The advance into the Deadwoods was silent, save for the hum of the Techie squad’s armor and the occasional hiss of steam from their joints. Iris led her team through the desolate landscape, their path illuminated by the dull glow of their suits’ energy cores. The air was thick with tension. Every step brought them closer to Rachna, and every moment felt like a countdown to confrontation.

The Deadwoods were aptly named. Twisted, charred remnants of trees stood like skeletal sentinels, their branches reaching out like claws. The ground beneath their feet was cracked and dry, devoid of any life. In the distance, the towering forms of the Fey's sacred trees loomed, their gnarled trunks pulsating with an eerie, otherworldly glow. Magic was strong here, thick in the air, almost suffocating.

Iris clenched her jaw, focusing on the mission. The Fey were an unpredictable enemy, their powers rooted in forces that defied logic and reason. But they were no match for the might of technology. Not today.

“Commander, we’re nearing the coordinates,” a voice crackled through her earpiece.

Iris raised a hand, signaling the team to halt. She scanned the area, her HUD displaying readings of elevated magical energy. They were close.

“Spread out,” she ordered. “Keep your eyes open.”

The squad fanned out, weapons at the ready. Iris kept her plasma rifle close, her finger hovering over the trigger as she moved cautiously through the twisted underbrush. Her armor clanked softly with each step, the sound almost swallowed by the oppressive silence.

Then, she saw it—the Well of Rachna.

It was smaller than she had imagined, a dark pool nestled between two massive trees, their roots intertwined like veins. The water shimmered with an unnatural light, and the air around it felt heavy, charged with ancient power. The sight of it sent a chill down her spine.

“This is it,” Iris whispered, stepping closer. “The Well of Creation.”

As she approached the edge of the water, something shifted in the air. A low, melodic hum echoed through the trees, growing louder with each passing second. Her heart pounded in her chest as the ground beneath her feet began to tremble.

“They’re here!” a voice shouted through her comms.

Before Iris could react, the Fey emerged from the shadows, their forms shifting and blending with the trees as if they were part of the forest itself. Their bodies were ethereal, shimmering with the soft glow of magic, and their eyes—deep, endless pools of light—seemed to pierce through her armor, through her very soul.

The Techies opened fire. Plasma bolts cut through the air, sizzling as they struck the Fey, but the creatures moved with a grace and speed that defied logic. They twisted and danced around the attacks, their movements fluid and unpredictable.

Iris fired her own weapon, trying to focus on the mission, but the Fey were everywhere, surrounding them, closing in. Her team was falling, one by one, their suits sparking and smoking as they were overwhelmed by the sheer force of the Fey’s magic.

“Fall back!” she shouted, but it was too late.

A Fey, its form shifting like smoke, appeared before her. Its eyes met hers, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. She could see something in those eyes—something ancient, something sad.

Before she could react, the Fey reached out, its hand passing through her armor as if it were nothing more than paper. She felt a searing pain in her chest, followed by a cold, creeping numbness. The world around her dimmed, the sounds of battle fading into the distance.

As she fell to her knees, her vision blurred, and she found herself staring at the Well of Rachna. The water shimmered, rippling as if in response to her presence. For a fleeting moment, she understood. This place—it wasn’t just a source of magic. It was life. It was creation. It was everything.

And she had come here to destroy it.

“Iris…” a voice whispered, soft and familiar.

She looked up, her breath shallow, and saw Vance standing above her. His armor was battered, his face pale, but his eyes burned with the same resolve he had always carried.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the weight of her armor pressing down on her chest, suffocating her.

Vance knelt beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder. “We did what we had to.”

But even as he said it, Iris knew it wasn’t true. In her final moments, she realized that the armor she had worn all her life had been a lie, a shield to protect her from the truth she hadn’t wanted to face.

The Fey weren’t the enemy.

They never had been.

And now, it was too late.

With her last breath, she reached out toward the Well, her fingers brushing the edge of the water. The cool touch of it soothed her, and for a moment, she felt the weight of her armor lift.

And then, there was only darkness.