The first worm lunges.

  Its drill-head screeches as the rotating plates spin fast enough to blur. Sand whips sideways in a violent ring, the pressure alone nearly knocking me off balance. I slam my heel into the dune, anchor my stance, and bring the Chime up in a molten arc.

  The impact rattles every bone in my arm.

  The worm’s momentum shoves me back several feet before it veers off and vanishes—actually vanishes—into the sand.

  No hole. No tunnel.

  Just smooth, unbroken dunes, almost like they are swimming in the sand rather than digging.

  Felkas yelps, clinging to Iskri’s mane. The sablehound circles protectively, snarling with his hackles raised to double his size.

  “They’re not after me,” I mutter as the sand shivers again. “They’re after him.”

  Another worm bursts from beneath them.

  I sprint, throwing myself between the worm and the boy. The sand explodes under my boots as I intercept the drill-snout with a full counter-swing. Ashwing heat floods down my arms and I carve a molten gash across the creature’s face.

  Its shriek sounds like metal tearing and spirals away, disappearing beneath the dune without a trace.

  Iskri leaps to my side, teeth bared. Felkas drops off his back and stands pressed against his hind leg, trembling but silent.

  “You okay?” I ask him.

  He nods, jaw clenched.

  “Stay behind Iskri. If anything gets close, he’ll warn you before I do.”

  The sablehound purr-growls, confirming it.

  The ground quakes, left, then right, then behind us.

  Five of them.

  All hunting the wounded one among us.

  “Alright,” I breathe, “come on then.”

  I force heat through my armors vents, blasting myself up and forward just as two worms erupt in tandem. Their drill-heads spiral past each other like dueling sawblades. I wedge myself between them and carve upward—hot, bright, a burning tear splitting the first worm’s plates clean in half turning them into slag..

  It convulses once, twice, and then collapses back into the sand with a sound like a collapsing building—gone. No corpse. No blood.

  The second worm tries to dive after it, retreating—but I catch its tail as it disappears and drag the Chime along its segmented length. It screeches and thrashes, unable to burrow away fast enough. The heat catches, the plates crack, and the creature folds in on itself like smouldering parchment.

  “Two down,” I call “Three more.”

  Iskri barks once—warning.

  Felkas’ eyes widen.

  The sand splits behind them.

  I rocket forward again, slamming the Chime into the dune to unleash a cone of resonant shockwave. The worm is blasted backward mid-charge, spiraling up into the air like a tossed spear. I leap after it—heat roaring behind me—and bring the Chime down in a finishing arc.

  The creature detonates in a burst of steam and sand.

  And then, like the others, dissolves back into the dune.

  “What the hell…” I land beside Iskri, breathing hard. “They don’t leave remains. They don’t even leave holes.”

  Before I can press forward to the remaining, the ground begins shaking again—but this time in a different cadence. Less… predatory. More rhythmic.

  Boots, heavy ones, and multiple.

  A shout cuts across the dunes:

  “COULDN’T KEEP AWAY, HUH?!”

  A squad of Sunforged crests the ridge behind us, their armor glowing faintly from sun runes. At their head—towering, broad-shouldered, sand-splattered—

  Thallos.

  Laughing like he’s just caught me sneaking into his house.

  He lowers his shoulder, smashes a worm erupting behind him with a single hammering blow, and the creature splits like wet clay before sinking into the earth.

  He jogs down the dune, still laughing.

  “Did Vic tell you about the worms?” he calls out. “They’ve been riled up recently!”

  I shake my head. “Not… like this.”

  “Well!” Thallos slams his hammer into the sand beside me. “Welcome to Sunhome! Now duck!”

  I do, and he swings over my head—the edge of his hammer clipping the next worm as it bursts free. The impact sends the creature spinning sideways like a kicked barrel.

  I flip the Chime into reverse grip and rush it alongside him.

  We meet the worm on opposite sides.

  Two arcs, two strikes.

  Our strikes meet the creature, heat flashing white, and dissolves beneath the sand.

  Only one remains.

  It circles us, faint ripples moving through the dune. Felkas clings to Iskri, watching us with wide, wild eyes. The Sunforged form a perimeter around them.

