Ocular Astra Journeys: The Seven Hearth

CHAPTER 2: THE CAGE & THE ELDER

The tiny, amplified voice still hung in the air—“You are prisoners of Hearth.” —when the world erupted into motion.

Before Stollen could raise a hand in peace, before Lyra could even form a word, the miniature soldiers moved. It wasn’t an attack of brute force, but of terrifying precision. A dozen of them drew back their arms and hurled not spears of war, but short, needle-tipped darts.

Thwick. Thwick-thwick.

The projectiles were tiny, but they found the seams of their suits—the flexible joints at the knees, the elbows, the neck seal. A cold, sharp prick, followed instantly by a spreading numbness.

Lyra slapped at her thigh, fingers fumbling. “Tranq… darts…” Her words slurred. “Advanced… cocktail…”

Stollen’s vision swam. The forest tilted. He saw Lyra’s legs buckle. He tried to step toward her, but his own muscles had turned to wet sand. The ground rushed up to meet him.

His last sight, blurred and fading, was of the tiny soldiers parting. Two larger silhouettes strode forward—human-sized, looming over the miniature army. They were hazy, indistinct, but their scale was unmistakable. Not giants like him, but not miniatures either.

How…?

Then, nothing.

---

Consciousness returned like a slow tide, bringing with it a dry mouth and a deep, pervasive weakness. Stollen groaned, pushing himself up on elbows that felt boneless.

He was in a cage.

A large, rust-pitted dog cage, set in a small clearing deep in the strange, stunted forest. The air was cooler here, the light dim under the canopy of broad, dark leaves. The “Heavenly Trees,” he guessed. They were tall—maybe twice his height—but they didn’t inspire awe, only a profound sense of wrongness.

Lyra stirred beside him. “Ugh. My head feels stuffed with cotton.”

“Muscle relaxant,” Stollen croaked, his throat parched. “Neuro-inhibitor, probably. Fast-acting.”

Outside the thick, criss-crossed bars, six warriors stood guard. They were the normal, finger-sized scale, armed with thorn-spears and watching with unreadable, tiny faces.

Lyra scooted closer, her voice a whisper. “Before we passed out… did you see them? Two bigger ones?”

Stollen stared at the guards. All normal. All small. “I thought I did. A hallucination? Side effect?”

“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced.

Stollen’s eyes were drawn to the cage lock. It wasn’t a simple padlock. It was a complex, fist-sized mechanism of interlocking plates, made of the same unknown, faintly blue metal as the bolt he’d found. And it was glowing. A soft, pulsating light emanated from fine grooves etched across its surface—the same hexagonal pattern he’d seen in the atmosphere.

He reached out, not touching, just feeling the air near it. A static buzz raised the hairs on his arm.

Before he could speak, the guards snapped to attention. From between the trees, Elder Skrul stepped into the clearing. He moved with a quiet authority, his circlet of silver leaves glinting. He held no weapon, only his acorn amplifier.

He stopped a few feet from the cage—a safe distance for him, point-blank for them—and studied them for a long, silent moment.

“What brings you to Hearth?” His amplified voice was calm, devoid of the fear or anger Stollen expected.

Lyra cleared her throat. “Our ship was damaged. We were pulled here by some kind of… anomaly. We crashed. We mean no harm.”

“We’re astronauts,” Stollen added. “From Earth. We’re lost.”

At the word Earth, Skrul’s eyes tightened almost imperceptibly. The tiny lines around them deepened. “Earth,” he repeated slowly. “This is Hearth.”

One of the guards, bolder than the rest, took a half-step forward. “Elder, we cannot trust them! Their presence alone invites danger! We should—”

“Enough.” Skrul didn’t raise his voice, but the guard fell silent instantly. “I have seen beings descend from the suns before. These… are different. Their composition is foreign. Their technology is alien. They are not from the suns.” He turned his gaze back to the cage. “You seem harmless in intent, if not in scale. We will release you.”

Lyra’s shoulders slumped in relief, which immediately triggered a loud, rolling growl from her stomach. The sound echoed in the quiet clearing, a deep, beastly rumble.

The guards flinched, hands flying to their weapons.

Skrul, however, did something unexpected. A flicker of something—amusement? understanding?—crossed his face. “But you cannot come to the village. You would cause panic. You will remain here, in the Forest of Heavenly Trees, tonight. Tomorrow, you will come before the Council of Seven Elders. We will decide what is to be done with you.”

“And our ship? The materials to repair it?” Stollen pressed.

“One matter at a time, giant.” Skrul began to turn away. “Food and water will be brought. Rest. Tomorrow, you meet the world.”

“Wait,” Stollen called out. Skrul paused. “How did you get us here? Into this cage?”

Skrul didn’t turn around. “We are more resourceful than we appear. The forest is safe. Do not try to leave.”

He walked away, the six guards falling into formation behind him, leaving Stollen and Lyra alone in the deepening gloom.

The moment they were gone, Stollen twisted to examine the lock again. The glow pulsed rhythmically, like a slow heartbeat. He carefully extended a finger, brushing the metal.

A sharp static shock made him jerk back. Where he’d touched, the light brightened, and a vein of blue energy raced silently along the cage bar for a full foot before fading.

“This isn’t just a lock,” he breathed.

Lyra was watching the empty path Skrul had taken. “He knew what Earth was, Stollen. He recognized it. And he didn’t deny seeing bigger guards.”

“This cage isn’t just metal,” Stollen said, his mind racing. “It’s active. It’s drawing power from somewhere. It’s not containing us with strength. It’s… I don’t know. Dampening something. Or charging something.”

He was so focused on the lock, he almost missed the new sound.

A whisper, so faint it could have been the wind. But it was words.

It came from the dense foliage to their left.

“Don’t trust the glow, giants.”

Stollen and Lyra froze, staring into the shadows.

“It remembers.”

Then, silence.

END OF CHAPTER 2