By the time I clock out, I’m relieved in that muted, tired way that only office work produces. I pack up, sling my bag over my shoulder, and step into the gray late-afternoon light. The drizzle from this morning turned into a steady mist, soft enough not to bother with an umbrella but enough to make the sidewalk gleam.
The bus is already waiting at the stop, engine rumbling like it’s annoyed to be here. I jog the last few steps, tap my card, and take a seat toward the back. The city behind the window is all wet storefronts and headlights dragging long smears of light along the pavement. The rhythm of the ride is familiar, comforting. The hum of the engine reminds me faintly of the Citadel’s resonance.
I’m halfway through mentally organizing my plans for tonight in Nod—checking on Felkas, reviewing the new fortress outline, prepping for the summit—when my phone buzzes.
Victor.
He just talked to me a few hours ago, so whatever he’s calling about now probably matters. I swipe and see the preview text:
Victor: “Found something. Not what we wanted, but important. You free?”
My pulse picks up. Could be new info on the swamp raid. Could be something about Alaric. Could be nothing, but Victor doesn’t waste time with nothing. He would have waited till later if that was the case.
The bus jolts, taking a corner too sharply, and someone up front curses. I barely notice.
I plug in my earbuds and hit call.
“Alright, Vic,” I mutter under my breath as the line rings. “Hit me.”
“Okay, so—you know the northern swamp kingdom,” Victor begins, and I can already hear his chair squeaking as he leans forward. “I’ve been digging into it. Looking for any footage of the other kings raiding or fighting there. And… nothing. Not a single clip.”
I frown. “Nothing at all?”
“Yeah. Turns out a lot of kings have started abusing that brazier mechanic Cast told you about. They keep their streams offline for entire chunks of time and only go public on weekends. Some even have actual stream schedules now. Offline Wednesdays, Offline Fridays—that kind of crap.” He exhales sharply. “It gives them way too much freedom to operate without eyes on them. Good for them, bad for us.”
My stomach tightens. He’s not wrong. If I can hide things by dousing the brazier, then so can everyone else.
“And since Faith and Tithe are as valuable as we’ve seen,” he continues, “The good thing though is they are tied directly to the audience. Going offline like that cuts your faith gain and no one can donate. Alaric’s the best example—guy is sitting at rank four overall with nearly triple the forces of rank five and like ten times the Faith. As far as I cant tell he doesnt douse the brazier, and is always on at the same times each night. The only reason he’s not in first is because the top three formed an alliance early. I still can’t tell how the site ranks people. I thought it was based on Faith, but comparing one through three with Alaric? Doesn’t add up. They have to be factoring in multiple metrics.”
He pauses.
“Anyway. That’s not the point.”
This is classic Victor—once he drops into deep-dive mode he becomes a data hose you just let run. I’ve gotten used to listening and letting him info-dump. I used to feel lazy letting him do this legwork, but the guy genuinely enjoys unraveling a problem and teaching someone else the pieces.
“So,” he says, tone shifting as he digs into the real meat, “since I couldn’t find direct footage of an attack on the swamp, I started cross-referencing which kings were ‘offline’ during the right time window.”
“And?”
“I’ve got a few notable candidates but nothing concrete yet. But judging by territory placement and movement patterns…I have a pretty strong suspicion who it is.”
My shoulders tense.
“Before you panic,” he adds quickly, “I’m not saying anything definitive yet. I need more cross-checking. I still can’t tell if this was domination or retaliation. There just isn’t much recorded about that kingdom. Low rank means low visibility.”
“That bad?”
“Eighty-seventh place,” Victor confirms. “Pretty much no Faith, tiny viewer count, barely any documented accomplishments. From what I can tell he barely did anything in the first few weeks. His people look… lost. Aimless.”
That’s unsettling. I know not every king has the luxury to treat Nod like a second job. Some fought the original selection. Half the table wanted out. But still—neglect on that level leaves citizens vulnerable.
“So Vic,” I say, rubbing my forehead, “what are you thinking? If there’s a throne claim, the king might be dead—or offline by choice. Could be bait. Could be a trap. I need to talk to Felkas more, but he’s just a kid. I don’t want to dump geopolitical crap on him yet. Does Scott have anyone he can send to scout?”
“Exactly,” Victor says. “I don’t think you need to act yet, but you absolutely need eyes on the situation. Funny you mention Scott—he told me earlier today he’s dealing with his own mess.”