  Thallos grins. “Last one!”

  The sand beneath me collapses inward, I jump and Thallos drives his hamer down like a meteor, and the worm traps itself trying to breach the surface.

  Heat surges through my chest.

  I bring the Chime down in a molten vertical strike and the creature finally falls still.

  A long moment passes.

  Then it slide, slowly, quietly back beneath the sand and vanishes.

  No trace of the combat or the monsters lay upon the dunes. Nothing to say we even fought them.

  “…wait,” I say. “Are they dead? They just vanished back into the dunes.”

  Thallos shrugs, wiping sand off his hammer. “Yeah, they tend to do that. I don’t get it either. And I can’t tell if the ones I’m fighting are the same ones over and over.”

  He squints at the dunes, thoughtful.

  “Y’know, I should figure out a way to tag them. To see if they’re the same bastards or a new batch each time.”

  I laugh. “You think you could, what, paintball one?”

  He pauses, brightens, “That… might actually work.”

  He looks back at all of us, “well what are we waiting for. Lets go get some food!”

  He waves us on and the sunforged warriors form in behind him. I look at Felkas and Iskri, and half smile at them as I fall in with Scott.

  —-

  Sunhome is alive.

  Not just populated, alive.

  The moment we pass beyond the dunes and into the pale-gold and white stone streets, the sheer heat of the place hits me. The energy. Voices, movement, commerce, color. A pulse that thrums up from the buildings themselves.

  Thallos walks ahead of us, his hammer resting across his shoulders like it weighs nothing. Iskri trots close behind me, tail swaying as he matches the rhythm of the city’s noise. Felkas rides astride him, small hands fisted in Iskri’s mane, eyes darting everywhere at once.

  If the Dominion is a fortress—quiet, methodical, structured—then Sunhome is a hearth with a thousand fires burning.

  “Welcome to the capital,” Thallos calls back over the bustle. “Bit louder than your place, huh?”

  “A bit,” I admit.

  People gather as we pass—not out of fear, or caution, but excitement. Children wave; vendors lean out of their stalls; warriors in gleaming bronze-and-sunstone armor tap fists to their chests in greeting to their king.

  And the way they look at Thallos…

  Not reverence exactly. Not obedience.

  Pride, and affection.

  He belongs here the way flame belongs to a torch.

  I glance at Felkas. His mouth hangs open as we enter the main market square. Lanterns of sun-crystal hang above us, casting everything in soft amber. Banners ripple between buildings—cream and gold, each marked with the crest of Sunhome: a rising sun flanked by crossed hammers.

  The air smells like roasted grain, seared meat, hot metal, and spiced sandfruit.

  Felkas leans closer to me from Iskri’s back. “There are… so many,” he whispers. “Your people are… many.”

  I put a hand on his back, gentle.

  “Thallos. Thallos’ people. His kingdom.”

  Felkas looks up at me, ears twitching. “You and he are… allies?”

  “Absolutely,” I say. “Strong ones.”

  Thallos leads us down a branching street lined with whitewashed stone and pale clay facades. The buildings are warm to the touch, gathering sunlight in their walls like batteries. Some structures tower three, four stories high—a far cry from my fortress-like architecture.

  “Alright,” Thallos says, pointing with his hammer. “Left is the bathhouses. Whole network of heated pools and mineral springs that run under the city. They were already here when I arrived, so I leaned into it and built a whole cultural thing around it. Nice place to relax, especially after worm-hunting.”

  Felkas perks up at the word water.I imagine five days of running through the swamp, then hiding in a vault…

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Yeah. He’s earned a bath.

  “And over here,” Thallos continues, “is the Common Court—public space, day markets, performance stands. Big enough to hold celebrations or trials, depending on the mood.”

  We walk past a group of Sunforged instructing younger trainees. Their movements are sharp, fluid, disciplined. They pause when Thallos passes; the instructor salutes him with a forearm across the chest.

  “You’ve built a real army here,” I murmur.

  Thallos shrugs, almost shy. “They built themselves. I just pointed them in the right direction.”

