Anarchistbanjo's World

Day 1: The Mountain’s Cry
Dusk loomed over Argon, a gray haze threading a rugged sky—wind howled through jagged peaks, their hum fading as the rocky platform shuddered beneath the Knights’ boots, stone pulsing like a strained heartbeat. A cold gust whipped through, pine and damp earth threading sharp from below—mountain vines clung sparse across the hub, their glow dimming through craggy cliffs, peaks groaning under strain. Tobal stepped from the rift’s shimmer, his tunic—red, frayed—flapping loose, wild hair lashing in the wind—scars ached, medallion glowing, gold humming bold against his chest, yang’s awareness threading his grip as he scanned the familiar cliffs—Argon, where his parents birthed the OAK school, now hunted—Fiona’s warmth pressed close, a spiced spark threading his resolve. Fiona landed beside him, her tunic—rough, stitched—billowing free, red hair spilling wild, green eyes glinting sharp—her staff swung firm, wood gnarled, yin’s wild pulsing through her veins, vines twitching faint against the stone—her hand brushed his shoulder, a tender heat flaring bold.

A low hum groaned through—Argon’s cry, raw and urgent, threading through the wild—“Mountains fade—wild dies”—a sharp hiss followed, reptilian and cold, threading through the peaks, shadowed by Federation drones. Becca vaulted onto a ledge, her tunic—dark, torn—stretched taut over broad shoulders, shaved head catching the gray light—blue eyes flared fierce, axe sharp in her grip, yin’s wild snarling low as she eyed the sparse vines—her breath steamed hot. Rafe twirled from the rift, his tunic—coarse, patched—flapping loose, hazel eyes glinting mischief—his knife spun, steel flashing, yang’s playful spark threading his wiry frame as he kicked a shard—a grin flashed sly. Cal stepped steady, his tunic—soft, faded—hanging loose, tangled brown hair brushing his brow—gray eyes steadied calm, spear light in his grip, yang’s quiet strength pulsing steady as he traced the hum—his stance rooted firm. Valentine bounded out, his coat—thick, matted—bristling faint, yellow eyes glinting sharp—claws scraped stone, yang’s instinct rumbling low through his shaggy stride, nose flaring at the reptilian stench—Lumens emerged, her silver luminescent skin glowing soft in a black dress, green hair flowing like vines, eyes flaring with earth’s core—shimmering wisps pulsed, threading Argon’s fading wild.

The mountain hum faltered—a reptilian drone buzzed within Argon’s web, cold claws threading jagged tendrils through the wild’s roots—Federation shadows loomed, hunting Howling Wolf and Adam Gardner, Tobal’s parents’ allies, now hiding in the cave behind the waterfall at the lake—the sacred spot where his parents were murdered, where OAK classes still whispered time travel’s secrets. Fiona’s vines surged—“Web’s weak—Argon’s alive”—her voice sang low, green eyes narrowing as vines brushed a dying strand, a dry chill threading her grasp—her hip pressed Tobal’s, a spiced warmth weaving through—“They’re here”—her breath brushed his ear, heat flaring soft. Tobal’s pulse thumped—“Reptilian—Federation’s hunting”—his voice rasped firm, brown eyes glinting as his whip snapped loose—yang’s spark nicked a tendril, a flicker bursting free—his hand gripped her waist, sparking alive—“The cave—we’ll find them”—his grip steadied, wild threading bold.

Becca’s snarl rumbled—“I’ll crush that drone”—blue eyes blazed, axe slashing air as yin’s fire surged, steel brushing stone with a sharp crack—her boots sank into dust. Rafe’s knife spun—“Tech’s hunting—let’s hunt back”—breath minty, a spark flaring as he tossed it at a cliff shadow, yang’s thrill weaving wild—his grin flashed keen. Cal’s spear swung—“Wild’s frail—track the lake”—his voice flowed low, gray eyes tracing a tendril’s path, yang steadying the web—“Argon’s pleading”—his spear grazed rock. Valentine’s growl rose—“Web cries”—yellow eyes flared, claws raking air as the wild’s cry pulsed through his growl—fur bristled tense. Lumens’ wisps pulsed—“Mountains weep—tech binds”—her voice hummed low, green hair swaying as she scanned the cliffs—“The cave—I’ll weave it”—her silver form flared, strength threading through.

The rugged hub quaked—glow worms dimmed—reptilian drone hissed cold—wild’s hum weakened, but Argon’s cry surged, threading through—the crew stood firm with Lumens, bodies pulsing Argon’s strength, exploration sparking toward the lake and the cave behind the waterfall in the mountain hub.