on his shoulder. “Calm yourself. You’re mixing instinct and imitation. You’re forcing your power to mimic an idea rather than letting it manifest. Try separating them. Use Ryun first, naturally, then build your authority over it.”

  Jack frowned. “But my ability is Ryun-based. Why can I use Ryun separately if my ability is Ryun?”

  S?urtinaui hesitated, lowering her hand. “…”

  “This sucks! It made sense! I know what I’m doing wrong but also not at all!”

  She didn’t answer.

  In her mind, the truth formed. Because it isn’t the same. And if she was right—if what coursed through him wasn’t this world’s power at all—then he wasn’t just manipulating Ryun. He was bending something older, something that wasn’t supposed to exist here.

  If that’s true, she thought quietly, then no one on this ship will be able to stop him.

  She forced a small smile. “Let’s… take a break. You’re improving. We’ll try again soon.”

  Jack grinned, already hyped again. “Hell yeah, next time I’m getting the full morph sequence!”

  S?urtinaui turned away, hiding the unease in her eyes. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

  ———

  Tinsurnae, Caroline, and Mekiea leaned against the rail of the balcony, scattering crumbs for the birds that nested along the ship’s edge. The air was warm, filled with the flutter of wings and the soft hum of the engines. Caroline had started humming something upbeat and, before long, both she and Tinsurnae were belting out the chorus of I’ll Make a Man Out of You—off-key, loud, and absolutely committed.

  Mekiea tried to follow the rhythm, his normally calm voice wavering as he mixed up every other lyric.

  “Did he just say ‘swift as the coursing chicken’?” Tinsurnae asked, giggling.

  Caroline nearly dropped her handful of feed. “River! It’s river! Oh my god, you’re butchering a classic!”

  He smiled faintly. “I thought the point was to sing with passion, not accuracy.”

  Before Tinsurnae could respond, a voice echoed from the doorway.

  “It’s time!”

  They turned to see Bebele waddling into view, his ring of ears vibrating with unnecessary drama.

  Caroline groaned. “And here comes the thumb of doom.”

  “Thumb of efficiency,” Bebele corrected, crossing his stubby arms. “Unlike certain individuals who waste valuable mission prep singing archaic Earth hymns to flying vermin.”

  “They’re called birds, genius!” Caroline shot back. “And at least I’m not shaped like a rejected teapot.”

  “I’ll have you know I am perfectly proportioned for optimal sound resonance,” Bebele replied indignantly, his ears fluttering like irritated fans. “And I was summoned for this form, not manufactured.”

  “Oh yeah? Summoned by who, a deaf potter?”

  Tinsurnae sighed, rubbing her temples. “Magjesti…”

  “Enough.” Mekiea stepped forward, calm but firm, and gently placed his hand over Caroline’s mouth. “You are about to start an interspecies incident.”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Caroline’s muffled words came out somewhere between a growl and a snicker.

  Bebele straightened proudly. “Thank you, Mekiea. Finally, someone with manners.”

  The red-haired man gave a soft smile.

  Tinsurnae laughed under her breath. “Alright, you two,” she said, tossing the last of the bird feed. “Let’s go.”

  Caroline wriggled free of Mekiea’s hand with a grin. “Dungeon time!”

  Bebele’s ears twitched in exasperation.

  They walked through the long central corridor, the hum of the ship growing louder the deeper they went. The hall curved gently with the ship’s hull, lined with silver lights that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. The floor here was a mix of steel plating and soft blue panels that glowed faintly underfoot.

  Occulted Moon members moved through the space in perfect sync—some carrying crates of equipment, others checking rune-laced screens, their robes flowing in rhythmic unison. No one barked orders; they didn’t need to. Every movement was purposeful, efficient. It looked less like military discipline and more like a practiced ritual—order disguised as grace.

  Caroline glanced around, genuinely impressed. “Wow. I thought with this many people it’d be chaos. You’ve got, like, a hundred folks moving and no one’s crashing into anyone.”

  Mekiea nodded, hands tucked behind his back. “Tabia runs a tight ship. Even when she’s not here, her structure holds. She believes control breeds calm.”

  Bebele chimed in without breaking stride. “Chaos in order is the best order to battle chaos. It’s how Captain Ozzy prefers it—fluid coordination born from trust, not blind obedience.”

  Caroline blinked. “You’re saying this is organized chaos?”

  “Precisely,” Bebele said, clearly pleased with himself. “Our goddess favors balance. Order without chaos stagnates; chaos without order destroys.”

  “Deep,” Caroline muttered. “Still feels like a cult.”

  “Is a cult,” Tinsurnae whispered with a small smile.

  Bebele’s ears twitched in irritation. “We are a highly functional organization of faith and logistics, thank you very much.”

