Chlack, chlack! I grit my teeth. Every movement feels like a monumental effort, every breath a new wave of exhaustion. Chlack, chlack! Raising my machete and hacking at the vines, over and over, is pure torment. The vegetation is dense, rich, tangled, and unyielding. The humidity is so oppressive that not a single inch of me is dry. My nose is constantly assaulted by overpowering scents—a mix of floral fragrances, rotting fruit, and waterlogged earth. Layered over it all are the countless distant cries of animals, the shrill calls of birds above, the hum of insects beneath every log, the creaks of branches, and the rustle of leaves in the canopy. Everything here is overwhelming and relentless, day and night.

This part of the Irundu forest is the most grueling battlefield I've ever encountered. Progress is almost impossible. Visibility is limited to a mere two meters. We're dirty, sticky, and exhausted. Every step is unsteady, and parasites constantly bite and sting, driving you mad. And good luck scratching through even flexible armor. Yet, I know Kojo is proud of my volunteering, even if his opinion is the last thing on my mind right now. Through him, I understand how much this mission means to many of the Bravos, especially since an entire contingent disappeared alongside the flagship. That’s why I push myself to represent my Faction in this joint effort. This is more than just a salvage mission. It’s about reclaiming a symbol—and maybe, finally, uncovering answers. How could a crown jewel of the Ordis fleet fall so decisively to a Leviathan it was designed to withstand?

The high command's orders are clear: locate Mesektet, secure the area, investigate, and uncover what happened aboard the Night Barque. Such a potent emblem of Ordis power cannot be left to rot in this jungle. That much is obvious. Plus, the reoccupation of Caer Oorun must proceed decisively. What better way to assert control than to pursue a precise and prestigious goal? I glance back at my column. Every soldier is grimacing—grappling with effort, heat, and fatigue. Yet no one complains; everyone understands the gravity of our mission.

My eyes drift to the outsider in our squad. A part of this mission irritates me: the showmanship surrounding the wreck's discovery. According to mission parameters, this operation must be shared with the hive-mind. Everyone must see it, feel it, share in the moment of reclamation and defiance against fate.

That’s why I had to accept the presence of a communications officer, an expert in Coalescence, assigned to my section at the last minute by the Aegis. Surprisingly, this outsider doesn’t seem to shy away from the task—quite the opposite. For a bureaucrat, I have to admit he’s got some grit. Quiet, even secretive, he’s managed to integrate into the group. The moments he captures and shares through the Gestalt, with his almost invasive Coalescence, highlight my unit’s strengths and reveal the tough realities of these expeditions. I suspect that’s part of the propaganda objective. At times, it feels almost too flattering, which makes me uncomfortable—a walking recruitment ad, really. On top of that, the officer—whose face feels oddly familiar—has taken a special interest in Tocsin. It’s not hard to see why; the Chimera is rather comical. By the end of every day, she’s always covered in vines, leaves, or moss that have clung to her during our progress through the forest. I have to clean her off every evening at camp—a moment of bonding that’s become a shared ritual for the whole team. And then there’s more. These candid moments are now broadcast by the officer’s notifications across the Gestalt. Funny, heartwarming snapshots have become regular emotional highlights for those following our expedition. Tocsin has, unwittingly, become a mascot for all the Ordis that have been charmed by his near-daily appearances—something I could definitely have done without.

We finally reach the crest we’ve been climbing toward all morning. The light brightens as we emerge from the forest’s dim canopy. Below, the vegetation thins, constrained by a mountain ridge. I order the troops to set up camp while I scan the area with my binoculars, methodically surveying every inch. A shout rings out, followed by a Gestalt ping. My soldiers focus their Rhombuses. A glint of golden metal, a smooth, blackened surface reflecting light—by the heavens, they might’ve found it. Observers share their vision: part of the ship's stern protruding from the mountainside, with the rest buried in vegetation. My pulse quickens, though I force myself to stay rational. The vessel clearly crashed nose-first, debris trailing along the slope. Metallic fragments dot the scree fields, evidence of the ship’s violent descent. The Gestalt explodes with emotions—surprise, joy, hope. Overwhelmed, I disable most of my inputs. My team shares embraces, their hardships—the moist, the heat— briefly forgotten. The communications officer is in overdrive, expertly organizing the torrent of emotions and images into a coherent, amplified narrative. I understand that he adjusts the perspective to give the moment greater impact, maximizing empathy. I had never witnessed such a phenomenon of collective excitement triggered by the Coalescence before.

