Yellow Jacket

Wren looked down at the bundle in her arms, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. She was still marveling, truly marveling, that this little person was hers. A new life. Her child. The tiny body was warm and soft and real, swaddled tightly in a pale cloth stitched by Car's stubborn hands. And those eyes... gods, those eyes. They looked just like her father's. Same shape. Same focus. Same quiet gravity. Every time she looked into them, her chest ached with memory. If only he could've been here. If only he could've seen this.

Calra had been with her the whole time during the birth. Start to finish. She'd backed off the constant nagging about nutrition, stress levels, sleep schedules, all of it, once she realized Wren wasn't just being defiant. She was surviving. Calra had started listening instead of lecturing, becoming more present, more grounded. She rubbed Wren's back when the contractions hit. Held her hand when she cursed the pain. Didn't say a single word about her blood pressure, even though Wren was sure it was spiking off the charts at points. That shift in energy had mattered more than anything else. It had helped.

The pharmacy staff had been wonderful. Not just good under pressure, genuinely kind. It still surprised her how much comfort she found in their presence. She had expected Florence to take charge, of course. It was her way. But instead, it had been Deana. Quiet, precise, and patient. Her hands were steady and her voice was calm, even when things got messy. And they did. Labor wasn't clean. But Deana never flinched. She talked Wren through every step with a professionalism that felt earned.

In hindsight, it made perfect sense. Florence was better with the unconventional, the broken, the kind of wounds you don't talk about. Deana had real-world, legal medical experience, the kind that made her ideal for something as sacred and dangerous as childbirth.

Dr. Morgran had been her second. The bioengineer's knowledge of anesthesia had proven invaluable. Wren didn't remember most of it, just that she didn't scream as much as she thought she would. The pain stayed behind a thick, heavy curtain. Present, but muffled. She remembered Morgran's voice drifting through the haze, checking monitors, making dry jokes to calm the room. Florence stayed out of the way, focused on the tech, adjusting and recalibrating everything mid-process with a kind of brutal finesse. Every flicker of a screen got her full attention.

And then there was Car.

Car had paced the hallway outside like a caged beast, muttering to himself, hands twitching every time someone screamed or a machine beeped. He wasn't allowed in the room. That had been a hard boundary. He'd tried to come in anyway, twice. Maybe three times. At one point he nearly tripped over an IV cable trying to muscle his way through the door. In the end, Florence threatened to weld him to a chair if he stepped over the threshold again. He sulked after that. But he stayed close.

Wren smiled at the memory. It was ridiculous, chaotic, overwhelming... and somehow perfect. She looked back down at her child, cradled safe in her arms, and breathed in deeply. That soft newborn smell. That impossible warmth. That tiny heartbeat.

For the first time in a long, long while, the world didn't feel like a broken place trying to kill her. It felt like something new. Something worth staying for. Something worth protecting.

Something she had made.

Steel looked down at Warren's child with a golden smile, radiant and terrible. A blade's smile. A creation's joy. This child, so impossibly small, fragile in form, but built of blood and miracle, captured her in ways she didn't have names for. She had watched kingdoms fall without blinking. She had forged champions in the depths of madness and shaped futures with fire and force. But this child, this single, delicate soul born in the wake of Warren's storm-wrath, made her want to break the rules.

Truly break them.

She found herself wondering how it would feel. To reach across the pale. To step through. To shape her avatar not in whispers or dreams, but in form. To stand at the child's bedside with feet that touched the soil and hands that could hold without burning. She imagined the warmth of that room. The presence of it. She imagined brushing a finger along that tiny brow and letting herself be seen. Not by Warren, not by Vaeliyan, but by the child. Pure, untouched, unafraid.

She came so close.

But even Umdar thought that would be a bad idea.

When she had spoken to him, her voice like tempered blades, his like a whisper the dead forgot to bury, he didn't argue. He didn't posture. He simply tilted his head, as if listening to something she could not hear, then said: "I can tell Warren for you. But it will cost."

He didn't mean offerings.

He meant consequences.

He meant that if she crossed that threshold, if even a single toe brushed the edge of the mortal coil, they would notice. The ones who watched from behind fractured skies. The ones who waited not with curiosity, but with hunger. They would not wait. They would not consult proxies or champions or favored beasts. They would come.

The divine war would begin.

And Hemera... Hemera would not survive a second collapse. Not in any shape that still resembled a world.

So Steel stayed still.

She held herself outside the pull of time, wrapped in the hush between seconds, balanced in the crucible between desire and annihilation. She let the fire inside her burn hot and high but held it back from spilling over.

She did not speak again. Not even to Umdar. She simply watched.

