Chapter 3: The Obsidian Envoy

For forty-eight hours, the Epilogue hung in geosynchronous orbit, a silent, invisible moon hidden behind the planet’s atmospheric shield. The initial adrenaline of arrival had settled into the cold, methodical rhythm of reconnaissance.

The main viewport was no longer just a window; it was a mosaic of high-resolution feeds, thermal maps, and biological telemetry streaming from the swarm of micro-drones the AI had scattered into the upper atmosphere.

“It’s a world of eternal twilight,” Ambrosio III murmured, standing before the glass. He hadn’t slept. The fascination was keeping the rot at bay, if only for a moment.

Teegarden b—or “The Garden,” as the Sails crew had christened it—was a planet of stark dualities. The dayside was a scorched wasteland of obsidian dunes and boiling indigo seas, forever baked by the angry red eye of the star. The nightside was a glacial tomb of nitrogen ice. But between them lay the Terminator Line—the Twilight Ring.

Here, life didn’t just survive; it rioted.

The landscape was a carpet of deep violets, blacks, and dark crimsons. The vegetation had evolved to devour the weak infrared light of the red dwarf, resulting in forests of towering, fern-like trees with leaves as black as void-glass. Rivers of bioluminescent algae carved through the jungle like veins of liquid starlight.

“It looks like Earth,” Dan said, stepping up beside him, a mug of nutrient paste in hand. “If Earth was bruised.”

[The biology is fascinating,] the AI chimed in, highlighting a cluster of settlements on the map. [And the locals… they are definitely human stock, but they’ve drifted.]

The screen zoomed in on a market square in one of the spiraling, glass-spire cities. The people moving below were undeniably human, their physiology remarkably similar to their Terran cousins despite the light-years of separation. Their skin ranged from deep, bruised indigo to a pale, almost translucent violet, possessing a latent, bioluminescent quality. The only other divergence was their eyes—large and reflective with vertical, cat-like pupils that allowed them to see in the perpetual crimson gloom. They moved with a refined elegance that spoke of a civilization far removed from the industrial grit of Earth.

“It’s a different kind of power,” Ambrosio observed, mesmerized. “We built our world with steel and fire, conquering nature. They seem to have seduced it. Their cities… they rival the complexity of the Old World, but they are beautiful, almost fantasy-like. It’s not just technology; it’s a spiritual symbiosis. They don’t break the world to build on it; they grow with it.”

“And they aren’t bound to the ground,” Dan noted, pointing to a swarm of glinting shapes weaving through the towers. “Crystalline skimmers. They ride the magnetic currents of the shield like dragonflies. We’ve seen them strafing the Hollow Ones on the frontlines. They have air superiority, or at least, air agility.”

[Bone density scans suggest they are tougher than us, too,] the AI noted. [Gravity is 1.05 Gs. They are built for endurance. And their energy output… it’s potent. Their forces could likely rival our elite AlterTerra units, but where we use destruction as a tool, they seem to harness the planet’s own vitality.]

“And for war,” Dan added, gesturing to the southern hemisphere.

The peaceful imagery of the cities gave way to the chaotic thermal blooms of the equator. For the last forty-eight hours, they had watched the frontlines shift. The enemy—the “Hollow Ones”—were a tide of black chitin and fluid that surged from the dark side, throwing themselves against the glowing lines of the Aethelgardian defense.

“The shadow-creatures are pushing hard,” Dan observed. “We’ve seen three breaches in the last twelve hours. The locals are holding, but they’re tired. You can see it in their movements.”

“Ok, so dropping a nuke is a no,” Dan continued, ticking off options on his fingers. “Napalm carries too much risk of civilian casualties; they are fighting too close to population centers. A standard show of force won’t do, as the enemy is non-intellectual. We need the locals to trust us, not fear us.”

[Speaking of the fighting,] the AI zoomed in on a skirmish recorded earlier. A warrior in iridescent armor—a constitution of spun glass and metal that seemed grown rather than forged—unleashed a torrent of white flames. The fire engulfed a shadow-beast but left the purple grass beneath it unscorched. [That ‘fire’ they produce? Thermal scans indicate almost zero heat radiation outside the target area.]

“That’s gonna be magic, alright,” Ambrosio grinned.

[You do know there are chemical reactions that produce cold luminescence, fanboy.]

“I’m just hoping there is something novel, alright!” Ambrosio snapped. “Something our science hasn’t cataloged. That’s our only chance.”

“Stop bickering,” Dan ordered, settling into the command chair. “We’ve watched enough. Two days of lurking is plenty. If we wait any longer, there won’t be a frontline left to save.”

“Is the translation matrix ready?”