  They reached the southside of the ship where the air grew warmer, humming with machinery. The hallway opened into a vast hangar-like chamber, easily large enough to fit several smaller ships. The walls were lined with weapon racks, stacked supplies, and floating cargo crates drifting under low-gravity tethers.

  At the center, a crowd had already gathered—rows of Occulted Moon soldiers standing in neat semicircles around a projection pad. Kiera stood at the front, wiping her hands on a rag, her yellow tank and purple tie looking wildly out of place among uniformed robes. S?urtinaui was beside her, calm and poised, while Jack leaned on the railing with an excited grin that could only mean trouble.

  “Looks like the party started without us,” Caroline said, practically bouncing on her heels.

  Tinsurnae placed a hand on her shoulder. “Relax. We’ll get there in time.”

  “I am relaxed!” Caroline grinned, voice way too high to sell it.

  Mekiea smiled softly. “You’re vibrating.”

  “Shut up.”

  Bebele cleared his ears, stepping forward as they joined the group. “Present and accounted for. Now let us commence this briefing before excitement becomes contagion.”

  Caroline leaned toward Tinsurnae. “He says that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Tinsurnae smirked.

  Kiera stood on the raised platform at the front of the hangar, her voice echoing clearly over the hum of engines and shifting armor plates.

  “Alright, everyone—listen up!” she said, cupping her hands over her mouth. “This isn’t your average expedition. We’re entering a V-Dungeon. For the uneducated among you, that means Virtual Dungeon. R-Dungeons—those are Real Dungeons. The difference?” She smirked. “One tries to kill you physically. The other does it virtually and physically.”

  A few scattered laughs rippled through the crowd, but one guy in the back yelled, “Holy Moons!”

  “Settle down!” Kiera barked, and the noise died instantly.

  She continued, gesturing to the massive screen behind her. A simulation flickered to life—half urban ruins, half overgrown garden, both twisting together into an impossible hybrid of city streets and mutated flora.

  “F.Y.I this is a guess on the terrain once inside. This particular V-Dungeon,” she said, “is a fusion of Call of Duty: Zombies and Plants vs. Zombies. Don’t ask me how or why—Requiem enjoys blending nightmares. We’ll be guarding zones, clearing waves, and protecting energy points. Fail to hold your post, and we’ll be overrun.”

  Murmurs broke out, excitement mixed with unease.

  Kiera raised her voice again. “Every one of you has been handpicked for this raid. Positions will be determined by specialization. Look for your name, come grab your tag and attach it to your robe.”

  She pointed to the table beside her, where three neat piles of metallic tags glimmered in the light—red, blue, and purple.

  “Red is Offense—you’re our vanguard, our blades, our burnouts. Blue is Support—healers, menders, and resource casters. Purple is Containment—shield users, tacticians, anyone able to hold back the horde. Keep your colors visible at all times. If someone goes down, know who you’re running to.”

  The group lined up, one by one, to claim their tags. The clinking of metal echoed faintly through the hangar.

  “The estimated runtime is one week,” Kiera went on, folding her arms. “But if we clear objectives quickly, the dungeon could collapse early. Don’t let that fool you—it’ll still feel like a week. Inside, time bends, reality flickers, and fatigue compounds. Keep your head on straight and your Ryun steady.”

  S?urtinaui nodded slightly from her position in the crowd. She and Kiera had gone over every contingency already, and seeing how effortlessly Kiera commanded the room impressed her. She retains information like she breathes, S?urtinaui thought.

  Jack was practically glowing, spinning his red tag on his finger. “Oh yeah,” he whispered. “Now this—this is my arc.”

  Caroline could barely contain herself, bouncing on her heels as she fastened her own tag. “Zombies! Actual Zombies! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this quest to matter?”

  Tinsurnae just shook her head. “You’re way too excited about undeath.”

  “Don’t ruin this for me, Tinny.”

  Bebele, however, said nothing. His usually twitching ring of ears remained still as he clutched something in his pocket. His aura pulsed faintly.

  Kiera clapped her hands. “Say your goodbyes and report to the southern bay. Launch in twenty minutes. Once we cross that threshold—there’s no turning back until the mission’s done.”

  The crowd erupted into motion, the sound of boots and robes filling the chamber as teams formed and last checks began.

  Caroline grinned at her squad. “Well,” she said, practically vibrating, “time to get this quest complete! One zombie at a time!”

  Tinsurnae sighed. “Or die trying.”

  Jack smirked. “Maybe you’ll die. But a few zombies shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Bebele waddled through the crowd with his usual uneven gait, his ears twitching lightly as he approached Jack. “A moment of your time, if you’d be so kind.”

