Osar Baratuu, once First Hunter of the Void-Iron Alliance, was dying.

He knew this by the creeping numbness that was spreading from mangled mess that had been his shoulder, the steady trickle of blood from the hole blasted into his side, and the way his legs refused to support his weight. Despite the built-in failsafes in his battlesuit, it was getting difficult to breath.

Sensing his distress, the faceplate of his ruined suit hissed open, unfolding to disappear into the raised cowl on its backplate, allowing him to take deep, choking breaths. Later he felt himself being moved, his limbs flopping uselessly on the floor. People were talking, but their words made no sense, and soon he stopped paying attention.

His head felt heavy, his thoughts slow as mud.

In his delirium he saw the faces of lost comrades, laughing and talking, and he yearned to join them around their spectral fire. He relived his first kill, remembering how he bent over the carcass as his ahei showed him where to cut. He saw the entrance of the Jagged Cavern Dungeon, and the horror that waited within. He remembered the flight of the Plunderer, and the raging dragon that had started to kill them all.

Finally, he saw Lugthal turning towards him, the bleeding Maroan’s white eye stark against the burned ruin of half of its face.

“I think it’s time for you to die, hunter.”

There was the flash and roar of a battlewand discharging, and a searing pain punching into his side.

Then there was nothing.

After an indeterminate time later, Osar’s consciousness rose from the fugue of dreams and nightmares, in time to feel his mouth being opened and something being shoved through his teeth, and then there was a trickle of tart, sour liquid down his throat. Reflexively, Osar swallowed, subconsciously recognizing the way a healing draught was usually given to a downed comrade. groaning with the pain the movement brought him.

Then his body jerked upward, runnels of prickly, burning fire running through his body, radiating out from the furnace that had become his belly. What had they given him?

He opened his eyes, his pupils adjusting, his instincts immediately making him focus at the two strange warriors that had come to his aid unlooked for. He recognized they were humans, both of them dark-haired and brown-skinned, the male stern-faced and older, while the woman sported attractive scars that really made her chiseled features stand out. He also noted that although their clothes were fairly simple, the weapons they held were of exceptional quality.

They reminded him of the other injured human he had discovered earlier.

The man who had given Osar the liquid stepped away from him, making the vial disappear with a flick of his wrist. Spatial storage device there, Osar’s mind automatically noted, though he didn’t see a ring.

“Better you are, aren’t you?” The man asked.

Osar cocked his head, suddenly interested. The strange sentence structure, the way he heard the words, immediately let Osar know that these people were speaking in a language he had never heard before.

The System’s influence was felt by everyone in the Known Realms of course, but there were probably a million languages and language variants spoken throughout its expansive reach, not to mention the wide variety of mouths, appendages, orifices, and even light patterns different species used to communicate. Whoever had created the System, whether it was the First Ones or the Rambling Gods that his people worshipped, they had thankfully incorporated a translation feature that allowed the various species and races to speak with each other. However, whenever an adept encountered a new language, there was inevitably a period of adjustment until both parties became familiar with the words, syntax, grammar, idioms, and even speech patterns of the person they were talking to before their spoken interactions became smooth and easily understandable.

These people were definitely strangers in this region of the Empire.

The man’s body language was guarded, though he was not overtly hostile, as he tried again.

“Say words you can?”

Definitely strangers.

Osar, keeping his amusement to himself, raised his arms slowly.

“Yes, I can talk.” He said slowly, careful to enunciate his words properly. The System would eventually smooth things out if they conversed long enough, but regrettable accidents stemming from miscommunication were unfortunately common. “Thank you for the healing potion you gave me.”

The man shrugged, a complicated expression on his face as he struggled to make sense of what Osar had said.

“Injured you were, experiment juice/extract we tried.”

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Osar’s eyes widened in alarm as he parsed together the meaning of the man’s words. Did he mean he gave me an experimental potion? Unbelieving, he looked from the male to the female human. His shock and bewilderment must have been evident on his face because the female laughed and spoke.

“If arms/appendages you grow from head we inform you.”

Did this stranger just make a joke? Were they laughing at the possible consequences he might suffer because of their reckless actions? In spite of himself, Osar felt a sudden spike of anger. He could have died or worse!

“Be calm huge one,” The man suddenly growled, sensing the change in Osar’s demeanor. He still didn’t make a threatening movement, although the way he stood and the blank expression on his face gave Osar all the warning he needed. This man was a veteran, and certainly was not afraid to employ violence.

Osar nodded, keeping his primary hand raised. Slowly, he moved his body until he was sitting upright with his back to the wall. Most of the wounds on his body had closed, and he felt much of his vitality had been restored. Whatever potion he had been given, experimental or not, it had apparently done the job it had been created for.

“I’m okay.” He said aloud, trying to project sincerity.

