Nucleus 1: The Dust of Moon [Mature Sci-fi Romance]

15:00, March 20, 2295

Underground Passages, Mount Lyell Area, Former Yosemite National Park

The descent felt like traveling through the frozen arteries of a sleeping giant. Ice formations twisted along the tunnel walls in patterns too deliberate to be natural—spirals that reminded Lorna of DNA helixes, crystalline branches that reached across the passage like neural networks. Her breath misted in the frigid air as she followed Olav deeper into the mountain's heart.

"—still reading you," Harald's voice crackled through the earpiece, already showing signs of interference. "Though the signal's degrading faster than expected."

"These tunnels aren't just dug," Lorna observed, running her gloved hand along a section where claw marks formed geometric patterns. "They're…designed. Like someone was writing in the ice."

Olav chittered softly ahead of her, his rounded form navigating the descent with surprising grace. The Grávomb paused every few meters, nose twitching as he sampled the air. His small backpack bounced slightly with each movement, tools clinking softly inside.

"The Jokull have always been artists as much as builders," Harald's voice carried a note of pride despite the static. "Even in rebellion, they create rather than simply destroy."

"Unlike the Fenris," Lorna muttered, stepping carefully around a formation that looked disturbingly like frozen synapses.

The temperature dropped steadily as they descended. Lorna's enhanced senses, sharpened by the dormant virus in her blood, picked up subtle variations in the ice's composition. Some sections glowed faintly blue-white from embedded Zephyrium crystals, while others held darker veins that might have been frozen Helionite.

Olav suddenly stopped, raising one paw. His chirp carried a warning tone.

"What is it?" Lorna whispered.

The Grávomb's nose twitched more rapidly. He made a complex gesture with his paws—something that looked almost like sign language.

"—can barely—you now—" Harald's voice broke apart in static. "—careful of—"

"Pa? You're breaking up." Lorna pressed the earpiece, as if that would help. "Pa?"

Olav turned to her, dark eyes reflecting the crystal light. He pointed downward, then made a slithering motion with one paw.

"The serpents that speak," Lorna tried to translate for herself, remembering the Grávombs' warning from above. "They're below us?"

Olav nodded, then pointed to himself and made a walking gesture, followed by pointing at her and making a staying motion.

"You want to scout ahead?"

When Olav nodded again, Lorna shook her head.

"We should stick together. That's non-negotiable."

The Grávomb considered this, then chirped what sounded like acceptance. He did, however, pull something from his backpack—a small fusion torch that he handled with ease. Not a weapon exactly, but Lorna saw its potential as one.

They continued deeper, the tunnel gradually widening. The claw-mark patterns grew more complex, almost like a written language Lorna couldn't quite parse. She tried calling Harald once more.

"Pa, if you can hear me, we're about twenty minutes down. Heading deeper. Take care of—"

Static overwhelmed the connection entirely. The signal was gone.

Lorna tapped at the earpiece in her right ear one final time before accepting the inevitable. They were on their own now.

The tunnel branched ahead, but Olav chose the left path without hesitation. As they rounded a bend, voices echoed from ahead. Not the shrieking of hostile Radi-Mons, but something almost...conversational.

Olav's entire demeanor changed. His rounded shoulders straightened, and he chittered excitedly, picking up his pace.

"Olav, wait—"

They emerged into a wider chamber where three creatures looking eeriely similar to Olav—three other Grávombs, all strong though adorable critters like a cross between groundhog and beaver—worked around a section of collapsed tunnel. One use its claws to cut through fallen ice blocks while the others sorted debris into neat piles. Their movements were methodical, almost meditative.

That was when Lorna saw crystals with prismatic color shifts between amber and sapphire blue between the processed ice blocks.

"Mining for Zephyrium." She commented softly. The Jokull required the cold fusion minerals somehow, just like any human fusion power plant would.