[Way ahead of you. I’ve been scraping audio samples from low-altitude passes for the last forty-eight hours. Syntax is complex, tonal, but root-traceable to ancient proto-Indo-European. The translation matrix is ready. 98% accuracy probability.]

“What is their largest city?” Ambrosio asked.

[Southern hemisphere. Marking it on the map. Built around a massive geothermal vent. It is bustling with activity. A capital, perhaps.]

“We need to make an impression,” Ambrosio said.

“We will,” Dan adjusted his VR headset, preparing for full sensory immersion. “Prepare the primary envoy bot. The heavy unit. Polish the chassis until it shines. If they use magic, we’ll show them metal.”

---

The Descent

The capital city, which the translation matrix tentatively identified as Aethelgard, was a stunning sight as the envoy bot broke through the cloud layer.

The Envoy Bot didn’t launch; it fell.

Dan felt the phantom lurch in his stomach as the neural link transmitted the sensation of freefall. The bot plummeted from the hangar bay, a chrome meteor streaking through the thin upper atmosphere. The heat of reentry painted the optical sensors in angry washes of orange and white.

[Breaching cloud layer in 3… 2… 1…]

The whiteout vanished, replaced instantly by a sprawling kaleidoscope of violet and obsidian. Aethelgard revealed itself not as a city, but as a geode carved into the heart of a massive volcanic crater. Crystalline towers spiraled upward like stalagmites, glowing with soft, blue bioluminescence.

[Contact,] the AI warned, the HUD flashing red. [Local air defense active. Multiple bogeys intercepting.]

A squadron of the crystalline skimmers peeled off from the spires, diving toward the falling bot. They were fast, agile, moving with the grace of birds rather than machines.

“Ignore them,” Dan ordered, his focus narrowing. “We aren’t here to dogfight. We’re here to knock on the door.”

He didn’t slow down. He didn’t glide. He pushed the throttle to the stops, turning the bot into a kinetic missile. The skimmers scattered, unable to match the sheer, brute velocity of the falling metal.

At two thousand feet, Dan fired the retro-thrusters.

The sky roared. A sonic boom shattered the city’s melodic calm, rattling the glass spires and sending citizens in the plaza below scrambling for cover. The bot decelerated with violent force, the G-load spiking, before slamming into the center of the great plaza.

Stone cracked. Dust billowed in a choking cloud.

Dan didn’t move the bot. He let the dust settle. He let the sun glint off the impossible smoothness of its armor, standing amidst the crater he had just made. He saw the city guards—warriors in armor that looked grown from pearl and glass—push through the stunned crowd, leveling staffs that began to hum with latent energy.

“Alright, AI,” Dan muttered in the silent bridge of the Epilogue. “Hit the speakers. Maximum volume. Let’s see if this translation works.”

The bot’s external speakers crackled to life, booming with a voice that was deep, synthesized, and impossibly loud.

---

[PEOPLE OF AETHELGARD. DO NOT BE ALARMED.]

The translation matrix spat out the guttural, melodic sounds of their language. The effect was immediate. The crowd gasped as one. The guards didn’t lower their weapons, but they stopped advancing.

[WE ARE VOYAGERS FROM THE STARS. WE ARE KIN TO THE ANCESTORS YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN. WE COME NOT TO CONQUER, BUT TO WITNESS.]

Dan scanned the crowd through the bot’s optical sensors. A figure was emerging from a large central building—a woman dressed not in armor, but in flowing robes embroidered with shifting light patterns. She was breathtaking, her regal features framed by a cascade of silver hair that shimmered like a waterfall of starlight against her violet skin. She carried an aura of immense authority.

[WE SEE YOUR WAR AGAINST THE SHADOW. WE OFFER AID. TAKE US TO YOUR LEADERS.]

The woman raised a hand. The guards lowered their staffs slightly. She stepped forward, stopping ten feet from the giant machine. She looked up into its optical sensors with fearless, amethyst eyes.

She spoke. The AI translated in real-time in Dan’s ear.

“Sky-metal,” her voice was calm, resonant. “You speak the old tongue with a mouth of iron. If you are kin, why do you hide in a shell? Step forth, flesh and blood, and let the sun judge your intent.”

“She wants me to step out,” Dan muttered. “AI, tell her I can’t.”

[MY VESSEL CANNOT SUSTAIN LIFE ON YOUR SOIL YET. THIS IS MY AVATAR. MY EYES AND MY VOICE.]

The woman narrowed her eyes. She raised her hand again, and Dan watched on his sensors as the air around her palm began to distort. A sphere of that impossible, cold white fire ignited, hovering inches above her skin.

“Then your avatar shall be tested,” she declared. “Prove you are not a shadow wearing iron skin.”

The sphere of white fire launched directly at the bot’s chest.!