The dropship shuddered violently as it tore through the storm clouds, its metal frame groaning in protest. The air inside was dense with the acrid bite of ozone, the cold humidity seeping into their bones. Every gust of wind rattled the craft, amplifying the chaos outside. Below, the sky churned in a frenzy of dark, swollen clouds, blotting out any trace of the horizon. Rain lashed against the hull, sharp as bullets, each strike echoing through the cabin like a steady drumbeat. Lightning slashed the heavens, illuminating the forsaken city beneath, casting jagged shadows that seemed to writhe and stretch like the clawed fingers of a long-dead beast.

Inside, the air was thick with tension, as if the storm outside had somehow seeped into their very skin. The crew moved with quiet precision, each motion deliberate—gear clinking, boots scuffing across the metal floor. The hum of the craft mixed with the occasional metallic groan, both mechanical and human. It was a routine, one they had perfected, but there was an edge to their calm—an unsettling sense of uncertainty that hovered just beneath the surface, more palpable than the storm outside.

Elijah braced himself against the cabin wall, his fingers gripping a rail, his jaw clenched tight as the familiar taste of adrenaline surged in his veins. He shifted his gaze over the squad, finding comfort in the fluidity of their movements—routine had given them an efficiency, but he knew there was something more at play. Something they all felt, beneath the humor and banter.

"Descending in two minutes," came the pilot’s voice, cold and clipped, slicing through the air like a knife.

Luna’s fingers hovered over a glowing holographic map, the cool blue light casting sharp shadows across her features. With a final swipe, she locked in the coordinates, her eyes briefly meeting Elijah’s. In the briefest of exchanges, an unspoken bond of resolve passed between them. This was no routine mission.

She flicked off the map, plunging the cabin into harsh, sterile light. A thick silence fell, the weight of the descent pressing into every corner. A storm of anticipation settled in, making the collective breath of the crew feel like a storm in itself. They had fought storms before, faced the chaos of rift monsters and crumbling cities—but the one waiting for them now was unlike anything they had encountered. This was no natural disaster.

The fractured remnants of the city materialized through the rain-smeared windows, twisted spires and shattered towers rising from the ruins like skeletal fingers, grasping at nothing. Moss crawled across the buildings, strangling what once was a metropolis. The faint hum of machinery had long died out, but something sinister lurked in the crumbling architecture.

Elijah exhaled, his breath matching the pounding rhythm of the rain. His fingers brushed his sidearm. The weight of it felt right—comforting, as though the weapon itself was tethered to his purpose. This was why they were here—no hesitation, no doubts. Their only task now was survival.

Lysander, lounging carelessly across from Elijah, shattered the tension with his usual bravado. His blonde hair, streaked with purple, defied the turbulence with its messy bun. He leaned back in his seat, adjusting his glasses, his roguish grin never faltering.

“Well, well, looks like we’re about to dance with the devil,” Lysander said with a wink, his voice light and teasing, yet somehow full of confidence. He didn’t seem fazed by the looming danger or the storm battering the ship. Instead, he thrived on it, drawing the eyes of every crew member in the room with his nonchalant swagger.

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Carter raised an eyebrow, his amber eyes narrowing slightly. “Don’t tell me you’re already cracking jokes. We’re about to land in the heart of a disaster zone.”

Lysander shot him a grin, unfazed. “I’m just making sure everyone’s still breathing down here. You know, nothing like a little humor to get the blood flowing.” His eyes darted over to Caleb Stroud, whose quiet, intense demeanor had not faltered despite the tension.

“Lysander,” Caleb muttered without looking up, eyes still fixed on his shield. “Not now.”

Lysander’s grin didn’t waver. “Aw, Caleb, always so serious,” he teased. “One day, I’ll get you to crack a smile. But fine,” he continued, casting his gaze over the crew, “I’ll find a new audience.” His eyes rested on Iris, who was absorbed in calibrating her high-tech goggles. “Iris, surely someone as focused as you wouldn’t mind betting your concentration against my charm?”

Iris didn’t even glance up, her voice flat. “Unless you can bend time and make this descent happen faster, save your charm.”

Unfazed, Lysander shifted his attention to Jian, sharpening his blades with methodical precision. “Jian! What do you say? Winner gets out of post-mission cleanup duty?”

Jian’s hazel eyes met Lysander’s without emotion, narrowing slightly. “Focus, Lysander.”

Lysander raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Tough crowd.” Then he looked toward Elijah, his expression shifting into something a little more teasing. “Elijah, my stalwart leader. You wouldn’t turn down a little distraction, would you? Could be fun.”

Elijah arched an eyebrow, his tone steady. “How about you focus on the mission instead of annoying the rest of the squad?”

Lysander’s smirk deepened. “Annoy? Me? No, I’m just providing morale. And you’re welcome.”

Luna, cutting through the tension like a blade, narrowed her gaze, sharp as the edge of her own weapon. “Lysander, if you want to provide morale, try staying quiet for once.”

Lysander gave a dramatic bow from his seat. “As you wish, Miss Hacker,” he replied, eyes glinting with mischief.

He turned to Stacy, more than eager to keep up his antics. “Stacy, my partner-in-fun. What about a game before we drop? High stakes—winner controls the squad playlist for the week.”

Stacy’s response was immediate. “Oh, you’re on,” she shot back, flipping open her satchel as if by magic, revealing a deck of cards.

Luna, shaking her head, muttered, “Can’t you two ever stop?”

“It’s a talent,” Stacy quipped, dealing imaginary cards in exaggerated flourishes. “Learned it while hacking networks and dismantling firewalls. Distract ‘em, and they never see you coming.”

“Or crashing,” Iris interjected, barely lifting her eyes.

Lysander winked. “Some of us just multitask better, darling.”

Despite himself, Elijah couldn’t suppress a faint smile. It wasn’t much, but the antics of his crew, as grating as they were, provided the kind of relief the tension demanded. They all needed it, whether they would admit it or not.

The intercom crackled once more. “Descent in thirty seconds.”

The humor evaporated in an instant, and the crew stiffened. Focus hardened their features like stone, and the cabin settled into a hush that even the storm outside seemed to respect. The humor vanished. There was only the mission, the unknown city below, and the violent storm between them.

The dropship groaned as it blasted through the final layer of clouds. Below, the forsaken city unfurled in full, an overgrown jungle of concrete and metal. Decayed buildings and shattered towers loomed like graves, their once-proud structures buried beneath creeping vines, moss, and twisted roots.

It was time. The air tasted of iron, and even the rain felt wrong.

This was no sanctuary. It was a tomb.

[End of Chapter]