I watch him work. If I’m not mistaken, he was one of the new recruits a few years ago. I rack my brain, trying to remember his name. Tosk? No, more likely Nosk, if my memory serves. At the time, I didn’t think he had the temperament of a soldier. Finding him now in this key position is as surprising as it is fitting. He had a habit of bending the rules, disregarding directives. But he thrived when given free rein or allowed to tap into his creativity. I’d seen him countless times organizing dice games in the mess hall or defusing arguments in the locker room when grumbling started to outweigh camaraderie among the troops. In the end, he contributed a lot to morale, giving everyone a way to let off steam. Too bad his sergeant didn’t see it the same way...

I feel like a series of visions is invading my mind, as if every member of my team is sharing what they see with me, like snapshots— a piece of hull behind a branch, a rusty mast fragment in the rocks, black residue on the white mountain wall. But each image is charged with intense emotions: the joy of discovery mixed with the horror of this catastrophe’s reality. And I feel them, live them. Nosk takes it all in, sorting, organizing, cutting, and refining, like a conductor. Instinctively, I send him my emotional response to what he’s seeing. Everyone connected to this idea does the same. The feelings accumulate, amplifying the scene, creating a powerful mental persistence. The officer captures all of it, shaping it into a narrative. The visions overlap chaotically. I try to maintain some sort of filter, a mental grid to block the continuous flow. I notice the communications officer sweating profusely, the veins on his temples throbbing at a frantic pace. While I struggle to shut myself off from this deluge of visual and emotional sensations, he seems to do the opposite—broadcasting as many views of the situation as possible to distant Ordis spectators. I shoot him a sideways glare. He ignores me entirely, focused like never before. We’re dazed but invigorated by the surge of positive emotions sparked by the discovery of the wreck.

This is no time to get swept away. I force myself to refocus and issue a stern command for everyone to cut off their Coalescence feeds. We need discipline, not an emotional loop fueled by the shared experience. The communications officer quickly regains control over the data stream, likely sorting and structuring it for a carefully curated broadcast later. With packs hoisted back onto shoulders, the squad advances toward the crash site, tension thick in the air. I feel the occasional pulse from the officer, keeping the dramatic narrative alive for his distant audience. For my part, I shut out the Gestalt entirely, cutting off any distractions.

As we move through the jungle in scattered pairs, I work to restore calm and order. We’re teetering on the edge of the Tumult’s influence, a volatile force demanding constant vigilance.

It’s Tocsin who finally locates the wreckage in a clearing carved by its violent descent. The vegetation here is unlike anything we’ve encountered so far—different flowers, trees, and mosses have sprung up, likely due to the Tumult altering the soil’s composition. Despite forty years of jungle encroachment, parts of the ship remain exposed. One section, polished onyx, still reflects light, its surface unnervingly smooth, as though freshly constructed. Mesektet was built to last. I run my hand over it without thinking, and soon my soldiers follow suit, pride washing over us like a wave. Nosk captures every stolen moment with his watchful gaze, but this isn’t the time for reflection. We need to press on.

After a few minutes, we find an opening in the hull. I lead the way, with Tocsin squeezing through behind me. My flashlight cuts through the darkness, revealing a cargo hold strewn with shattered crates and debris, a stark testament to the force of Mesektet's crash. Roots snake through the space, twisting across surfaces and complicating our progress. Suddenly, my light catches a cascade of refracted beams. I realize I’ve illuminated a series of crystals, their pink translucence transforming an entire walkway into an alien landscape. Approaching cautiously, I crane my neck upward and spot what remains of a ladder leading to the upper decks. My breath catches in my throat—a crystallized figure is frozen mid-climb, reaching for the next rung. Choked whispers ripple behind me as I sweep my beam across the scene. The Coalescence tugs at my mind, but I sense Nosk broadcasting this horrific image over private channels. Refusing to linger, I choose another path.

For a fleeting moment, my thoughts stray to Kojo and my dread of seeing him face the chaos wrought by the Tumult. On my left, a staircase appears, leading me upward. I ascend through a hatch into a corridor ablaze with color—an explosion of vibrant exotic flowers has overtaken the space, forming a surreal tunnel of petals. A few steps in, my boot catches on something. Not a simple obstruction—a mass of flora that was once a body. I steel myself and step over it. The tragedy here is inescapable. Dozens of crew members fell victim to the Tumult's twisted wrath. We press into another room. Memories from my cadet days resurface—hours spent poring over the mythical schematics of this ship in aeronautics training. I recognize this as the communications room, now overrun by roots and granite outgrowths. Humanoid forms, a grotesque fusion of plant and stone, sit eerily at long-abandoned consoles. The sight elicits curses and gasps of horror from my team. Against my better judgment, I briefly let the Coalescence connect. An overwhelming tide of shared revulsion sweeps over me as others in the Gestalt react to the ghastly tableau—mutilated bodies, faces frozen in agony, preserved for eternity. Some might even recognize a friend or loved one among the petrified dead. It’s a nightmare.