The workers froze at their entrance. The one cutting ice—slightly larger than Olav with silver-streaked fur—let out a shocked trill. The sound cascaded into rapid chittering as all three Grávombs surrounded Olav, their vocalizations overlapping in what could only be joyful recognition.

Reaching into her trench coat's chest pocket, Lorna kept her hand near Baldr's hilt, though these creatures showed no aggression. They touched Olav's fur with their paws, examining him like relatives checking on a long-lost family member. One of them, smaller with a notched ear, kept glancing between Olav and Lorna with obvious confusion.

Olav gestured at Lorna, then at himself, making walking motions. The other Grávombs' excitement dimmed. The silver-streaked one—clearly their leader—chittered something that sounded like a question. Olav responded with a longer series of sounds, occasionally pointing deeper into the tunnels.

The atmosphere shifted. The workers backed away from Olav, their small eyes now fixed on Lorna with something between fear and recognition. The one with the notched ear made a gesture Lorna recognized from Olav's warning earlier—the slithering motion.

"You guys know about the serpents down there?" Lorna said softly. "Are they Radi-Mons, too?"

"Fe-nor-mr." The silver-streaked Grávomb mimicked human speech with its tiny mouth, then continued in fragmented Jǫturmál. "Snákur [Serperts]. Fá þig, Eta þig, Eða verra! [They catch you, eat you, or worse!]."

"I understand the risks." Lorna replied, relieved she could understand the phrases. Many Nordlings of her generation no longer knew how to speak Jǫturmál, but Harald had taught her fundamental vocabularies even in her middle school years.

Olav nodded, then launched into what looked like an impassioned argument. He gestured at Lorna, at himself, at the tunnel beyond. The silver-streaked Grávomb shook his head repeatedly, pointing upward—toward where the rest of the Jokull Horde presumably waited.

"I mean no harm," Lorna tried, keeping her voice calm and her hands visible. "We're just passing through. Looking for something that my pa created."

The workers exchanged glances. The smallest one approached cautiously, sniffing in Lorna's direction. Its eyes suddenly widened, and it backed away rapidly, chittering in alarm.

The silver-streaked leader's posture changed entirely. He moved between Lorna and the tunnel beyond, his small claws raised—not threatening exactly, but definitely blocking.

Olav's response was immediate. He planted himself firmly between Lorna and his fellow Grávombs, chattering with increasing urgency. He pulled something from his pack—dried fish, Lorna realized—and offered it to the leader. A peace offering? Or perhaps a reminder of shared meals?

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The standoff stretched for long moments. Finally, the leader lowered his claws. He accepted the fish but pointed at Lorna and made a complex series of chirps. Olav translated as best he could, pointing down, making slithering motions, then pointing at Lorna and shaking his head vigorously.

"Do not let the Fenormrs see me," Lorna interpreted. "Why?"

The notched-ear Grávomb added something, gesturing at Lorna's face, then making cradling motions.

"Do I...look like someone?" Lorna asked, though the Grávombs couldn't understand her words. "Someone's offspring?"

All three workers nodded emphatically. The leader pointed downward again, then at Lorna, then made a gesture like something being taken away. His meaning was clear: if she went below, something would be taken from her.

"Thank you for the warning," Lorna said formally, bowing slightly. "But I have to continue."

Olav reinforced this with his own gestures, pointing at himself with obvious determination. Whatever his relationship with these workers, his loyalty to Harald—and by extension, Lorna—took precedence.

The silver-streaked leader studied them both for a long moment. Then, with obvious reluctance, he stepped aside. As Lorna and Olav passed, he pressed something into Olav's paw—a small crystalline object that glowed faintly.

The other Grávombs watched them go, their expressions grim. The smallest one called out a final warning, making the serpent gesture one more time.

As they left the chamber behind, Lorna couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just failed some kind of test. The way they'd looked at her, that recognition mixed with fear…

"They knew my scent," she murmured to Olav, and to herself. "Or someone's who smells like me."

