Dinner was a rush warmth and laughter. Scott and Victor quickly turned the night into a drinking contest, the kind that could only end in mutual regret. I stuck with soda, watching as Scott ordered another round, insisting he could outlast Victor this time. Alcohol’s never been my thing, not after seeing what it can do to people. I cut him off halfway through his brag, warning him he didn’t know what might happen in Nod if he went to sleep drunk. He blinked, considered that for a beat, then pouted like a scolded kid while Victor raised his hands in mock victory.
By the time the check came, the air between us felt easy again. I tipped the waitress a full hundred percent, she nearly dropped the tray when she saw the number, and we piled into a rideshare. The streets glowed gold under streetlights, the windows fogged from our breath and laughter. We dropped Scott off first, both of us half-carrying him to his door.
“God, he weighs as much as a mountain,” Victor groaned, easing him onto the bed. Scott mumbled something about being a ‘sun-forged titan’ before immediately falling asleep.
Outside, the night was calm, the air sharp with that late-winter chill. Back in the car, Victor leaned his head against the window and exhaled. “You needed today, man. You’ve been wound up so tight I thought you’d snap.”
“Yeah,” I said softly, staring out at the passing lights. “It was perfect. You were right, it’s exactly what I needed.”
He smirked, still watching the city go by. “Since I can’t go to Nod, I’ll have to keep you alive out here. I'm your dedicated Support.”
I laughed. “So what, monthly spa quests now?”
“Exactly. You fund it with that new Nod-money you’re raking in, and I’ll be your full-time support class. Benefits include endless energy drinks and unsolicited life advice.”
“Deal,” I said, smiling. “You’re the best, Vic. I don’t deserve a friend like you.”
“Damn right you don’t,” he shot back, grinning. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”
The car pulled to a stop outside my building. I hugged him before getting out. The kind of hug that says thank you without words. I tipped the driver, then walked up the quiet stairwell, the laughter from before still echoing faintly in my head.
Inside, the apartment was cold, familiar, but not unwelcoming this time. I stored the leftovers, way too much food, courtesy of Victor and Scott insisting I ‘stock the fridge for once.’ Then, curiosity got the better of me. I sat at my desk, pulled up the Nod news feed. Still trending. Still headlines about the Ashwing, the Dominion, the Radiant Concord. I scrolled a moment longer, then shut it all down.
Today really had done it's job. My body was loose, my mind finally quiet. I didn’t even need my meds tonight. I crawled into bed, exhaled once, and let go
Darkness swallows me fast. The hum finds me again. Deep, cold, and endless. When I open my eyes, I’m seated upon a crystal throne, the air heavy with resonance.
“My king.”
The hum returns like a heartbeat as I wake on the throne. The Cathedral is alive again, its walls glowing with quiet purpose. Cast stands before me, and I can feel the pull of the resonance echoing through every spire and vault. The Dominion breathes.
“My king,” she says softly. “You should see this.”
I rise and follow her toward the courtyard on the surface. Where once there had been ruin, now the dunes ripple with movement. Drone icons crawl across it in tight formations, the roads restored and humming with energy. The tithe’s arrival has reshaped everything. The faithful’s belief has become substance, new drones, new Hekari, even the Sablehounds have multiplied beyond expectation.
“The tithe was vast,” Cast explains, her tone full of awe. “The Dominion’s numbers have doubled. Hatcheries run day and night, and the drones do not tire. The Sablehound broods now number two hundred and seventy strong.”
I rest a hand on the map’s edge, feeling the hum of power flow through my fingertips. “And the salamander evolutions?”
Her eyes brighten. “Thirty-one of the new strain survived metamorphosis. Fireproof, resilient, stronger than any we’ve seen. Their resonance burns hotter, their hums deeper.
[Archivolt]: Thirty-one new units? That’s a serious expansion.
[VioletVex]: They sound powerful. I need to see them in action.
[Thrumline]: The Dominion keeps surprising us, what will they look like?
