Into the fog

The edge of the ravine was veiled in a thick, almost unnatural fog. It rolled across the dead ground like waves of milk, swallowing the rocks, metal debris, and half-formed Kaiju bones littered across the field. The land was humming—not audibly, but in a way that vibrated through their mechas' sensors.

Kael stood atop a jagged rock, Ravager's systems humming quietly behind him as he stared out into the mist.

Tyren's voice crackled through the comms.

"Visibility's trash, boss. You sure we're in the right place?"

Ziya chimed in, concern heavy in her tone.

"It's… off. I don't like this."

Even Ryssa, from behind the canopy of her lightly armored command suit, was gripping the edge of her console too tightly.

"Kael. Something's wrong here. This fog—it's not registering on any chemical scale."

Kael didn't respond for a moment. Then his voice came through, low and calm:

"You three hold your position. I'll go in alone."

Tyren instantly protested.

"Hell no. You think we're gonna let you waltz into a death trap solo—"

But Kael cut him off.

"That's an order."

There was no room for negotiation in his tone.

Ravager moved forward, its steps deliberate and weighty. The mist swallowed it quickly, and within moments, the mecha disappeared from view entirely.

The comms went dead.

Into the Unknown

Inside the cockpit, Kael leaned forward, his eyes narrowing at the strange interference flickering across his HUD. The fog wasn't just visual—it was disrupting communications, tracking, and thermal sensors.

"Manual scan," he muttered.

What emerged from the fog left him frozen in his seat.

Two massive carcasses.

Dead. Cold. Unmoving.

But these weren't just any Kaiju.

They were Origin-Class—and even larger than the one they had killed weeks ago. Their torsos were torn apart from the inside. Their scales charred, not by battle but by something internal.

As Kael stepped Ravager closer, systems ran background diagnostics on trace residue. The power levels from the lingering Kaiju essence were monumental—if these were dead, they hadn't been for long.

And that's what unsettled him the most.

Because only three Origin Kaiju had ever been detected. One, they killed. The other two, by all evidence, were right here.

Dead.

But Kael felt it.

A fourth presence. Something wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"It wasn't them," he whispered to himself. "Something else killed them. Something stronger."

He clenched his jaw.

He couldn't tell the others. Not yet.

This was bigger than any of them thought.

The Return

As Ravager emerged from the mist, the rest of the unit rushed toward him.

"Kael!" Ryssa called out. "What did you find?"

Tyren had already started scanning the mecha's outer frame, looking for damage.

"You good, man?"

Kael nodded slowly.

"Nothing but an old battlefield. Some minor remains, but no hostiles."

His voice was too flat. Too calculated. Ziya frowned, studying his face from inside her own cockpit.

He's lying.

But she didn't say it out loud. Not yet.

Kael paused and then turned to all of them.

"We're heading back to the battleship. We need to rest. Regroup. Recharge."

The three of them nodded in agreement—but what they didn't know was Kael wasn't planning to rest.

The Hidden Trap

That night, back aboard the battleship, Kael submitted a formal debriefing report. Brief. Sterile. Strategically vague. The kind that would be filed and forgotten.

"No significant threat found."

"Zone clear for future minor scouting."

"No Kaiju presence confirmed."

He knew the higher-ups would send other squads in now. Let them see the bones. Let them find nothing. Let them wander until the predator finds them.

Because Kael had made up his mind.

He wanted them to feel safe.

He wanted to be underestimated.

He wanted the battlefield to himself.

Plans in Motion

Over the next two days, things began to shift.

Tyren was tinkering with Brawler nonstop, but he wasn't just upgrading—he was preparing for a solo mission. Or, what he thought would be solo.

Ziya was quieter than usual, but she hovered near Tyren constantly. She didn't pry, but she knew he was building toward something—and she was deciding whether to follow.

Meanwhile, Ryssa had retreated into her private quarters. But it wasn't guilt or doubt weighing her down this time—it was something else entirely.

Desire.

She kept replaying Kael's words before the mission:

"After this is done, I'll do whatever you ask."

It was a joke. Maybe. But her mind had spiraled ever since. She'd caught herself sketching things she shouldn't, writing logs she never saved, staring too long at Kael's profile every time he was at the training deck.

And now they were back. He was on the ship. Alone.

Ryssa stood in front of her mirror, adjusting her jacket like a teenager before a confession.

Meanwhile…

Ziya approached Tyren in the maintenance bay.

"I know what you're planning," she said softly.

He paused, not turning around. "Do you?"

"I saw the extra fuel canisters. The adjusted heat shielding. You're prepping for another run at R22."

Tyren sighed and turned to her. "I need to finish what we started. Kael knows it too."

"Then take me with you," Ziya said without hesitation.

He blinked.

"Zee…"

"I'm not asking permission, Tyren. I'm telling you. You're not going out there alone."

For once, Tyren didn't have a sarcastic retort.

Final Scene: Ryssa's Doorstep

Kael stood in the hallway just outside Ryssa's room, staring at her door. He'd received a comm ping from her ten minutes ago, a vague message:

"Can we talk?"

He was about to knock when the door slid open.

Ryssa stood there, slightly flushed, her jacket half-buttoned and her hair messily tied. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, with a shy kind of boldness, she stepped aside and gestured inward.

"Come in. Just for a moment. You promised to do whatever I asked…"

Kael tilted his head. "You serious?"

Her lips curled into a rare, mischievous smile. "Deadly."