Olav's only response was a gentle pat on her leg with one paw before continuing deeper into the frozen earth.

The tunnels grew warmer as they descended, ice giving way to exposed rock and metal. Lorna's breath no longer misted, though the air carried a different chill. The sterile cold of abandoned spaces.

They entered what had once been a laboratory. Emergency lighting strips cast pale blue illumination across banks of dormant equipment. Cryo-storage units lined one wall, their contents long since depleted or destroyed. But it was the massive structure dominating the center that drew Lorna's attention.

At first glance, it looked almost beautiful—like a giant glass vessel filled with luminescent pearls. The central chamber, easily three meters tall, contained dozens of white spheres suspended in a glowing blue medium. They pulsed gently, as if breathing. The entire apparatus rested on a circular platform ringed with what looked like smaller incubation pods, each one dark and empty.

"Vuhk-stir!" Olav pointed at the machine in recognition.

"Vöxtr," Lorna repeated, the Jǫturmál word's meaning forming in her mind. 'Growth'. But what kind of growth required such an elaborate setup?

The machine radiated dormant purpose even in its deactivated state. Organic-looking tubes snaked around its base like arteries, while crystalline conduits suggested how energy might flow when operational. She approached carefully, noting how the spheres within seemed to shift slightly, as if responding to her presence.

"My father built this?" she whispered, running her fingers along the impossibly smooth surface. The glass was warm despite years of abandonment—still holding some kind of charge.

Movement in her peripheral vision made her spin, hand flying to Baldr's hilt. Three massive shapes uncoiled from behind support pillars—Fenormr, each easily three meters of serpentine muscle and malice. Their bodies were covered in scales that shifted between golden bronze and deep amber. Their heads were elongated skulls crowned with bony ridges, yellow eyes that glowed and mouths lined with rows of needle-sharp teeth. Forked tongues flicked out, tasting the air—tasting her scent.

"Ssso," the lead Fenormr spoke, its voice a disturbing mixture of hiss and articulation, "the prodigal daughter comesss to see her birthright."

"You can speak our language?" Lorna asked incredulously. This were not the first Radi-Mons who could communicate with humans, but she'd expect it from an advanced type like Diabolisks.

The Fenormr hissed in amusement. "Yesssss. Unlike our Fenris 'brethrens', we Jokull are versed in the human tongue. Lady Fjeld has taught us well."

Lorna's mind quickened at the mention. She was certain Lady Fjeld did not refer to her, but who else in the Five Realms would carry that surname?

She drew Baldr, the quantum blade humming to life. "I'm here for the Moondust Crystal shard. Nothing more."

"Oppressor Harald's shard?" The Fenormr's laugh was like ice cracking. "Child, you stand before something far more precious. Do you know what this machine was meant to do?"

The other two Fenormr flanked them, cutting off retreat. Olav pressed against Lorna's leg, his torch ready but obviously outmatched.

"Enlighten me," Lorna said, buying time while she assessed positions.

"The Vöxtr replicates eggs. Human eggsssss," the Fenormr explained, coiling tighter around its pillar. "Takes the ovum of a worthy female and creates hundreds, thousands of copies. Each one capable of becoming a true Jokull—not the mongrels the Fenris breeds, but pure creatures of ice and intellect. Human minds in shells of beasts. Like usss."

"Harald the Oppressor designed it for the perfect Primarch," the second Fenormr added. "Someone who could lead the Jokull to greatness. Someone of his bloodline, of the feminine persuation."

Lorna's grip on Baldr tightened. "And?"

"Yet he failed to provide her in time," the lead Fenormr's voice turned bitter. "Ssssso Maren Fjeld—our glorious leader—uses her own eggs instead, making do with what she has." The creature's head tilted, nostrils flaring. "Yet you...you carry her scent. Ssstronger. Younger. More viable."

"Lady Maren Fjeld. The Liberator. She who gave birth to Harald's Last Daughter." The second Fenormr added. "Could you be the Last Daughter?"