I make my way to the training grounds where the new soldiers await. They are immense—eight feet tall, four-armed, plated in scaled chitin that glows faintly like cooled magma. When they kneel as one, the sound shakes the floor.
I stop before the largest among them. His armor is thicker, his eyes a deep blue-black that glows faintly in the dim light. “You have been forged in fire,” I tell him, my voice steady, echoing through the chamber. “You are the heart of our new dawn. Rise, and bear a name.”
The Pale Crown hums above me, heat rolling off it like sunlight trapped in glass. “Narai,” I declare. The word feels heavy, ancient. The crown flares gold, and the light spills over him like a baptism of fire. His eyes shift, dark blue giving way to molten gold, the same hue as my own.
The chamber trembles with resonance. Every drone, every Hekari, every wall sings the note of his awakening.
Names are tethers.
Narai rises from his kneel, and I swear he grows taller still. His voice is a deep, harmonic rumble, pure as a struck gong. My king,” he says, bowing his head. “I am yours to command.
[ProteinPrincess]: Four arms and built like a tank, ...he’s a walking gym goal.
[Archivolt]: The captain looks formidable. Perfect fit for defense.
[GainsGoblin]: That physique could bench press a siege tower.
I meet his gaze and nod. “Then command you shall. Narai, you are Captain of Citadel Defense. Lead the Emberheart Hekari well. Guard the song of this fortress as if it were your own life.”
The thirty-one bow as a single unit, the resonance of their voices blending into a single powerful chord. From this moment, their title is spoken aloud for the first time, Emberheart Hekari.
The heat in the air swells as if the Dominion itself approves. The hum fills my chest until it hurts. This is what the tithe has given us, rebirth from ash. Strength born of faith and fire.
I look to Cast, who watches with quiet pride. “We’ll rebuild stronger than before,” I say. “This time, nothing will interrupt our song.”
My numbers swell further, the Dominion alive with motion and growth. When I visit the Sablehound kennels, the scent of resin and warm sand fills the air. Rows of sleek, black?gold creatures lift their heads as I enter, their eyes glinting with intelligence. They can feel me through the resonance, the hum of their throats quickens in anticipation.
[VioletVex]: "It still hurts seeing him walk those kennels after losing the last one."
[carapace_kid]: "Yeah… that hound went out like a hero. Hope he never forgets."
[Thrumline]: "The hive remembers, and so do we."
I pause for a moment, eyes flicking to the chat feed that floats faintly at the edge of my thoughts. Their words hit harder than I expect, stirring the ache I’ve been trying to bury. For a second I let myself feel it, the loss, the guilt, the strange comfort of knowing they remember too, before forcing my focus back to the task at hand.
I pace slowly through the lines, studying each one for tone and harmony. I can feel their pitches as vibrations against my ribs, all slightly different shades of the same song. Then I hear it, a note that mirrors my own resonance, low and steady, tinged with something softer beneath the surface.
The hound stands near the far wall, smaller than the rest but built in perfect proportion, its stance proud yet fluid. Most Sablehounds stand near sixteen hands in height, massive as warhorses, but this one is closer to twelve - a sleeker form, lean and efficient, moving with the poise of a direwolf carved from glass and shadow. Around its neck runs a mantle of white fur, soft and luminous, a stark contrast to the chitin that covers the rest of its form. Splashes of violet light flicker across its armor in tiny pinpoints, like stars caught under glass.
“What is this one’s story?” I ask.
Cast approaches, her tone respectful but intrigued. “A mutation strain, my king. This one consumed a Silith that had fed upon a Sable Choir moth. The mixture altered its growth. The fur, the coloration - it seems to hum in two tones at once. We have not named it.”
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The hound watches me without fear. I aproach, reaching out, letting my hand hover above its head. The hum between us aligns. It presses forward into my palm, the vibration locking into place like two chords finding their root.
The Pale Crown warms above me. Its gold light pulses once, and just like with Narai, I feel the name rise unbidden to my lips.
“Iskri.”