  The city widens as we approach the inner ring. Buildings rise taller, the stone cleaner and more intricately carved. Reliefs depict their creation myth—the forging of the first sunhammer, the raising of the capital walls, the founding of the Sunforged order.

  We reach the military district next—barracks, training rings, a massive forge hall emitting steady waves of heat. Sunforged smiths strike molten metal with practiced rhythm, and Felkas forgets his fear entirely, leaning off Iskri’s back to watch.

  “You wanna see something cool?” Thallos grins while leaning close to Felkas, motioning toward a cluster of apprentices near the far wall.

  Before I can ask, the ground trembles.

  A low, rumbling purr.

  Then—

  “Hamu!” Thallos laughs.

  A massive tiger—white, gold, and black—steps into the street like a living avalanche of muscle and silk. Twice as large as any real-world tiger, eyes glowing faintly like sunrise through amber, tail sweeping the sand in great arcs.

  Felkas freezes.

  Iskri straitens in respect—one apex predator acknowledging another.

  Hamu pads straight toward us and immediately circles Thallos, headbutting him hard enough to nearly knock him over.

  “Yeah, yeah, miss you too, big guy,” Thallos says, scratching behind one of Hamu’s ears. The enormous tiger purrs like a vibrating engine.

  Felkas is riveted.

  “He’s… beautiful,” he whispers.

  “You wanna pet him?” Thallos asks.

  Felkas looks at me for reassurance. I nod once.

  Hamu lowers his head, and Felkas—trembling just a little—reaches out. His fingers sink into the thick ruff of fur. The tiger closes his eyes, rumbling.

  That sound alone almost brings the boy to tears.

  We continue the tour with Hamu walking beside Iskri, the two forming a mismatched but strangely harmonious pair. Sunhome citizens part gracefully, whispering and smiling as they pass.

  Eventually, we approach the heart of the kingdom.

  The Sunhome Bastion.

  It is radically different from mine—no towering spires of obsidian or deep humming resonance. Instead, sandstone and sun-crystal form interlocking arches. Balconies curve outward. Light gathers in the carvings like burning stars. The whole structure feels warm, inviting, alive in a completely different way.

  Felkas grips Iskri’s mane tightly. Eyes wide in awe.

  Inside the main hall, everything is open space and radiance. Sunlight filters through crystalline skylights, scattering rainbows over white polished stone. Tapestries depict past victories, alliances, hunts, festivals. I see down a hall into a room of weavers with a half finished new tapestry. I swear I see a depiction of myself and Scott fighting dragons.

  Thallos guides us past administrative chambers, barracks for high-ranking Sunforged, an inner courtyard filled with desert-blooming plants, and a stone well etched with constellations.

  Finally, he brings us to the throne room.

  It is smaller than mine—but grander in its own way. Warm. Human. The throne is carved from sunstone, inlaid with hammered gold and jade streaks. Two massive braziers flank it, burning with bright white fire.

  Felkas sits straighter on Iskri, awe blooming across his face.

  “I’ll get him settled,” Thallos says, “then we’ll talk.”

  He shows Felkas to a prepared guest room just down the hall. A Sunhome attendant brings blankets, food, water, and—at my quiet request—invites a few local children to sit with him. Iskri stays behind, curling protectively near the bed.

  Felkas looks up at me as I turn to leave. “You’re coming back?”

  “Of course,” I say gently. “Rest. You’re safe here.”

  Hamu curls in the doorway like a silent guardian as we step away.

  Thallos closes the door softly behind us.

  Then he gestures toward a side corridor.

  “My room,” he says. “We can talk there. Privately.”

  We walk in silence until we reach his chambers—broad, orderly, draped in desert colors. Tools hang on the wall. His sets his hammer to rest in a special stand. The torch in the corner flickers.

  We both know what comes next.

  Thallos exhales. “Alright. Silence the outer court?”

  “Yeah.”

  Together, we touch our rings, and send the command.

  The braziers of our kingdoms gutter out, shrinking to faint embers—cutting the stream, cutting the connection, cutting the eyes of the world.

  For the first time all day, it is only the two of us.

  The door closes behind us.

  The moment the braziers dim to embers, the entire room exhales. The world outside the walls feels far away, no eyes, no Watchers, no Faith pouring in. Just me and Thalos.

