Chapter 6: The Weight of the Spire

The battlefield looked less like a war zone and more like the aftermath of a geological seizure. Here, on the ragged edge where the Twilight Ring crumbled into the Nightside, massive jagged spikes of obsidian jutted from the earth at impossible angles. The air tasted of ozone, pulverized rock, and the biting chill of the glacial dark.

Champion Kaelen knelt in the mud, his hand resting gently on the eyelids of a fallen youth. The soldier’s face was frozen in a rictus of terror, but Kaelen’s touch smoothed it into sleep. Around them, the silence was heavy, broken only by the groaning of cooling stone and the distant, wet sounds of the medical corps tending to the wounded.

“They are learning, my Champion,” a surviving lieutenant said, wrapping a bandage around his arm. He looked at the field of spikes with a mixture of reverence and horror. “They didn’t charge blindly this time. They flanked us. If you hadn’t collapsed the ridge…”

“Indeed,” Kaelen stood up. He was a mountain of a man, his armor matte-black and etched with runes that pulsed with a low, gravitational hum. Every movement he made seemed to carry the weight of a landslide. “They are not gaining ground, but our losses are increasing. The Hollow Ones are adapting to the Spire Arts. The earth does not hold them as it used to.”

“Thanks to you, we managed to get a breather,” the lieutenant said. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a pulsating, translucent sphere. “And this… command just sent it via courier. High priority.”

Kaelen gripped the orb tightly. It was warm—a Recall Summons. The vibration against his palm was urgent, a staccato rhythm that meant Capital Threat.

“The war is not over yet,” Kaelen frowned, the ground trembling slightly in sympathy with his irritation. Dust danced around his boots. “So why call for a retreat? The line is thin as it is.”

“They say an Otherworlder from the stars has arrived,” the lieutenant whispered, glancing at the sky as if expecting it to fall. “A giant of metal that speaks with the voice of thunder.”

“From the Archives,” Kaelen murmured, his eyes darkening. He looked at the horizon, where the red sun bled into the twilight. “The Sky-Walkers.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing,” Kaelen clipped the orb to his belt. “Where are the others?”

“They will be arriving in the capital in an hour. You are the last to be summoned.”

Kaelen looked back at the field of spikes, the monument to his power and his failure to save everyone. “Then let us not keep destiny waiting.”

---

The Gamble of Vulnerability

Aboard the Epilogue

The bridge was quiet, save for the hum of the ventilation and the rhythmic beeping of the synthesis monitors. The tension, however, was thick enough to choke on.

“Why did you do that?” Dan asked, rubbing his temples. “Poetry? Really? We have orbital cannons and you chose a limerick.”

[We have nothing but power to destroy,] the AI replied, its avatar sitting cross-legged on the console, looking uncharacteristically solemn. [And based on my initial assessment of their culture—which values lineage, oral history, and honor—being truthful and transparent to our allies is the best course of action. Intimidation works on soldiers. Vulnerability works on leaders. We need them to see the people inside the tank, not just the tank.]

“We are running out of time, Dan,” Human Ambrosio added, looking at the synthesis readouts. “My cellular degradation has paused, but yours hasn’t. And Sybil…” He glanced at the status light of the cryo-pod, glowing a steady, ominous amber.

“I know,” Dan cut him off, staring at the feed of the Council Chamber. “I know.”

[Yes,] the AI softened. [We cannot even save ourselves. That is the truth they needed to hear.]

“They are gathering,” Ambrosio noted, his voice rising an octave as he pointed to the tactical map. “Dan, look at this. Three high-energy signatures approaching the capital. Fast.”

Dan leaned forward. “Missiles?”

“No,” Ambrosio shook his head, tapping the screen. “Biologicals. But the readings are off the charts. One is a thermal spike so intense it’s distorting the local atmosphere. One is… heavy. Gravitational lensing around a single point. And the third… it’s a null signature. I can’t track it, but the ambient light is bending around it.”

“The Champions,” Dan muttered. “The local warlords. If they decide we’re a threat, this diplomacy turns into a firefight.”

[Analysis suggests these individuals are walking reactors,] the AI warned. [If they engage the bot in the plaza… the collateral damage could be catastrophic.]

“Then let us hope they are as desperate as we are,” Dan said, his hand hovering near the weapon systems override. “Keep the sensors passive. I don’t want to spook them.”