The word ripples through the air, a living chord that rolls across the kennels. The resonance binds instantly. The hound shudders beneath my hand, the white of its mane brightening until it gleams like frost. The violet motes along its carapace spread, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. A soft plume of fur grows at the end of its tail, and when it exhales, I swear it breathes in harmony with me.
Iskri lowers its head and presses against me again, a soundless vow carried in the vibration between us.
Cast’s eyes widen. “It’s bonded, my king. Entirely.”
I nod, running my hand along the creature’s neck. “Then it shall be mine,” I say quietly. “A steed worthy of the Dominion’s song.”
[VioletVex]: "He’s gorgeous—look at that mane!"
[carapace_kid]: "I’m donating tithe to keep this one alive. Protect the fluff."
[GainsGoblin]: "We ride for Iskri!"
A pulse hums through the link, sudden and bright. I glance at the feed as a fresh surge of tithe pours in, glowing violet across the lower corner of my vision. Their devotion flows like heat into the hive’s heart, and for the first time I can feel it directly, alive, real, immediate. I bow my head slightly, speaking aloud so they can hear.
“Thank you, all of you. Your faith will not be wasted.”
The chat erupts again.
[VioletVex]: "He thanked us!"
[Archivolt]: "The king speaks to the court."
[ProteinPrincess]: "He is so damn suave."
As I turn to leave, Iskri follows without command, moving in step with me. The rest of the kennel hums in quiet approval, a chorus of low, resonant tones that echo long after we pass. The Dominion has given me its heart, and now it gives me its voice.
A pang of regret strikes me as I walk from the kennels. I never named the sablehound that gave its life for me, and guilt prickles like glass in my chest. Replacing him so soon feels wrong. To honor that sacrifice, I send word to the artisans: a statue of remembrance is to be raised in the Cathedral’s heart, a monument to all who fell. Drone, Hekari, and Sablehound alike, immortalized in resonance and stone.
When the orders are given, I turn to Cast. “Gather the captains,” I say. “We’re meeting in the training hall.”
Minutes later, the sound of their approach fills the chamber beyond the armory. My five captains kneel as I step into the hall. “You know why we’re here,” I begin, voice firm but quiet. “If I am to stand against the next threat, I need to become stronger. I can’t do that fighting drones or Sileth. I need real opposition.”
Cast’s head snaps up, alarm flickering in her eyes. “My king, surely you don’t mean-"
“I do,” I say, cutting gently across her tone. “You’ll fight me. All of you, one at a time. I’ll hold back the Chime and use only a hardened resin club. You’ll use what you wish. The point is not victory, it’s growth.”
She shakes her head. “We could never strike our king.”
“Even if I command it?”
Her gaze drops to the floor, shame and obedience warring in her tone. “Then we will obey.”
I silence my resonance until only a whisper of my presence remains, enough for the hive to know I live, but too faint for my captains to read my rhythm. “Good. Then let us get right to it. Rhel, enter the arena.”
Rhel, the shield-bearer, moves first. His shield rises like a wall of iron sunrise, and when he charges it’s with the intent to break bone. I don’t ask him to hold back, none of them will. The first impact rattles the hall, the sound of our clash shivering through the crystal walls of the fortress. I answer his drive with a strike that carves sparks from his rim, the vibration snapping up my arms. The exchange is brutal, constant, every blow a small quake. I hammer against his wall until the edge of his shield splits along its frame and my forearms are streaked with bruises.
When he feints low and slams the rim into my ribs, the air leaves me in a sharp grunt. He’s stronger than I remember, tireless and merciless. I force myself upright, draw resonance up through my spine, and hit him back hard enough to lift his boots from the tile. The crack echoes like thunder. He laughs even as blood paints his lip, voice rough and bright. “Better,” he growls. “More of that.” We fight until both of us bleed through our armor, until his guard finally cracks and I drive the club into his shoulder, sending him sprawling across the floor. He kneels there, chest heaving, eyes alight with respect.
[VioletVex]: That was brutal, they’re both insane.
[carapace_kid]: Our king’s holding nothing back, look at that exchange!
[GainsGoblin]: This isn’t training, it’s a war drum. Damn!