I urge my team to move forward. Torn between grief and duty, they reluctantly follow. Finally, we reach the command deck. This is no longer the iconic symbol I once admired in textbook images; it’s a fragmented ruin. Half of the space has been claimed by the jungle, with tree branches weaving through the consoles and equipment. The Tumult’s cruel creativity is everywhere. We thread carefully among the corpses, now crystallized, mineralized, or overgrown. The air feels heavy with the weight of what we’re witnessing. A hand grips my arm suddenly, pulling me aside. It’s Tong, one of the veterans, a history enthusiast and former mechanic. His wide eyes and trembling finger point to a nearby granite formation. I focus on the mass, piecing together its story. Two vaguely human shapes emerge—one appears to be striking the other in the back with what might be a saber. The struck figure seems to bear admiral’s epaulettes. The Coalescence buzzes with fury—a storm of collective rage unleashed.

Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!

I force myself to stay calm and think clearly. This is impossible. Unthinkable. Such acts couldn’t have taken place aboard the Night Barque. My entire group raises their fists, shouting. The idea is too outrageous. Images flood our minds—memories pulled from the Coalescence of other Ordis. They reveal faces with features resembling the supposed attacker etched into the stone. Names are murmured. I step closer to the two masses, circling them in search of information, confirmation, proof. The roots on the ground—they’ve shifted the statues from their original positions. What we mistook for a blade is nothing more than a geological protrusion, the handiwork of the Tumult. And it isn’t the Admiral standing before us either; the "epaulets" are merely mineral extensions. Nothing we felt or assumed is true.

The stream of false rumors must be stopped.

I approach the officer, paralyzed by his struggle to manage the Coalescence. Grabbing his arm, I show him, piece by piece, the evidence of our collective mistake. For a moment, Nosk seems frozen, overwhelmed by the storm of fury unleashed by the accusatory visions. I pause, close my eyes, and concentrate. I touch my Rhombus to amplify my presence within the Gestalt and impose the images of proof onto him. He finally nods and, slowly, reasserts control over the currents, replacing the distorted representations and accusatory visuals in the Coalescence. The calm returns—both in the distance and among the group. To keep everyone grounded and away from lingering thoughts, I assign each of them a task, keeping them occupied.

There’s too much room for emotion here, and I must suppress it, even if it’s understandable, given the context of our mission. After giving my orders, I slip away, accompanied by Tocsin. I know where to go. I bring Tong with me—his expertise and memories will prove useful. I recall the layout. We make our way to the main deck, where Tumult and nature have continued their absurd wedding. I pray that the place I’m looking for hasn’t been too badly altered. At last, we arrive at the cockpit. By some miracle, part of the room has retained its original form. I ask Tong where the black box is—the device that could reveal what happened during the crash. He scratches his head, momentarily puzzled by my request, then points to a small hatch on the side of a control panel, now partially overrun by plants. We try the handle. It moves without resistance. Finally, we can shed light on the events. I reach inside, only to feel… nothing. The black box is gone—stolen. I grab Tong’s hand before he can activate his Coalescence. No one must know about this. Not yet.

The Coalescence—the fusion of two surfaces in contact—is the process by which a mind connected to the Gestalt joins this shared space. It operates via a Rhombus tattooed on the user's skin, serving both as a key and a lock, as it holds the credentials necessary to connect to or disconnect from this domain. Through the Gestalt, Ordis can instantly share information, images, and sensations. This hive-mind, as some call it, acts as a matrix where all Ordis can store or retrieve data, like a vast communal library, or send public or personal messages, signaled by a notification system. Additionally, they can share or receive memories and sensory experiences through persistent yet filterable streams. By touching their Rhombus, a Gestalt-linked individual can amplify or reduce the signal's intensity. They can also target a specific person or group using more or less focused impulses. In this way, the Gestalt functions as a sophisticated social network with a carefully codified grammar. Beyond its communal use, specialized channels exist for military and bureaucratic purposes. Military use, honed during the extensive training of Ordis recruits, revolves around two primary functions: intelligence and tactics. Intelligence enables sharing reconnaissance and espionage data—terrain topology, detected threats—through snapshots and telemetry. This is an emission impulse for information. Tactics allow for unit organization—orders, formations, deployment types—via orders and diagrams. This is a reception impulse for information. These military information exchanges have the dual advantage of being instantaneous, simultaneous, and silent. Bureaucratic use, on the other hand, focuses on researching, sorting, and prioritizing information. Here, the filtering functionality becomes paramount, requiring the same specialized mindset and training as military Coalescence. Bureaucratic Coalescence allows users to "search" through the Gestalt or send queries that qualified correspondents (identified as such by the Gestalt) can respond to. Bureaucratic impulses can also be deferred by recipients and processed later at their convenience. Finally, the Gestalt supports the creation of private forums where members can gather to discuss various topics, provided the distance and the Espar network infrastructure allow it.