When the final order settles through the network, I leave my private chamber and descend toward the throne. It has been days since I last sat there, but the moment I settle onto the obsidian seat, the Citadel answers. The resonance pours through me like breath returning to lungs long empty.
I feel them. All of them.
The forge-twins burn bright and fast, their minds flickering with new designs born from Ashwing bone. Farther out, the drones work the northern road, steady, disciplined, nearly finished; the caravans approach the fortress with fresh materials. Beyond that, strong and distinct, I sense Cast and the archivist team nearing the throne room, just as I requested. Before they arrive, I loosen my grip on the network, letting the Citadel’s hum fall back to barely a whisper.
Cast enters first, dropping to one knee. Helisti kneels beside her, the archivist team forming a row behind them.
“My King,” Cast says, her tone crisp, “the expedition team is assembled as you ordered. I will stand vigil here in the castle, since you will be accompanying them. Rhel and his shieldwardens prepare as we speak”
Her voice always carries the authority of someone giving a lecture. Precise, measured, confident.
“Good,” I say. “There’s something I want to confirm when we reach the vaults. The first time we ventured below, I found the crystal containing the cathedral schematic. Many more were there, but most were drained dry by those transparent spider and mantis things. What I want now isn’t just more schematics. I want the device. The pedestal that projected the images from the crystal. Do we have anything like that in the Dominion?”
Cast glances at Helisti. Both shake their heads.
“Not that we are aware of,” Cast says.
Helisti lifts a thoughtful hand to her chin. “No, my king. But I recall references in old texts. Records of a ‘light-altar’ used to display stored knowledge. I have never seen one intact. To find such a device would be… remarkable.” Her eyes shine with restrained excitement. “When do you wish to depart?”
“As soon as Rhel’s forces are ready. If we can clear the vaults and secure the space, I intend to establish a research institute and fortifications there. Helisti, you and your archivists will run it. It will save time, effort, and lives compared to transporting everything back to the depths of the Citadel.”
Her reaction is immediate, eyes widening, posture straightening.
“Yes! Yes, my King. That would accelerate our work enormously.”
I smile at her enthusiasm. “Good. I’ll assign a drone team to prepare materials. They’ll begin a smaller road to the vaults tonight, and I’ll order an underground tunnel carved as an emergency corridor. Your team will have a protected route home if things ever turn.”
I dismiss the archivists and motion for Cast to remain.
“Cast,” I say quietly, “I’m beginning to understand how much of the Dominion depends on my direct command. The Hekari can think and act, but they still wait for my decisions. Eventually, I’ll be pulled in too many directions—governance, war, diplomacy. The Dominion needs structure that can operate without me issuing every instruction. In the coming days, I want you to assemble a council. I’ll grant them royal authority where needed. I will oversee, but I’ll also trust them to steer our growth.”
Cast hesitates, her eyes assessing, conflicted.
“I will make it so, my king,” she says.
“You disagree,” I reply softly. “Tell me why.”
“It is not disagreement,” she answers, choosing her words with care. “You are right, the kingdom cannot function on one mind alone. The problem lies with us, the Hekari. True independence is difficult to cultivate when we have undergone only one evolution. I can act with greater individuality because I have evolved twice. The first when my mother woke me… the second when she instructed me to consume her remains after she died.”
Her tone doesn’t waver, but the weight of those words settles in the air.
“The second metamorphosis is dangerous,” she continues. “Under my guidance, no Hekari has survived it. Not one. It ends in tragedy every time.”
[carapace_kid]: Thats unfortunate, I was hoping we would see some more Narai upgrades.
[Archivolt]: At least we know it CAN happen. Cast is a badass, and shes only rank 2. Imagine rank 3
[VioletVex]: Shes already too cool as it is. At rank 3 she might just be a full blow goddess
“So the process is lost,” I say, ignoring the chat direction. “I feared as much. And it means Narai cannot evolve again, at least until we find the method.”