I stand up strait and beckon the next captain to take their stand.
Seris steps forward without pause, twin blades flashing. The moment our eyes meet, she vanishes—then the air hisses where her knives pass. She fights like a dancer armed with razors, and I barely get the club up in time to deflect the first storm. When she spins, I feel steel whisper past my throat. My resonance flares reflexively, vibrating down the weapon and shattering her next feint. She recovers instantly, slamming a heel into my thigh and following through with an elbow meant for my temple. I catch her wrist, twist, and she uses the torque to vault backward. Her laughter is low and wild. This is no lesson, it’s true combat.
By the time I find my rhythm again, we’ve traded blood more than once. I feint high, drop low, and sweep the club into her ribs. She hits the floor, rolls, comes up in a crouch. “You told us to give you everything,” she pants. “So don’t you dare hold back.” I oblige. When the end comes, we’re both half wrecked and smiling through it. Thane next.
Thane enters with a roar, his twin glaives carving circles that leave streaks of hissing resonance in the air. His speed is frightening. I block one stroke only to be caught by the other, the edge cracking my collarbone guard. The follow-up whips across my jaw. The taste of blood floods my mouth. I grin and drive forward anyway, letting his momentum become mine. We meet in a blur of blade and impact. He laughs through every hit, the sound sharp and electric. I use that rhythm, that chaos, to predict his next swing, slamming my club against the haft and twisting it free. He ducks under a return blow that would have taken his head if I hadn’t checked it.
We fight in circles until sweat steams off both of us. In the final exchange, he plants both glaives in the floor to stop my downward strike, locking us together in a web of force. I push harder, resonance ringing in my bones. The floor cracks. When I finally knock him loose, he crashes down on one knee, still laughing. “Now that,” he gasps, “is a king worth bleeding for.”
Ira moves next, drawing her bow before I can even breathe. The first arrow splits the air inches from my cheek. The second detonates into sound, a concussive note that sends shards of resin scattering. She fires without mercy, without pause. I sprint through the storm, each shaft screaming past, nicking armor, slicing skin. My heart hammers with the thrill of it. I dive behind a fallen pillar, roll, and hurl a shard of shattered resin to draw her aim. She takes the bait, arrow splitting it mid-flight. I’m already moving, closing distance in a burst of speed. When I reach her, she spins the bow as a staff, striking for my jaw. The crack of the hit rings in my skull. I grab the bow and shove forward, forcing her back until she yields ground with a feral grin. The fight ends only when I twist the bow from her hands and press the club to her collar. We both stand there panting, grinning through the ache.
Then Narai enters, and the world feels smaller. The Emberheart burns along his frame; heat rolls off him in waves. In his four arms gleam four spears, their edges faintly molten. Steam vents from his armor with every breath. “With your permission, my king,” he rumbles, voice like distant thunder.
[VioletVex]: Here we go, Emberheart time.
[carapace_kid]: Four spears, this is going to be insane.
[GainsGoblin]: Chat, place your bets. Can even Kyris handle this heat?
I acknowledge his request with a curt head nod, and he wastes no time dashing in, fast despite his size.
The first spear drives a crater into the floor. The second comes for my heart. I barely turn it aside, the haft of my club splintering from the force. Every thrust releases a blast of superheated air, white vapor trailing like wings. The temperature spikes, sweat blistering across my skin. I press forward through the storm, using footwork learned from Seris to circle him, from Rhel to hold my ground when he bears down. It’s like fighting a living furnace.
Midfight he pins me with two spears, crossing them at my chest, and raises the other two for the killing blow. I channel everything into one upward strike, resonance howling through the club as I shatter the lock and drive the weapon across his face. He reels but does not fall. We trade blows that quake the hall until the floor is scored with molten lines. Finally, with a defiant roar, I drive my club into his chestplate and force him back a step, the first he’s given. Steam erupts from his joints as he exhales, the hall thick with heat and silence.
He lowers his weapons and bows. “My king,” he says, voice low and even. “We believe because you endure.” I stand there trembling, armor scorched, lungs raw from the heat. For the first time since the fight, I let myself bend. My knees fold and I hit the tile with a heavy, surrendering thud.