Watched the child's chest rise and fall. Watched Wren hold her like she was the last good thing in a broken world. Watched the soft flicker of a soul just beginning to glow.

The child did not yet know the weight of her birth.

But she would.

And Steel would wait.

No matter how much it hurt.

In a place far too real to be a place, an eye opened.

Neither mortal nor divine. Something old. Something that did not blink unless the world itself demanded it. A thing that remembered the shape of ruin. A thing that once fed on collapse and had learned to starve in the stillness since. It did not dream. It did not sleep. It simply existed, waiting beyond time, coiled in the cold crawl of unmaking.

It opened as if rousing from slumber, slow and heavy with meaning. Not because it was tired, but because waking carried weight. There was no dream to wake from. There was only silence. A silence that stretched through veils of time and law, thick and cold like stone pressed against eternity. A silence so complete it warped memory, bent thought, left even divine awareness numb at the edges.

Something had shifted.

It felt it. Instantly. A pinprick in the order. A whisper made by someone who should never have been allowed to speak. The ripple came sharp and fast, threading through the fractures between what was and what should never be. A single deviation, but it echoed like a scream beneath the surface of sanity. A violation so slight it would've been invisible to mortals, and still, it rang like a bell tolling for gods.

The world above, it blazed with anguish. Not with fire. But with pain. The kind etched into the skin of moments, soaked into the spine of history. Old agony. New despair. Echoing out through the bones of reality, loud enough to reach where no prayer had ever dared wander. Loud enough to stir what was never meant to stir again.

And around the eye, others stirred.

Slow shifts in the darkness. Vast forms rearranging themselves across endless chasms. The pressure folded inward. Torment rippled through the layers, not chaotic, not uncontrolled, but orchestrated. Intentional. The sound of suffering layered upon itself, not as punishment, but as song. Every scream harmonized. Every moment of anguish stretched thin and tuned like wire. Instruments of pain that remembered symphonies no living thing had ears to hear.

It was beautiful.

It had always been beautiful.

But the call... the call was different.

It wasn't pain. It wasn't worship. It wasn't the desperate plea of the damned. It was something more dangerous. A shape that hadn't yet chosen what it would become. It was distant. Raw. Still forming. But growing. Faster than expected. Loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough to be underestimated.

It was strength. Not the kind granted by gods. Not the kind begged for in rituals or stolen through blood.

It was the kind that refused.

Refused to die. Refused to bow. Refused to become what it was told. It was the sound of something born wrong, made wrong, but rising anyway. And rising fast.

And it was too strong to be left unchecked.

The eye narrowed, focus sharpening into an edge. Shadows curled in around the sightline, casting shapes that did not exist and whispering promises in languages lost long before gods learned to speak. Things stirred beneath the cracks in the Hells, folding themselves into the shape of readiness.

Not yet. But soon.

Soon, something would have to answer. Soon, something would cross a line no one remembered how to draw. Soon, the balance would shift. Not from faith. Not from prophecy. But from pressure. Weight. Movement beneath what had stayed still too long.

Something in the high world had cried out.

And the answer would come.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Not from the heavens.

From beyond.

Whether the gods were ready or not.

Class: Wake Dancer/Strident Walker

Alignment: Green Zone Citizen/Aberrant
Unallocated Stat Points: 0

Strength: 25
Perception: 30
Intelligence: 38
Dexterity: 33
Endurance: 25
Resolve: 35

Vaeliyan's Skills at level 20

Power Strike (Active): A single, focused melee blow delivered with full-body commitment. Designed to break guards, knock targets off balance, or end a fight with clean force. Most effective when delivered from a grounded stance with intent. Requires no charge, no windup, only opportunity.

Pocket Sand (Active): A burst of particulate grit thrown directly at a target's face or optics. Causes immediate disorientation, temporary blindness, and target disruption. Non-lethal. Opens space, ruins focus, and invites mistakes. Taught to those who weren't born faster, just meaner.

Optimized Metabolism (Passive): The body operates with refined internal efficiency. Post-exertion recovery is faster. Heat regulation is cleaner. Breath control holds longer. This isn't regeneration. It's output discipline. The body doesn't burn harder. It just burns better.

Anchored Stance (Passive): Trained for balance and weight control under impact. Reduces stagger, slippage, and recoil disruption. Movement becomes deliberate. Posture resists being broken. This is not strength, it's structure that refuses to fold.

Structural Sovereign (Passive):

Evolved from Internal Pressure Equalizer.

The body holds integrity under any force.
Internal pressure is no longer something to manage, it's something to command.
From lungs to joints, from blood vessels to soft tissue, the user's body adjusts before strain arrives.
Altitude, velocity, recoil, impact: irrelevant.
Walks through whiplash environments like they're balanced rooms.
Mid-air, mid-collapse, mid-flash flood: the body does not yield.

