The Harvest Begins
The hiss of the Harvester pod's depressurization was the last mechanical sound George Lydia heard before the oppressive, living silence of the wild swallowed him whole. As the violet veil of the monolith's energy dissipated, George stepped out onto the damp earth, his boots sinking slightly into a thick carpet of emerald moss. He stood for a moment, his breath hitching in his chest, as he adjusted to the sudden transition from the stone-cold geometry of the factory to the raw, untamed lungs of the world. A sense of iron-clad determination was etched onto his young face, though beneath the surface, the weight of uncertainty pressed heavily upon his shoulders. This was not the Academy's training grounds, nor was it the shifting stone corridors of the Maze City; this was the Forest of Golems, a place of ancient, biological malice.
High above, the canopy was a tangled cathedral of interlocking branches, allowing only fractured slivers of sunlight to filter through. The dappled glow played across the forest floor, illuminating ancient ferns and the gnarled roots of trees that seemed to watch his every move with a patient, wooden hunger. George reached up, his fingers trembling slightly as he touched the tele-stone ring on his finger. Almost immediately, the stone began to thrum with a rhythmic, familiar pulse—a tether of hope in a sea of green.
With a practiced swipe of his finger, George activated the stone. A crystalline projection of a compass flickered to life, hovering just above his hand. The needle didn't point North; it danced and settled, pointing toward the unique magical echoes of the friends he had been torn away from during the drop.
"Nana, Kayn, Arthur... don't die. I promise I'll find you," he whispered, his voice sounding small against the towering timber. As he began his journey, the untamed beauty of the wilderness surrounded him, offering a stark, jarring contrast to the turmoil raging within his young heart.
The trees here were giants, their bark thick and plated like the armor of the monsters he knew were lurking in the shadows. For hours, George navigated the labyrinth of trunk and thorn, his fear and excitement warring within him. Every snap of a twig beneath his boots felt like a thunderclap in the stillness, a reminder that the world he knew was gone—replaced by the lethal uncertainty of the Forest of Golems. He pushed forward, his eyes locked on the flickering light of the compass, venturing deeper into the shadows where his story would truly begin.