Anarchistbanjo's World

Day 4: The Drone’s Core
Twilight thickened over Argon, a gray mist curling through a jagged sky—wind keened through craggy peaks, their hum faltering as the rocky cave thrummed beneath the Knights’ boots, stone pulsing like a strained vein. A damp gust swirled through the falls, mist and earth rising sharp—the cave’s vines pulsed faint, their glow threading dim through shadowed walls, rock groaning under strain. Tobal crouched near a jagged crevice, his tunic—red, frayed—clinging damp, wild hair slick against his shoulders—scars ached, medallion glowing, gold humming bold against his chest, yang’s awareness threading his grip as he traced a cold tendril—Fiona’s warmth pressed near, a spiced spark threading his focus. Fiona knelt beside him, her tunic—rough, stitched—swaying wet, red hair dripping wild, green eyes glinting fierce—her staff rested firm, wood gnarled, yin’s wild pulsing through her veins, vines snaking toward a dark shimmer—her hand brushed his neck, a tender heat weaving bold.

A reptilian drone buzzed low—its cold tendrils threading jagged claws through Argon’s wild, sapping its hum—Federation shadows flickered outside, hunting the OAK school’s time travel secrets guarded by Howling Wolf and Adam Gardner. Lumens stood radiant, her silver luminescent skin glowing in a black dress, green hair flowing like vines, eyes flaring with earth’s core—shimmering wisps pulsed toward the crevice. Howling Wolf loomed near, tall and lean, gray hair wild, stone blade gleaming—his voice growled low, threading wisdom—“Core’s deep—tech’s heart.” Adam Gardner flanked him, broad and scarred, crude staff pulsing faint—his eyes narrowed, strength threading his stance—“They’re close—find it.” Becca paced the cave’s edge, her tunic—dark, torn—stretched taut over broad shoulders, shaved head catching the faint glow—blue eyes flared fierce, axe sharp in her grip, yin’s wild snarling low as she eyed the walls—her breath steamed hot. Rafe darted through shadows, 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 nicked a vine—a grin flashed sly. Cal stood steady near a stalagmite, 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 prodded a pulsing root—his stance rooted firm. Valentine prowled the cave’s rim, 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 drone’s hum.

The mountain hum faltered—Argon’s wild weakened, drone claws threading deeper—Argon’s cry wailed soft, threading through the cave—Lumens’ voice broke through—“Core’s here—wild’s heart”—her wisps flared, pinpointing the dark shimmer. Fiona’s vines surged—“Web’s alive—core’s there”—her voice sang low, green eyes flashing as vines gripped a cold tendril, a damp chill threading her grasp—her arm slid around Tobal’s shoulders, a spiced heat weaving through—“We’ve got it”—her breath brushed his ear, heat flaring bold. Tobal’s pulse thundered—“Reptilian—tech’s core”—his voice rasped firm, brown eyes glinting as his whip lashed out—yang’s spark slashed a tendril, a flare bursting free—his hand gripped her waist, sparking alive—“We strike soon”—his grip tightened, wild threading fierce.

Becca’s growl rumbled—“I’ll rip it apart”—blue eyes blazed, axe slashing stone as yin’s fire surged, steel cracking a vine with a sharp snap—her boots stomped firm. Rafe’s knife flicked—“Tech’s dark—let’s gut it”—breath minty, a spark leaping as he tossed it at the shimmer, yang’s thrill weaving wild—his grin flashed keen. Cal’s spear thrust—“Wild’s faint—hit it”—his voice flowed low, gray eyes tracing the core’s pulse, yang steadying the web—“Argon’s strength”—his spear stabbed rock. Valentine’s snarl rose—“Web fights”—yellow eyes flared, claws raking air as the wild’s cry pulsed through his growl—fur bristled fierce. Howling Wolf’s blade gleamed—“Core’s ours—cut it”—his growl threaded sharp, guiding the crew—Adam’s staff flared—“Time bends—strike true”—his voice rumbled low, strength threading through.

The cave 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, Howling Wolf, and Adam Gardner, wild weaving fierce as they faced the drone’s core in Argon’s mountain hub.