  He turns toward me, arms crossed loosely. “Alright,” he says, “what’s going on? Not like you to just head over here without telling me first. I wanted to ask in the desert, but didnt know if I should in front of the kid.”

  I take a slow breath.

  “The summons.”

  Thalos’ posture tightens. He doesn’t interrupt.

  “The Cleric King sent me a message directly,” I say. “A personal summons. One week from now—he’s calling a gathering of kings in his capital. Says it’s a ‘peaceful summit’. No armor. No weapons.”

  Thalos snorts. “Peaceful, my ass.”

  “Exactly.”

  A silence hangs between us. Calculating.

  I continue. “Victor told me he contacted you as well, I assume it was nearly the same letter. I copied it down onto parchment to compare with you.” I pass him the scrap, he scans if over and nods.

  Thalos grimaces. “Fantastic, he's just copy pasting congratulations and invites.”

  “But before we get into the Summit,” I say, “there’s something else. Two somethings.”

  I roll the ring between my fingers for a moment, gathering my thoughts, then start from the top.

  “So, when we were in the Obsidian Vaults, we found more than just the kid.”

  Thalos tilts his head listening.

  “Alright, here’s the actual story.”

  I walk him through it.

  How the vault was eerily quiet.

  How the shelves were filled with old crystal tablets and fused glass ruins.

  How the team split to sweep the chambers.

  How Narai revealed he was the injured drone from our first expedition, which still feels surreal to even say aloud.

  And then—

  “The console,” I say, pointing downward as if it’s beneath our feet. “It’s this huge structure in the center of the deepest rotunda. Size of a small car. Looks almost biomechanical—crystal veins, metal plates, resonance channels. When I first visited weeks ago, I placed an old crystal on it and it projected a full holographic schematic of a cathedral. That’s how I built mine.”

  Thalos’s eyes widen. “You’re telling me you found a working artifact that can project designs?”

  “Oh. It gets better,” I say.

  I describe how Helisti tested it—placing tools on its surface, sending resonance into it, activating some dormant system.

  “I watched it analyze a blade,” I say. “Projected it overhead. Full materials list. Construction notes. Even the intended use—like it was reading the item’s history.”

  Thalos whistles low. “Shit. That’s huge.”

  “That’s what I said. Helisti thinks she can replicate it. Or at least reverse engineer pieces of it. She’s staying at the vault to run experiments; I’m sending reinforcements to help her.”

  He’s quiet for a long moment, absorbing it.

  “So this thing,” he finally says, rubbing his jaw, “it’s basically a research terminal.”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “An old one. From the era of the last queen, maybe older than that.”

  “Damn,” he murmurs. “That… changes a lot.”

  I nod. “Exactly why I needed to talk to you before the Summit.”

  I nod. “It’s more than just a recorder or display. It analyzed that tool Helisti placed on it. Broke down its structure, materials. It’s like a cross between a museum archive and a scanning altar.”

  “That’s… insanely useful.”

  “And there’s more.”

  I tap on the Ring of the Outer Court. Helisti’s discovery flashes again in my mind.

  “She theorized it could analyze artifacts with unearthed potential,” I say. “So I tested it with this.”

  Thalos whistles low. “That’s bold.”

  “It paid off—partially,” I say. “It gave me a screen full of redactions, but one thing came through. The ring can be upgraded. With faith and tithe.”

  Thalos leans forward. “Upgraded how?”

  “It unlocks a new channel. Private communication. A direct-message system between kings you’ve met in person.”

  A slow grin spreads across his face. “So I wouldn’t have to wait to talk to your dumbass until you show up at my capital. Nice.”

  “Yeah,” I say, smiling despite myself. “But we’re nowhere near the requirement yet. It’s going to take a significant amount of faith. More than either of us generates casually.”

  Thalos nods, serious again. “So that’s another thing we need to prepare before the Summit.”

  “Exactly.”

  Now for the second matter.

  “And… Felkas.”

  Thalos’ face softens. “The kid in the vault?”

  “Yeah. He’s from the swamp kingdom directly north of your territory. The one belonging to Channel 012. But his king vanished a week ago. And Felkas says another king’s forces had taken members of his tribe hostage, trying to extract information about their missing ruler.”