---

The Gathering of Champions

The Audience Chamber, Aethelgard

The massive doors of the Audience Chamber groaned open, the sound echoing through the vaulted hall like a dying beast. The air inside was cool, scented with incense and old stone, but it shifted instantly as the new arrivals stepped through.

Matriarch Valerius and the Councilors stood as the Announcer struck a ceremonial gong. The vibration hummed in the teeth of everyone present.

“Enter, the Shield of the People!”

Champion Ignar, the “Burning Gale,” strode in first. He was young, brash, with hair like copper wire and armor that vented steam constantly. He didn’t bow; he merely nodded, his eyes scanning the room for a fight. The air around him shimmered with heat haze, distorting the light, and the polished stone floor hissed faintly where his boots made contact. He smelled of sulfur and a storm about to break.

“Enter, the Silent Veil!”

Champion Vesper materialized more than walked. One moment the doorway was empty, the next she was standing by the dais. She was slight, wrapped in cloaks of shifting grey, her face obscured by a mask of bone. She was the skepticism of the group, the assassin who asked questions later. No sound accompanied her movements; even the rustle of her fabric seemed swallowed by an unnatural dampening field.

“And enter, the Tectonic Lance!”

Champion Kaelen walked in last. The air in the room grew heavy, a physical pressure that pressed against the eardrums. He carried no weapon, for the earth itself was his weapon. He looked tired, his eyes hauntingly old for his physical prime. Dust from the frontlines still clung to his cloak, a gritty reminder of the war outside.

“Welcome home, Champions,” Councilor Voros stepped forward. “We have recalled you because the sky has opened.”

“The Otherworlders,” Kaelen stated flatly.

Councilor Lyra stepped in, eyes bright with nervous energy. “A ship from the stars. They possess technology that rivals our Arts. Metal that resists Ethereal Fire. They claim to seek an alliance.”

Elder Cato raised a hand, his frail form contrasting with the raw power radiating from the Champions. “We will reconvene today again. We hope to get an agreement in exterminating the Hollow Ones without compromising the safety of our people, if the need is one.”

“I don’t want them,” Ignar spat, crossing his arms. Sparks flew from his elbows, scorching the polished floor. “If they are dying, they are weak. If they are strong, they are a threat. Either way, they are a distraction from the front. I saw the ‘shell’ in the plaza. It stands there like a statue. It has no soul. No heat. It is a cold, dead thing.”

“I am skeptical,” Vesper’s voice was a whisper that seemed to come from every corner of the room at once, disorienting the listeners. “They claim their planet died of greed. Corruption is not a disease of the body, but of the soul. Who is to say they did not bring it with them? The Shadow mimics form. This ‘metal’ could be another skin for the Hollow Ones.”

“And you, Kaelen?” Cato asked.

Kaelen looked at the hologram of the Earth that was still floating in the center of the room—the image the bot had left behind. He saw a world stripped of resources, a cautionary tale. Then he thought of the spikes on the battlefield, and the soldiers dying in the mud. He felt the vibration of the enemy’s adaptation in his bones.

“I am concerned about the frontlines,” Kaelen said, his voice deep and grounding. “The enemy is evolving. We are holding, but for how long? If these Star-Men have weapons that can kill the Hollow Ones without feeding them… we cannot discard them.”

“Then,” Councilor Voros smiled, a sharp, dangerous smile. “Let us see how capable they are.”

“Wake the shell,” Voros commanded the guards. “And tell the Otherworlders: If they wish to save their bloodline, they must first prove they can spill the blood of our enemies.”

Ignar scoffed, the heat around him spiking. “I will melt their toy into slag if it steps out of line.”

“Patience, Ignar,” Valerius warned, her own aura flaring briefly to match his. “Iron that does not bend, breaks. But iron that burns… that is something we have not seen.”

Aboard the Epilogue

“They’re pinging the bot,” Ambrosio said, his hands flying across the console. “Audio request. It’s coming from the Council Chamber.”

Dan sat up in the command chair, cracking his neck. He pulled the VR headset back down, the display lighting up his tired eyes.

“Alright,” Dan said, his voice dropping into the commander’s cadence. “Let’s see if they bought the poem, or if I have to teach them physics the hard way.”