A Few Minutes Before Nyxara Released Her Mana
Three weeks.
Khepri stood at the edge of the observation deck, fingers curled loosely around the cold steel railing as the ship hovered above the mist-wrapped mountains of Tanzania. The low engine hum beneath his boots did little to settle the quiet storm brewing in his chest. Three weeks of scanning, searching, waiting—and still, nothing.
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The crew moved like ghosts in a steel tomb, their movements mechanica and drained of spirit. Every footstep was muted, and every breath carried the weight of growing despair. The hum of the ship's systems echoed like a distant heartbeat, too faint to soothe the tension gripped the air. The once crisp uniforms now hung wrinkled and sweat-stained on weary shoulders.