The words hit Lorna like physical blows. Maren Fjeld. Her mother's name. But Harald had told Lorna before she had gone to college. That her mother had passed a few years after leaving her. Car accident.

"My mother's dead," Lorna said flatly, though her mind raced. The woman who'd abandoned her to the hospital, who'd left her with nothing but questions—

"Dead?" The third Fenormr laughed. "Lady Fjeld is very much alive. She who united the Jokull remnantssss. She who allied us with Skarn and his Fenris Horde. She who sees the true potential of what we Radi-Mons could achieve."

"You're lying." But even as Lorna said it, pieces clicked into place. Her mother's disappearance. The Jokull workers' recognition. The way Skarn spoke of plans within plans during their last encounter.

"You ssssmell just like her, but fresher. Younger." The lead Fenormr began to move. "Your eggs would be far superior for the Vöxtr. Lady Fjeld would be so pleasssssed to have her daughter contribute to the cause."

"Fuck that!." Lorna snarled as she lifted her Psytum Sword, its blue blade illuminating her ivory countenance.

The attack came from all three directions at once. Lorna shoved Olav aside and met the lead Fenormr with Baldr, the quantum blade slicing through scales. The wounded one retreated behind a pillar while the others pressed the advantage.

One Fenormr's tail whipped around her ankle. Lorna drew Váli with her free hand, firing point-blank into its body. The creature shrieked but didn't release her. The third Fenormr struck from above, coils wrapping around her torso.

"Lady Fjeld was weak when she came to ussss," the other Fenormr hissed in her ear as she struggled. "But she learned strength. Learned to take what was denied her. You could learn too!"

"Yesss. The scent of the perfect crucible. The Fenris would agreeeee." The Fenormr binding Lorna leaned forward.

"Let me go!" Lorna demanded, feeling the enemy constricting her tighter.

She felt fangs pierce her shoulder, venom flooding her system. Not lethal—they wanted her alive—but her limbs began to numb. Baldr fell from nerveless fingers.

"No!" Olav's shriek was unlike any sound she'd heard from the Grávomb. The small creature launched himself at the Fenormr holding her, his torch blazing. Surprising Lorna, he knew exactly where to strike: the soft tissue where scales met, the nerve clusters that controlled coil pressure.

The Fenormr's grip loosened just enough. Lorna tore free, grabbing Baldr and spinning to decapitate the creature in one motion. Olav had already moved to the second one, dodging its strikes with agility while marking weak points with his torch, fire now visible over the monster's pythonic body.

"The Grávomb serves the Last Daughter!" the lead Fenormr spat, bleeding from multiple wounds. "Devour him—"

Lorna's strike was perfect. Váli's shot took it through the eye, blinding it instantly before reigniting Baldr, leaping up in the air to deliver the killing blow, slicing its head off.

The third Fenormr, seeing its companions dead and facing Olav's strategic burns, tried to flee. Lorna's quantum blade caught it before it reached the tunnel.

She stood among the corpses, the foul smell of black ichor making her sway. Olav chittered with concern, producing something from his pack—a general antivenom patch, she realized. Harald had prepared him well.

"My mother," Lorna said as the patch began to counteract the paralytic. "She's actually alive. Leading them."

She turned to look at the Vöxtr once more, its beauty now curdled into something obscene. Those weren't pearls floating in the chamber—they were eggs replicated and modified from human ova. The smaller pods around the base were birthing chambers. The entire apparatus was designed to turn a woman into a factory, mass-producing Radi-Mon offspring from her genetic material.

Lorna's hand instinctively moved to her abdomen, thinking of Håkon. The Fenormr had looked at her like a prize breeding mare, and now she understood why. Young, fertile, carrying Harald's psionic genes—she was exactly what this machine was made to exploit.

"And my father…really built this?" She whispered incredulously.

Olav's expression was unreadable. But the way he gently patted her hand suggested he'd known all along.

And her father Harald certainly had too.