  Thalos frowns deeply. “Shit.”

  “Victor’s trying to dig into it,” I say. “But a lot of kings have gone dark with their braziers recently. Hard to track movements. He thinks he has an idea who it could be, but nothing we can act on yet.”

  Thalos leans against his desk, thinking. “You want scouts? Since I am closer to the border it might be better for me to send someone than you. I have already had some guys ranging into the swamps to see if there was anything of note.”

  “Yeah. Someone light, fast, subtle. Could your Sunforged send an expeditionary team? Not deep, just far enough to check the ruins of the capital. Maybe confirm if the throne is occupied.

  Thalos’s expression hardens, understanding immediately. “You think the king’s dead.”

  “I’m… not convinced he is,” I say carefully. “But something definitely happened. His people fled in every direction, and Felkas mentioned the king disappearing about a week ago.”

  Thalos grunts. “Week’s a long time to vanish in Nod.”

  “Exactly. And—” I hesitate only a moment. “I don’t know if you heard before you slept, but right before I went to bed, there was a news broadcast. Worldwide. They confirmed the Clockfather lost all three lives. Every king inside Nod heard Seth announce it: ‘Channel 34, The Iron Choir, has been defeated. The Clockfather is no more.’”

  Thalos goes still.

  “…So that’s how we find out,” he mutters. “Public broadcast. No hiding it.”

  “Yeah. And the moment I heard it, it clicked for me—Felkas’s king isn’t dead. If he was, Seth would’ve announced it. Every king gets an obituary.”

  Thalos’s jaw sets. “Which means this missing king either can’t stream, won’t stream, or is being prevented from streaming.”

  “Right. Which is why I need eyes there. Just confirmation. If he’s alive, we need to know. If he’s not ruling, we need to know that too.”

  Thalos doesn’t even hesitate.

  “I’ll send them tonight,” he says, voice low and decisive. “Fast-movers. Sunforged scouts. No banners, no noise, no contact. They’ll bring back the truth.”

  Relief loosens something tight in my chest. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” Thalos says. “If someone’s hunting kings, we need to know who—and why—before the Summit blindsides us.”

  He waves it off. “We look out for each other. Now—about the kid…”

  We walk toward the balcony, the cool desert breeze spilling into the chamber as the doors open. The courtyard below glows with lanternlight.

  Felkas is outside with a group of local children—awkward at first, then slowly opening up as one girl hands him a carved wooden toy. Iskri sprawls on his side, letting Felkas climb on him like a living jungle gym. Hamu lounges nearby, massive tail flicking lazily, ensuring no child comes within twenty feet of danger.

  The sight hits harder than I expect.

  “He fits here,” I say quietly.

  Thalos nods. “He does.”

  “He needs people his age,” I continue. “And he needs humans—or close to. The Hekari don’t… have childhood. Not in the same way. The drones grow too fast. The evolved minds mature instantly. There’s no middle stage. No adolescence. He’d be alone.”

  “You’re asking to leave him in Sunhome.”

  “If that’s okay.”

  Thalos doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course it is. He’ll be safe here. I’ll assign attendants and a guard rotation discreet enough not to spook him. And you and Iskri can stay tonight, since you won’t make it back before waking.”

  We watch a moment longer.

  Felkas laughs, down below.

  Thalos folds his arms. “You’ve done good by him, man.”

  I push out a breath. “I’m trying, I just feel bad. He came to me because he was told to, by whoever to know me by name. Its been a day, and I dont want him to feel like I am pushing him off on you.”

  “You’re doing more than trying. You’re not his dad, or his king, and you are taking care of him like he is your own. He can see it man, he will love it here, and besides this isnt the only time you will be in sunhome. At least it damn well better not be.”

  Another moment passes.

  Then Thalos turns to me, expression sharpening.

  “Alright,” he says. “Now that all of that’s on the table…”

  I straighten.

  He closes the balcony doors behind us, shutting out the noise of children and beasts and the world.

  The braziers flicker low.

  He meets my eyes.

  “Let’s talk about the Summit.”