  Jack grinned. “For you? Always, buddy ol’ pal.”

  They stepped off to the side, disappearing between rows of stacked supply crates. Jack’s voice carried faintly, but Bebele’s tone stayed low, almost murmuring, their words swallowed by the hum of the hangar.

  Across the bay, Caroline turned toward Mekiea. She hesitated for only a second before throwing her arms around him.

  “You sure you’re not coming?” she asked, her voice small.

  He smiled, brushing a thumb along her cheek. “Someone needs to make sure the ship’s still here when you get back. Besides, I wasn't picked.”

  “Right,” she said, trying not to pout. “I get it.”

  He leaned closer. “It’s only a week. I’m sure you’ll be able to manage. I’ll be the one bored while you fight the undead.”

  Caroline laughed softly, the sound dissolving into a kiss—quick but full of something genuine. A promise that neither of them said aloud.

  Not far away, Tinsurnae stood with her arms folded, her expression unreadable. S?urtinaui joined her, the faint shimmer of Ryun still radiating around her frame.

  “You alright?” S?urtinaui asked, voice calm but warm.

  Tinsurnae exhaled through her nose. “Yeah. Just that pit-in-the-stomach feeling again. Comes with the whole ‘might die soon’ package.”

  S?urtinaui nodded. “Being the strongest has its own set of problems. But don’t forget—we’re here to support you.”

  Tinsurnae blinked, a little caught off guard. “That’s… surprisingly kind of you.”

  “I’ve been a bit standoffish,” S?urtinaui admitted with a faint smile. “And we don’t always see eye to eye. But regardless of our rough beginnings, I’m glad you joined the team.”

  For a second, Tinsurnae didn’t respond. The words sat in her chest like a small, unexpected flame. Then she shook her head and smiled softly. “Thanks. That means more than I expected.”

  They stood there in the low thrum of engines, quiet until Tinsurnae finally asked, “You good, though? You sound like you’re bracing for something.”

  S?urtinaui’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I am fine. But… I’ll admit, Jack’s ability frightens me.”

  Tinsurnae’s brow furrowed. “You still think he’s dangerous?”

  “I think,” S?urtinaui said carefully, “he doesn’t know what he’s capable of yet. And that makes him dangerous without meaning to be. Keep an eye on him, please. I trust your instincts.”

  Tinsurnae nodded slowly. “He’s not evil. Just… untested. Maybe leaving him here wasn’t North’s best move, though.”

  S?urtinaui flexed her fingers. “Agreed. I don’t think it’ll come to it—but if something happens, promise me you’ll stop him.”

  “I should be able to,” Tinsurnae said quietly, “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come down to that.”

  S?urtinaui gave a small nod, eyes fixed on the massive hangar door now beginning to open. All that was left now was the next step.

  ———

  The Whispering Tree loomed over the dead. Its bark was the color of old ash, its surface cracked and seeping faint light from veins of black-green Ryun that pulsed with unnatural rhythm. The tree had no leaves—only twisted, gnarled branches that stretched in every direction like skeletal arms trying to grasp the sky.

  Its roots weren’t buried but sprawled outward across the ruined ground, thick as towers, alive with a slow, thrumming pulse. Each one quivered faintly, feeding energy into the soil and into the sea of figures surrounding it.

  Millions and millions of zombies stood at attention in perfect silence. Their forms varied: rotted soldiers in rusted armor, shambling beasts with metal grafted into their spines, spectral corpses flickering between flesh and dust. Their eyes burned with that same dull green Ryun light that leaked from the tree’s core. They weren’t growling or snarling. They were waiting.

  Above them, nestled in the ancient branches, sat four beings—each shaped from the tree’s own essence. Their bodies were semi-translucent, woven from bark, mist, and memory. Their faces were not distinct but constantly shifting—one moment resembling humans, the next morphing into alien visages that barely resembled anything that had lived.

  They didn’t speak so much as they thought in unison, their words vibrating in the air like ripples across a still pond.

  [They are coming.]

  The thought carried through the branches, echoing down to the roots and back.

  [They seek the fruit. The knowledge. The power. The memories.]

  [One among them must not touch the core.]

  A low tremor ran through the tree’s body, Ryun pulsing brighter for a moment, bathing the zombie horde in pale green light.

  [The one who carries the reflection.]

  [If they reach us, then they will remember the old war.]

  The beings turned their faceless heads toward the dark horizon, where faint flickers of movement—ships, light, Ryun signatures—approached through the fog.

  [Then we will prepare.]

  The four extended their arms, and from the base of the tree, an ancient groan echoed as the first wave of the horde began to stir. Fingers twitched. Skulls turned.

  The dead began to move.