Genetic Awakening: My Genes Evolve Infinitely!

Chapter 195: Sudden Attack

In the dark, with her mask lowered and the wind pulling loose strands of hair across her face, Maerin looked less like the captain of Veyrhold’s outer watch and more like a woman who had spent too many years standing between people and impossible choices.

"My father died in the wreck field," she said.

Rohan went still.

Maerin did not look at him.

"He was not chasing salvage. That is what people assume when someone dies there, because salvage greed has taken many fools. But my father was a records keeper. He believed one of the old hull sections still contained navigation fragments from before the crash. Not a working route, perhaps, but enough to prove where Horizon’s Mercy had intended to go before it fell."

"What happened?"

"He found something. We know that much because he sent one runner back with a sealed plate and instructions to give it to the elders. Then he went deeper with two others."

Her jaw tightened.

"The runner died before reaching the gate. Fever ash in the lungs. The plate was cracked and unreadable by the time it arrived. My father and the others did not return."

Rohan said nothing.

"I was sixteen," Maerin continued. "Old enough to understand what hope had done to him and young enough to hate him for choosing it anyway."

The wind moved ash against the hollow wall.

"I am sorry," Rohan said quietly.

This time, Maerin accepted it with a small nod.

"I do not tell you this to frighten you away from the wreck field. You will not frighten away easily, and I dislike wasting effort. I tell you because when I say people die there, I am not repeating a rule from a ledger. I am remembering a man who loved Veyrhold enough to seek a way beyond it and left his daughter with nothing but a cracked plate and questions."

Rohan’s throat felt tight.

For months, Maerin had been a wall to him. Stern, difficult, fair when she chose to be, but always controlled. Seeing grief beneath that control made her warnings heavier.

"I will not chase lights blindly," he said.

"Good."

"But if there is a chance to learn something safely, I will take it."

Maerin finally looked at him.

"I expect you to. That is part of why I allowed you on this expedition."

Rohan blinked.

"You allowed me because of the wreck field?"

"I allowed you because you need progress before the Gilded Heron arrives, because your ash-working may help keep this expedition alive, because Bren believes your desperation can be turned into leverage, because Liora trusts you more than she admits, and because if old records exist near the southern debris edge, you may notice things we have stopped believing in."

"That is a lot of reasons."

"Yes. Try not to waste them."

He gave a small, tired laugh.

"I will do my best."

Maerin’s expression softened by the smallest amount.

"I believe that."

The second day brought the first true fight.

They found the glassmaws near noon.

The terrain had begun to rise into low black ridges where old hull fragments lay buried beneath ash and fused stone. The air tasted metallic, and every few hundred metres, Rohan spotted pale curved plates protruding from the ground like the ribs of enormous dead animals. Some were natural blackstone. Others were too smooth, too pale beneath the ash, and carried lines of old manufacture that made his fingers itch with curiosity.

The wreck field was announcing itself piece by piece.

Maerin kept the team on the marked southern route.

No wandering.

No investigating.

No chasing ideas.

Rohan repeated that to himself every time he saw something that might have been a hatch, a conduit, or a shattered window from a ship older than Veyrhold itself.

Then Sen raised a fist.

The formation stopped.

Three shapes moved along the ridge ahead.

At first, Rohan mistook them for warped reflections in the heat haze. Then one turned its head, and he saw the transparent jaw.

Glassmaws.

He had fought one before, but only with a full watch party and better ground. These were larger than the last, lean and half-melted in appearance, their bodies covered in smoky hide that shifted strangely against the ash. Their lower jaws were clear like thick glass, exposing rows of needle teeth and a faintly glowing throat.

They moved without hurry.

That worried him.

Predators that rushed could be baited. Predators that knew they had time usually had reason.

Maerin’s voice carried low but clear.

"Three glassmaws ahead. Sen, Arv, take the left one when it breaks formation. Liora, watch the right.

Jorren and Mavik, hold centre. Rohan, you support whichever side they test first. Do not chase if one retreats toward the hull plates."

Rohan nodded.

"I understand. If they retreat, they are likely drawing us into worse ground."

Maerin glanced at him briefly.

"Correct."

The old version of him might have made a joke.

This time, he tightened his grip on the spear and watched.

The glassmaws came down the ridge.

Their paws barely disturbed the ash. Their bodies reflected the landscape in warped patches, making it difficult to track exact movement. As they approached, the centre one opened its transparent jaw and made a clicking sound deep in its throat.

The ash around them stirred.

Rohan felt a faint tug beneath his boots.

"They are disturbing the ash," he called.

Veska cursed. "They are calling loose drift. Shields, brace!"

The glassmaws lunged as the ash rose.

For several seconds, visibility collapsed into grey chaos.

Rohan pulled his scarf tight and activated Molten Assimilation. Not broadly. Not enough to grip the field. He had learned that lesson. Instead, he drew ash close to his forearms and the lower half of his face, forming a thin protective layer over the cloth and skin. The world narrowed to shapes, sounds, and movement.

A glassmaw burst through the ash on the left.

Sen’s arrow struck its shoulder. Arv’s followed, hitting the throat. The creature twisted away from the second shot faster than expected, then sprang toward the archers.

Rohan moved.