As the mist swirled and thickened in front of them, Lia tightened her grip on her energy-saber. "Guys, we are not the aggressors in this fight! We only defend!" she called out to her comrades, trying to keep her voice steady.
Her words barely left her lips before the first attack landed. The mist ahead coalesced into a massive, vaporous fist. Jax lunged forward to block it, but the strike harmlessly swept around him, dissolving back into a damp blanket. It was a decoy.
A spear whistled through the grey gloom moments later. Thankfully, Aisha's vines, unfazed by the poor visibility, lashed out, catching the spear mid-flight and snapping it in half.
"Levi, create some distance!" Lia ordered.
Levi responded without a word. His nano-bots swarmed into the shape of a massive industrial fan, spinning rapidly and carving a tunnel of clear air through the mist.
"Kez, can you see anyone?" Lia asked.
"No! Visibility's still too poor," Kez shouted back, his voice thick with anxiety. "And this hawk in my head is getting pissed — he's hungry!"
The respite was brief. Illusions of soldiers and weapons flickered like ghosts in the mist, while real projectiles flew in from impossible angles. Lia knew they couldn't win a war against the weather.
"I can sense their thoughts," Lia announced, deactivating her blade and sitting cross-legged on the cold sand. "I'm going to establish a neural link. I'm trusting you all with my life."
The Hand formed a protective circle around her.
"Get out of my head!" a deep, resonant male voice boomed within her mind.
"Then stop attacking us," Lia replied calmly.
"Even if you are who you say you are, we don't need someone lording over us," the voice spat. "We've fought off intruders for months without casualties. We have the coastline; we have the desert. We have the most talented Ascendants on our side. You have nothing to offer us."
"How long do you think you can keep this up?" Lia countered. "Apex is expanding. It's happening faster than you realize. And his closest allies—the People of the Sand—are growing stronger. It's in their name, stranger. What surrounds you? Sand. Don't let pride blind you. I know Apex better than anyone."
As she finished, a shadowy figure materialized in her mindscape.
"You may call me Silt," the figure said. "I am the leader of the Mist Faction."
Lia opened her eyes to the environment shifting. The mist thinned, and the rain of spears ceased. Kez looked down at her, a warm smile breaking through his anxiety.
"Thank you, Lia. Dependable as always."
A tall, muscular man stepped through the fog. Pale-skinned, bald-headed, with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper goatee, he exuded the calm authority of an experienced diplomat.
"It's a pleasure to meet the fabled war heroes and fellow anarchist visionaries," Silt said politely. "When was the last time you had a warm cup of Rooibos tea? Our stocks are running low, but I'll share what remains."
The Mist Faction were nomads, their settlement a cluster of simple yet sturdy tents. Inside Silt's quarters, Lia sipped honey-scented tea before getting to the point.
"Silt, I'm not here to use your people as pawns. In fact, I didn't even intend for us to warp here," Lia admitted with a small smile. "For the first time in my life, I acted on intuition instead of plan. But since we're here, let's make the most of it. I'm proposing a mutually beneficial partnership. My team can create a stronghold oasis—complete with infrastructure, permanent defenses, and resources. Plus, more Rooibos than you can drink in two lifetimes."
Silt returned her smile, offering his hand. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Outside, the tension dissipated. The Hand mingled with locals: Jax shared a joint with a fellow geologist admiring rock formations; Aisha tended to a sprouting potato crop while preparing her famous potato bake; Kez surrounded himself with a litter of puppies; Levi set up a data network streaming old cartoons for the children.
Farther south in Cape Town, the mood was darker. A massive crowd gathered at the foot of Table Mountain, vibrating with bloodlust.
Nkosinathi stepped onto the stage in traditional Zulu attire. Tapping the microphone, his amplified voice echoed across the mountainside.
"Friends, family... People of the Sand! Many of you yearn for the days of old. You feel alienated. Our culture has been trampled on by The Hand and their so-called 'Revolution'! Allow me to introduce our leader! Lord Apex!"
The floodlights snapped off. Silence blanketed the crowd until a piercing whistle shattered the air, ending in a bone-rattling thud. The shockwave knocked dozens off their feet, sending dust and stone into the night sky.
The lights flickered back on to reveal Aiden standing in the crater, clad in green and gold spandex. His cape—bearing the South African flag—billowed in the wind he summoned.
He took the microphone from Nkosinathi.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Apex. I come bearing bad news." His voice thundered, resonating off the mountain face. "The treacherous Oracle and her band of criminals have landed in Africa. Make no mistake—they are dangerous."
The crowd murmured anxiously.
"Do not think they are here to save you. Those whose lands we annexed—we did it for your own good! History is written by winners, and I will make sure I win!"
The crowd erupted in a chant: "Apex is King! Apex is King!"
"As of today, you are no longer the People of the Sand," Aiden roared. "You are the Apex Faction! Together, we will eradicate this disease called equality and crush the illusion of freedom! We will erase them from existence!"
The throng's chant grew louder, a rhythmic beat of feet and voices: "Apex! Apex! Apex!"
With a sinister snarl, Aiden dropped the microphone and strode away. The war had officially begun.