[VioletVex]: He fought all five captains back to back? That's madness.
[carapace_kid]: And it’s only been a day since the dragon nearly killed him. How is he even standing?
[LifelineV]: Endurance of a monster, heart of a king. Kyris doesn’t stop, ever.
Cast is at my side before I can decide whether to stay down. Her hands are warm as she supports my weight and helps me to my feet. “Please rest,” she says, insisting more to herself than to me. “It has only been a day, and your body has not healed. You cannot keep burning yourself out like this.” I feel the ache in every joint and muscle, the phantom pain singing where the Ashwing struck. They are badges of survival, reminders that I am still alive. If I can feel pain, I can still push forward.
She steadies me and I brush her hand aside gently, not unkindly, to address the captains gathered in the hall. My voice is hoarse but steady. “The five of you will train under the Marshal’s direction,” I say. “You will grow together and learn each other’s moves. Do not only watch how I react, study how the others move. If I am to fight monsters and kings, I will need a right hand I can trust.”
Guilt stabs through me like cooled glass when my thoughts flick to the lost sablehound. The memory of its sacrifice blooms hot and bright behind my ribs; the feeling is too loud to hide. The captains feel the thought outward on the resonance, too strong to hide. The emotion hits them full and raw, they know my pain and that I do not want any of them to fall.
“Dont let todays lessons be wasted,” I say, quieter now. “This was shaping. I expect growth and readiness. We will go after the Ashwing again. This time, we do not let it flee. It dies in its hole.”
[VioletVex]: "We’re going back for the Ashwing? I can’t wait to see the rematch.
[carapace_kid]: "The king versus the dragon again—round two, let’s go."
[Thrumline]: "This time it dies for real. The Dominion’s coming prepared."
The captains straighten, resolve hardening each of them. Together they stamp their right foot and a harmonic ring answers the floor, a salute that is both ritual and promise.
Cast walks with me up through the spiral stair to the cathedral, her tone shifting into something like older sister counsel. “I am proud of your progress,” she says softly. “Do not let the Ashwing’s destruction convince you that you failed. We should have upheld the defenses without you on the throne. The fact that we lost as many as we did is a failing I feel deeply. I did not defend what you left in my hands well enough.” Her voice cracks with the weight of it.
I listen without argument for a long stretch, letting the words settle into my thoughts. “Cast,” I say finally, “you and the Hekari did what you could. The Ashwing is not a conqueror of men, it cares not for spoils of war; it is a force of nature. It broke in on a scale we did not design for. That is on me to anticipate and on us to repair. I will own the failures that come from my blind spots, but I will not let the guilt crush us.” She studies me, the muscles around her jaw tight, then nods once. We walk the remaining steps in silence.
When we breach the surface, the sun is high. For the first time in Nod it is noon for me. The heat presses at my skin with an honest brightness, not the overwhelming blaze of the raid. The sand map in the cathedral has been restored and expanded. Borders glow with new lines. After aligning with Thalos, the Sunforged holdings appear in detail, their capital’s movements faint but visible. The black sand of my domain glows violet against the red sweeps of the Sunforged. There is still a long white swathe of unknowns, but that will wait until it is safe to leave the castle without fear of the Ashwing returning.
My gaze settles on the caldera where the creature makes its lair. On the map the bowl is vast, a rim of basalt and obsidian spires that make a natural curtain. The slope cradles hidden vents and thermal stacks; it is a nest built by heat and secrecy. This is the perfect haven for a thing that rides heat and flame. I let the image sit in my mind for a moment, thinking through logistics and contingencies.
We will need to be extremely careful when we enter. The map cannot show what lies beneath, and we will have to scout and locate where it sleeps ourselves. I wonder if we will be ready in six days. What secrets and dangers might be waiting inside its home? The thought coils tight in my chest, a question without comfort but full of resolve. So many questions with no answers.
Right now though, only one answer matters.
My answer to the attack that stole so many from us.
My answer is death.