“As it stands… yes. I am the last Hekari to endure a second evolution. In the Queen’s era, many captains evolved twice, some three times. But she carried the knowledge in her body and taught with her own resonance. When she died, that knowledge died with her.”
“Still,” I say, “it is knowledge we can chase. I’ll have the archivists search the vaults for anything that could help us rediscover it. And as for myself, I have no intention of pushing for a second evolution any time soon.”
Before Cast can respond, Rhel enters with his squad. All kneel. Narai is with them, moving easily despite the loss of his arm.
“Captains Rhel, Narai,” I say. “It’s good to see you both. Though Narai, I didn’t expect you. Do you need something of me?”
“Yes, my king,” Narai says, bowing low. “Allow me to accompany the expedition. I will not slow the team. I want to train, to adapt.”
“My king,” Rhel says, “I approve. I tested him myself. He’s capable.”
“Very well,” I say. “Meet me in the courtyard. We leave soon.”
The throne room empties. Cast offers a crisp bow and returns to her duties.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Iskri,” I call.
From the shadows, he emerges as silent as smoke, his low, resonant hum more felt than heard. Almost a purr.
I ascend to the surface. The expedition gathers quickly. The archivists ride in a sablehound-drawn sled, unused to travel outside the Citadel’s safety. The trek to the Obsidian Vaults is short and we establish a temporary camp at the entrance.
Rhel lifts one fist, signaling a halt, his voice cutting cleanly through the camp’s low hum. “Shieldwardens, four of you hold this position,” he commands. “Form a perimeter around the entrance. Nothing enters, nothing leaves without our notice.”
The chosen four snap to formation immediately, shields locking with a satisfying, resonant thrum. Rhel turns next to the archivists.
“You two,” he says, pointing to a pair already lifting their lantern-slates, “remain topside. Sweep the outer ruins. Mark anything unusual. Etchings, exposed crystal, old pathways. Do not enter the vault proper. Report anything you find through resonance.”
The archivists bow sharply and move to their tasks as the rest of us prepare to descend.
I face the assembled group.
“From here,” I say, “the archive team stays with Narai in the back. Rhel’s forces and I take the front. Do not under any circumstances wander alone. Always stay paired. If you see anything, speak through the resonance immediately. Rhel and I have walked these halls before. The entities inside blend with the stone when they’re still. Watch the walls. Watch the ceiling.” The vault yawns open before us dark, waiting, dangerous, and we step inside.
[ProteinPrincess]: I didnt get to see the first time they went here, is it scary?
[Archivolt]: Only if you think see through spiders in dark tight rooms are scary.
[GainsGoblin]: NOPE. DONT LIKE IT. Light the place on FIRE
The air changes at once. Cool, thin, touched with that same glass-scent I remember from our first descent. But it feels different now, not because the vault has changed, but because I have.
The last time I crossed this threshold, every sound felt like a threat. My breath echoed too loudly. Each step felt too small for the weight of the dark pressing in around me. Tonight, the space feels… smaller. Not harmless, never that, but contained. Reachable. Something I can grasp rather than something that might swallow me whole.
Rhel moves ahead, shield raised, Seris at his flank. Their glowstones cast long blue lines over the obsidian walls. The archivists keep close behind Narai, who watches the ceiling more than the floor, he was instructed where the creatures came from.
We pass the first bend. The remains of the glass-spider pack we fought weeks ago lie scattered exactly where we left them. Not disturbed. Not moved. The corpses of the mantis things are dulled now, their once translucent bodies clouded to a milky sheen.
“Odd,” Seris murmurs through the link. “No scavengers.”
“No movement at all,” Rhel agrees. “The vault remains as it was the last time we were here.”
I pause beside a shattered carcass. The floor beneath it is fused into a warped pattern, as if the creature’s death melted the stone.
“This used to terrify me,” I think aloud.
The others glance back, puzzled, but I wave a hand faintly. “Not the danger. The scale of it. How vast it felt.”
Now the darkness feels like a corridor, not an abyss. My steps feel larger, my breath steadier. Growth does that, reshapes the proportions of fear.