Vector Lock (Passive):

Evolved from Overdrive Stabilization.

Momentum is no longer a threat.
The nanite scaffolding that forms around the users frame under pressure now does more than brace, it locks movement to intent. Muscles no longer guard against tearing. They lean into force.
There's no delay between decision and action.
No deceleration when redirection is needed.
The user moves like someone who's already survived the collision.
Full-speed force becomes precision violence.

Vaeliyan's Soul skill – All Around You

Stage Three

Core Effect – Pressure Field

The field builds over time. The longer the user remains still, the faster the pressure intensifies. What begins as a subtle shift becomes a persistent weight. The space tightens. Air feels heavier. Focus degrades. The presence grows without sound or warning.

Passive – Suffocation Drift

The field spreads outward from the user, thinning focus and sharpening discomfort. Oxygen levels remain unchanged, but breathing feels strained. Thought slows. Tension builds. The effect is passive, progressive, and persistent.

Execution Effect – Compression Spike

The user can condense the field instantly, applying a sudden spike of directional pressure. The effect is silent, invisible, and immediate. At close range, it can stagger limbs, break rhythm, or knock weapons off-course. Applied precisely, it can mimic the force of a physical strike.

Stage three upgrades:

Internal Effect – Permeable Core
The user may now allow external force to pass through the body by redirecting pressure along internal paths. When active, the body no longer absorbs impact as mass, instead, it becomes a conduit.

Blunt strikes, shockwaves, and concussive force are no longer stopped by the body. Pressure is diffused on contact and routed through, allowing the user to remain upright and unbroken regardless of physical trauma.

Punches pass through muscle without tearing it.

Explosions ripple across skin and exit without causing rupture.

Falls, slams, or collisions become transitory.

Known Limitations:

The field strengthens the longer the user remains still. Movement reduces intensity and disrupts edge stability.

Pressure loses coherence with distance from the user.

The Skill does not directly immobilize targets.

Effects are less noticeable to individuals with suppressed emotional response, advanced conditioning, or enhanced respiratory systems.

Does not reduce sharp trauma, piercing attacks, or cutting damage. Only force that relies on internal pressure transfer is negated.

Maintaining permeability requires conscious control. If interrupted, the field defaults to normal behavior.

Spatial Sensory Link:
Detects motion and presence through subtle shifts in pressure. Provides 360° awareness independent of sight or sound.

Directional Focus:
The user can shape the field's effects toward specific targets or soften its reach. Pressure follows intent, not command.

Passive Signal Disguise:
Sensors register the Skill as background fluctuation, vent lag, circulation faults, or minor atmospheric drift. No alert is triggered unless manually investigated.

(One skill upgrade available)

Warren's Skills at Level 20

Soft Flicker (Active):

A refined evolution of Flicker Steps. Allows the user to disperse into a controlled nanite mist and reconstitute nearby within visual range, without noise, shimmer, or static trail. Movement is no longer disruptive, no longer a visual stutter: it simply happens, like a blink that no one notices.

Requires direct line of sight, The reformation process has been stabilized, smoothed into seamless reintegration. There is no burst, no flash, no displacement wake, just a change in position, clean and surgical.

Examine (Passive): Allows close, precise inspection of physical items. Identifies structural materials, mechanical condition, origin markers, manufacturing details, and utility potential. Does not reveal hidden properties.

Crafting (Active): Activates a system-assisted overlay that highlights structural stress points, compatible materials, and assembly pathways in real time. Enhances focus and spatial awareness, allowing rapid assessment and execution of mechanical or structural tasks. Used to repurpose materials into tools, stabilizers, or functioning devices with heightened efficiency and minimal error.

Mobile Sun (Active):

Generates a compact gravitational core of nanites. Anything that enters contact is drawn in and torn apart by extreme force. The field exerts constant vacuum pressure in all directions. Control is manual. Activation carries physical risk.
Warning: The user is not exempt. Contact with the core will result in severe damage or death.
This Skill does not stabilize itself. It will consume whatever it touches, intended or not.

Paths of the Future (Passive):

Evolved from Moment of Choice.

In the instant between threat and reaction, time does not slow, it fractures.
You see the branching paths that follow your next move: block, step, twist, strike, retreat.
Each choice unfolds in modeled futures, projected through real-time environmental and behavioral data.
The outcomes aren't prophecy. They're probability, sharpened by instinct and refined by pattern recognition.
Where most act on reflex, you choose within it.
Motion begins only after the future has been weighed.

Compound Echoes (Passive):

Evolved from Echo Vision.