It seemed his attempt was successful, because the man appeared to relax a little.

Suddenly, a red-gold halo appeared over the stern man’s head, limning him with fire for a few seconds before disappearing as if it had never been. Osar’s jaw dropped in shock, and he felt a foreboding weakness in his bones. Had he seen truly? Osar blinked repeatedly, but the halo of light did not reappear.

He was stunned.

When someone obtained their first core, they receive an ability. Most of the time that ability is sight-based, giving the adept a better chance to observe the world and react accordingly. As a youth, Osar had gained the Seeker’s Gaze, an ability which allowed him to see the potential value of a person depending on criteria he had to set during a period of meditation: Fighting ability, aether capacity, even potential loyalty to an organization, could be set as parameters for the Gaze to measure and judge. There were limitations to such a powerful ability of course: The Gaze remained active for only five hours after meditation, they only measured the criteria he had set beforehand, and they never activated on their own.

Except once before.

It had been during Osar’s period of service in the Imperial Legions, just before the disastrous invasion of Luz-Kalar III. They had been drawn up in formation aboard the assault deck of the void-fortress Thunderhead, twenty-four Legions, one-hundred twenty thousand men, women, and other, a mighty army gathered from all the varied species that owed the Empire service.

She had appeared on the stage that overhung the deck to address them all, clad in a simple robe of green and silver, the Crown of Revelation on her dark-haired head.

Irvain Selenar Ket-Ursunder

The Verdant Death, Pilot of the Combat Shell called the Warsprite, one of the Scaled Empire’s Twelve Lords of the Conquering Host.

And in Osar’s eyes she had burned with bright golden flames.

Osar snapped back to the present, noting the wary looks the two humans gave him and belatedly realizing they had asked him a question.

“Sorry, I did not get that.” He said, still rattled by his vision.

“Where is place we are? Are more monster present in many areas?”

“Oh, I don’t know where we are exactly,” Osar said apologetically as he got shakily to his feet, using his hands and the wall to steady himself, noticing how the subtle rhythm of his battlesuit’s song had been altered by the damage it had sustained. “And yes, there are more beasts both in and on the surface of this rock.”

“Rock, what you mean rock?”

Osar made it to his feet, swaying unsteadily, but he managed to stay upright with the help of his battlesuit’s stabilizer arrays. The suit had served him well, but now it was so badly damaged that it would need several days, weeks even, in a battlesuit repair pod before it could regain full functionality.

“As far as I know we are on an asteroid, or what appears to be an asteroid, within the second debris ring of the Subeko System.” Osar tried to speak as slowly and clearly as possible, reading the humans faces to make sure they understood him. “I arrived here as a scout hired by an experienced exploratory squad affiliated with the Geludan Clan, which had been contracted to provide escort and protection to the Void Dragon Vashanka, while he explored the area.”

Since he was watching so closely, Osar caught the man’s expression harden slightly at the sound of Vashanka’s name, the reaction so tiny it would have gone unnoticed otherwise. Was he an enemy or ally of the dragon? Judging by the man’s expression, Osar guessed he was no friend.

“There were some beast encounters on the surface of the asteroid which we managed to overcome, although we did not clear the beasts out completely.” The two humans clearly were having difficulty following his tale, but Osar continued, knowing that constant talk would be the best way to calibrate the System to each of their languages. “However, soon after we descended to the interior of the rock a dispute arose, and Vashanka killed most of the Geludan team, before teleporting out despite being severely wounded. The last two surviving Geludan, gravely injured and fearful that the dragon would return, betrayed me in turn, injuring me severely before fleeing to the surface.”

The humans listened attentively, nodding at appropriate moments in the tale, but Osar could see they didn’t completely believe him. That was fair, since if he himself was listening he wouldn’t believe it either. He just hoped that one of the humans would have a truth-reading ability or something similar. As he finished, he saw the two exchange a glance, before turning back to him.

He met the stern man’s eyes directly, willing him to recognize the truth of what he had just said. After a moment, the man nodded, and Osar gave a sigh of relief.

“My name Eric Rama is.” The man said after a pause, extending his hand.

He clasped the man’s outstretched hand with his own.

An electric current ran through his arm as their palms touched and Osar bowed to the inevitable: He knew what his visions meant immediately, their import understood as soon as they appeared, and Osar had been trusting them for more than sixty years. What the red-gold halo was telling him now was that this human man before him was important for not only Osar, but for many, many people in the future.

Having received such a premonition, how else was Osar supposed to respond.

To the total surprise of everyone else in the room except himself, Osar dropped to the floor on one knee, placed the heel of his left palm to his forehead and addressed the man as he would have Irvain Selenar herself.

“My Lord Eric Rama, I am Osar Baratuu of the Dagyam Urgan Gene-line, and I humbly pledge unto you my Life Oath.”