Gravity’s Shield

  Chapter 1: Tea at the End of the World

  The 3.7 Hz hum of the atmospheric shields vibrated through Evel’Lara’s small feet—a reminder of the super-chilled air that pressed and scraped against every wall, corner, and seam.

  Too cold to bear.

  She turned her stiff neck to check the digital display she had set on the table.

  Two months. That’s how long she had been here.

  She couldn’t feel much of anything at this point, so she reached under her shirt and made sure her issued nipple guards were still adhered to her skin. Chafing in this environment would only add to her numbed suffering.

  She missed home and its mild-mannered forests. At least there she could wear her cutest clothes.

  If she ever dared to wear anything thin here, the cold would find its way in, seeping under her skin and finding her knees and ankles first, stiffening them, then dulling thought and senses alike.

  She shivered just thinking about it, then sighed—time to work.

  Outside, the sky was the bruised purple of a localized gravity collapse, ionizing radiation meeting magnetic-fields, and a hint of Chicory Root Pie. Inside, the only pressing disaster was the whistling kettle. She poured water over dried Seryn-kaia leaves, letting the sharp, woody steam fog her visor.

  The hiss of the blastdoor greeted her when she returned inside.

  Across the room, Vael-Shyr was asleep, her cheek pressed against the casing of a dismantled plasma rifle. To her voueyer’s surprise, she looked... almost angelic. The would-be-lurker, Evel’Lara, draped a heavy thermal blanket over Vael-Shyr’s shoulders, careful not to wake her. The world could end tomorrow; right now, the tea was getting cold. Even indoors, the cold was an ever-present predator, prowling for exposed skin. She shivered.

  Evel’Lara picked up a small, notched gear from the table, focusing on the linear precision of its teeth—a necessary act of aesthetic dampening to ground her spirit against the growing dissonance of the storm outside. Vael-Shyr stirred, her fingers twitching as if she were still navigating the complex resonance of her mech’s internal systems.

  "Tea's up," Evel’Lara murmured, her voice steady and resonant, tuned to the safety of the room's baseline frequency.

  Vael-Shyr sat up, the russet fur of her ears flicking toward the sound. "Is the shield holding?"

  "It's nominal—phenomenal—completely astronomical," Evel’Lara replied, sliding a ceramic mug across the workbench. "The Salt-Cross frequency hasn't shifted a fraction. We won’t be doomed tonight.”

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  Vael-Shyr frowned at Evel’Lara’s word choice. She then wrapped her hands around the mug, the heat from the liquid equalizing the cold debt she had carried since her last patrol on the perimeter. The automated sentries patrolled with her, but they couldn’t feel the cold. They sat in a shared, comfortable silence, the quiet clinking of the mugs the only sound against the backdrop of the cosmic weather.

  Vael-Shyr wondered what would happen if one of their mugs broke—it would take weeks for a replacement to be delivered by Valenydria. The orbital strikes were merely distant flashes reflected in the dark surface of their tea. Time-Zone 24E’s gift to their home dimension of Valora, the now distant world they called home.

  "We need to calibrate the sensors on the greenhouse tomorrow," Vael-Shyr said, her voice trailing off into a yawn. "If the heaters fail, the lilies won't make it through the night. And without lillies, our humble dwelling will look less like a home for the next six-months and more like a shanty hole-in-the-wall.”

  Evel’Lara nodded, her thumb tracing the smooth, cool edge of her own mug. "Tomorrow. For now, just drink."

  The "World-Chord" continued its steady, 3.7 Hz thrum beneath them, a silent promise of endurance in a universe that felt like a falling archway. Inside the workshop, the warmth was enough. The Lysianvael, known more simply as the World-Chord, was not only a natural phenomenon but also the ancient frequency said to bind their world and keep invasive realities at bay; if it ever faltered, the entire region could collapse into a chaotic vacuum. The World-Chord was like an invisible net stretched beneath the skin of reality, catching stray fragments of unmaking before they could devour the land. When it vibrated true, stones remained solid and days bled smoothly into the next. If it ever went silent, legends said, you might watch your own shadow peel away as the vacuum consumes you—somehow the foreign laws of physics tried to rewrite the ground beneath your feet. Somehow, the World-Chord had propagated to this dimension—no one understood how or why—and the Civic Government had assigned her and Evel'Lara, two high-ranking scouts of the Valoran Defense Force led by Grand Matriarch Draconia, to establish a scouting base. Their mission: watch for any disruptions or anomalies in the World-Chord and report meaningful changes. Failure could mean disaster not just for their outpost, but for the fragile barrier separating their home from the void.

  “Do you think anything will happen today?”

  “You mean if there’s one more cloud than the day before? I don’t think so.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “I know,” Evel’Lara frowned and thought for a moment, “Honestly, maybe, I noticed seismic activity northwest of here.”

  “Magnitude?”

  “5.4”

  “Only 5.4?...”

  Evel’Lara frowned harder, “Be happy we are getting more elves to visit us tomorrow! I am sick and tired of interacting with AI and Patrol Bots.”

  “Why? They’re not so bad.”

  Evel’Lara scoffed at Vael-Shyr, “You have always been an unusual elf; you may not need more social contact, but I do.”

  “Whatever,” Vael’Shyr laughed, batting her eyes, “They don’t judge as elves do.”

  Evel’Lara nodded, “Yes, they would rather nod and agree with you than actually critically think.”

  “Not exactly!...” Vael’Shyr began, “There’s always the—”

  —before she could finish her sentence, a faint alarm, one of the many dozens in their little fort-away-from-home, rang.

  “What alarm is that?” Vael’Shyr asked.

  Evel’Lara walked over to the command console and checked. The console’s blue screen gave her face more definition than normal lighting.

  “Proximity alarm.”

  “Proximity?”

  “Yes, a localized proximity alarm about 3000 meters from the command console.”

  “You mean...”

  “Yes, it’s coming from... inside the base.”