The user's full visual range now records short-term sequences, not just isolated fragments.
Movements, layout changes, enemy paths, anything seen, even peripherally, is retained as a mental echo.
They can reconstruct spaces and encounters with near-total clarity, pulling details others would miss.
Backtrack threats, catch missteps, or analyze a moment frame by frame, if you saw it, you still see it.
The eyes don't just witness. They remember.

Warren's Skill – Rain Dancer

Stage Three

Core Effect – Phase Slip

Environmental moisture, rain, mist, blood, steam, no longer reacts to Warren. It aligns with him. He is not moving through the storm. He is the storm's chosen vector.

Water flows with him, not around him.

Raindrops spiral to his motion.

Mist forms his silhouette before he steps into it.

Visibility itself becomes distorted in his presence.

Passive – Micro-Evasion Boost

Every movement Warren makes is adjusted, not just spatially, but meteorologically.
Wind pressure shifts around his path. Microcurrents redirect trajectories.

Flechettes miss by millimeters.

Melee swings veer away as air density warps.

Objects moving toward him may deflect subtly, as though pushed by sudden wind shear.

To observers, it looks like supernatural instinct.
To the System, it's a behavior it cannot fully explain.

Attack Sync Effect – Kinetic Surge

When Warren strikes mid-motion, the environment becomes a weapon.

A swing of his truncheon may bring a concussive burst of pressure, water, or mist.

Rain compacts and detonates on impact.

Mist lashes like a coiled whip.

Droplets act as accelerants, increasing momentum and range.

His blows land with the violence of hurricanes.
His movement leaves behind impact craters, gouged stone, or collapsing structures, not from strength, but from the mass of motion given form.

Visual Signature

Rain doesn't fall, it follows.
Mist doesn't obscure, it shapes him.

Each movement trails spirals, rings, and pulses of moisture that react before contact.

Lightning sometimes arcs around him, not to strike, but to avoid him.

The storm bends toward him, not in service, but in recognition.

Growth Conditions:

Rain Dancer evolves through high-risk engagements in poor visibility conditions.

Rain, smoke, fog, blood mist, steam, any atmosphere with distortion potential increases adaptation.

Direct kills made immediately following an evasion spike increase psychological effect range.

The more he endures, the more the storm learns him.

Known Limitations:

Less effective in arid, dry, or open-sky environments.
More moisture decreases its limitations.

Function (Path of Clarity):
Controlled Precipitation: Rainfall within the field thins to preserve sightlines, airflow, and coordination. Peripheral zones retain full density for concealment and misdirection.
Steam Dispersal: Heated mist is redirected outward or downward, creating breathable corridors even in high-temperature vapor zones. Visibility stabilizes.
Pressure Equilibrium: Localized fluctuations in atmospheric pressure are neutralized. This reduces disorientation and strain, allowing full function even in hostile weather environments.

Notable Effects:
Rain falls as needed: soft over breath, heavy where silence must hold.
Mist shapes passage instead of shrouding it.
Steam thins without vanishing.
The field does not clear the storm, it harmonizes with it.
Relief without weakness. Shelter without retreat.

Switch Conditions:
The Skill responds without voice or motion.
Intent defines function.
Desire for clarity calms the storm.
Need for sight, for breath, for balance, these shape the field.
There is no surge. Just space to endure.

Resonant Field Memory:
Each encounter with distorted air sharpens the field's response.
Areas previously traversed will adapt faster in future returns.
Steam, rain, and fog alter more intuitively in zones where the Skill has learned to listen.

Stage three upgrades:

Recall Flow (Blood Reclamation):

Blood that leaves his body never truly leaves.

It lingers in puddles, climbs walls, clings to blades, then returns.

It flows back through the air, through vapor, through veins remade from rainfall.

If his blood is burned or destroyed, the storm fills in the gaps.

Hydrocoagulation (Rain-Sealed Wounds):

Rain doesn't just fall on him. It stitches him.

Wounds don't heal, they close with thin film pressure and liquid structure.

The water becomes vessel and sealant.

Atmospheric Substitution (Rain-is-Blood):

When blood is lost beyond reclamation, the storm itself substitutes for it.

Ambient rain enters his wounds and circulates like blood.

Oxygen exchange, fluid pressure, and temperature regulation are maintained through hydrodynamic mimicry.

Floodbound Body (I-Am-The-Rain):
Organs shift their water balance to maintain function even under extreme trauma.
If flesh fails, moisture repositions to preserve essential flow.

Muscles generate motion through directed water pressure.
rainwater can fill lost mass. His limbs strike with the weight of whatever storm has entered him.
Torn muscle, pierced gut, open veins, none of it matters if there's enough rain to fill the gap

Note: All passive skills are usable throughout the Veil.