The deeper chambers hum faintly with residual resonance, just as they did before, but now I can hear the pattern beneath the echo, threads tugging outward, never fully breaking.
I brush my hand along the wall as we descend the ramp. “Even the silence feels thinner.”
Narai answers from the rear, voice steady. “Your tone changes the space, my king. The vault hears you now. It did not before.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe the place responds differently because I am different. Stronger. Sharper. More rooted in Nod.
We continue down, past the collapsed archway, toward the rotunda where the crystal console once pulsed with faint light. The air is still. No scraping. No shifting reflections. Nothing hunts.
We fan out through the rotunda, glowstones casting pale arcs across the fused-glass floor. Dust hangs suspended in the stillness, untouched, as though the vault has not taken a breath since the day we fled it.
Narai steps past me, his remaining hands drifting over the gouges left in the wall from our first battle here. His posture changes, shoulders lowering, resonance softening into something almost nostalgic.
“I remember this room,” he says quietly.
I turn, surprised by the tone. Narai is disciplined, usually concise. But now his voice carries an old weight, almost afraid.
“This is where you found me… my king.”
He moves closer to the far corner, where the broken drone had slumped against the wall, spark fading with each weak breath. Where I knelt beside a creature that could barely lift its head but still tried to salute its ruler.
“I do not remember ever being afraid,” Narai continues, “except for that one time. Before you were here.”
I stop walking.
The resonance in the room tightens around us.
“…wait,” I say slowly, stepping toward him, “Narai… you were that drone?”
He turns to face me fully. His expression is calm, serene even, but there’s a faint shimmer in his good eye.
“Yes, my king.”
My breath freezes in my chest.
“You had your arm ripped off,” I say, hearing the memory in my own voice, the wet crunch of chitin, the sharp keening he made when he tried to stand, the dim fading glow in your injured eye. “And your eye was damaged so badly you could hardly see.”
Narai nods once.
“Marshal Cast chose me for evolution the moment we returned home, when the materials from the salamanders were brought back I was told to proceed,” he explains. “She said my resilience was evidence of potential… and that my attempt to warn the others, even while broken, was a contribution worthy of our future.”
The archivists behind him shift, their tones flickering with awe.
Narai lifts one of his remaining arms, strong, articulated, ending in obsidian-tipped fingers.
“The metamorphosis restored me. Gave me more than I had. Strength. Clarity. Direction.” His eyes shine softly. “I can see better than before, my king. And I remember everything.”
[Thrumline]: His song grew louder and more robust just like he did.
[Archivolt]: I NEVER KNEW, he was such a little guy back then!
[VioletVex]: Thats so sad, that means he has sacrificed an arm TWICE
I stare at him for a long heartbeat.
He had been so small then. Fragile. Barely holding himself together as he pointed us toward the sealed chamber deeper inside. A drone, anonymous, nearly forgotten by the world even before he died on that floor.
And now he stands before me, taller, sharper, more alive than he ever was in that broken shell.
The thought hits me like a physical blow.
From the moment I arrived, lost, confused, unable to even understand the hum beneath my feet, to now, a king whose will bends the shape of his kingdom… whose voice carries weight even in places older than the Dominion.
I wonder, suddenly, painfully, if she looks at me the way I look at Narai now.
Proud.
Worried.
A little mournful for what was lost along the way.
The moment stretches—
—and something shifts.
A tremor brushes the edge of my awareness. Not sound. Not movement. A wrongness in the resonance. Like a single off-note plucked in a perfect choir.
My head snaps up.
Rhel reacts instantly, shield half-raised. Seris pivots, blades angled low. Even the archivists stop breathing.
I lift one hand, palm open, signaling the squad to hold.
The vault is still.
Too still.
And that wrong note… it’s moving.
Not toward us.
Around us.
A circle tightening.
I draw a slow breath, letting my resonance expand outward, tasting the air the same way predators hunt for prey.
Something is here.
Something that wasn’t here last time.
And it knows we’ve returned.