“What? Is Scott okay?”
“Oh yeah,” Victor laughs. “He said he’d call you if he actually needed backup. Apparently all the tremor-training he’s been doing woke up a giant sandworm nest under his territory. He’s been running all over slaying them. Says they’re not hard, just irritating and numerous.”
I let out a slow breath. “Alright. Keep me posted. I already have to head that direction for the Summit, so if he needs help, I can go a day or two early.”
“I’ll make sure he’s pacing himself,” Victor says. “But seriously—focus on your kingdom right now. You’re being pulled in ten directions. That council system you mentioned to Cast? Brilliant. You can’t micromanage forever. And remember—you’ve got viewers. Standing still too long hurts the ranking. You already dropped six spots since the Ashwing raid.”
“Yeah, I saw,” I mutter.
“Doesn’t matter—I’m keeping track. We’ll strategize.”
The bus hisses as it slows, brakes whining.
“Alright man,” I say, “my stop’s coming up. I’ll hop on Discord once I get home. Still feel like I’m missing something with this Summit.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Victor promises. “Talk later.”
The call ends just as the bus jerks to a halt at my stop.
–
After stepping off the bus, I start the walk back toward my apartment complex. It’s barely a mile, but it winds past a dozen little shops whose signs glow soft and hazy through the mist. The air smells like wet asphalt and food—actual food—and the moment the scent of smoked meat drifts by, my stomach growls hard enough to hurt. I didn’t realize how long I’d been running on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline.
I veer off my route toward one of the few barbecue places I trust. Growing up in a tiny Texas town with six nationally ranked BBQ joints in a three-mile radius ruined me for life. Three of them sat in the top ten in the country, all family-owned, all stubborn, all proud. After eating that from childhood onward, moving to the city and trying “normal” barbecue felt like betrayal. It’s like going to Tokyo, tasting real ramen, and then being expected to tolerate Cup Noodles ever again.
This place, though—this one’s legit. The brothers who ran the original spot back home split over whether they should expand. One stayed, one went, both started competing restaurants, and somehow both ended up creating branches out here. The result? A city with two different versions of the same legendary meat.
And both are good enough to make grown men cry.
Today, I don’t care about the price. Today, I’m feeding myself like an adult with disposable income.
The line is already forty people deep. Figures. I settle in, watching the muted news broadcast above the counter while the crowd shuffles forward. Some talking head starts monologuing about global events, and I’m seconds from tuning it out when she suddenly stops mid-sentence, pressing one finger to her earpiece.
Her expression freezes—shock first, then a practiced professional calm.
In the corner of the screen, Nod’s logo flashes.
My brain snaps to attention.
“The first king to lose all three lives has been confirmed,” she announces. “Earlier today, the King known as the Clockfather lost his final life. All Kings present in Nod at the time reported hearing a universal announcement: ‘Channel 34, The Iron Choir, has been defeated. The Clockfather is no more.’”
A clipped replay of the anchor’s voice echoes through the subtitles. Then the segment shifts to footage of the Clockfather’s last known broadcast—bits of his battle with Alaric, his first death captured on stream. The discussion continues with calm horror: how he must have died twice more out of sight, how Kings disappearing from the roster works, what this means for the “rules” of Nod.
I’m not hearing any of it anymore.
My mind is already spinning—mapping implications, rearranging assumptions, reevaluating everything we thought we knew.
A death announcement. Public. System-driven.
Which means—
“Sir? Sir, are you ordering today?”
I jolt back to the present. I’m at the front of the line. Judging by the look on the attendant’s face, this is the third time she’s tried to get my attention.
I blurt out an order—way too much food, way more than I need—and the annoyance on her face melts instantly into the smile reserved for customers about to spend a stupid amount of money. I pay, receive my impressive pile of brisket and sides, and step back out into the mist.
My thoughts don’t stop racing until I’m standing inside my apartment, keys still dangling from the lock. I set the bag of food down, force myself to eat a few bites before I dive headfirst into research, and only make it halfway through my brisket before my Discord icon turns green.
Victor calls immediately.
“Did you see—”
“I saw,” I say, sinking onto the couch. “The Clockfather.”
“Damn, man. I was really hoping he’d survive that. Before you showed up, he was the guy I was rooting for.”
“Well… at least we got something out of it. Good information, at least. Full death gets announced publicly. Sounded like Seth doing it, too.”
“That was Seth?” Victor asks. “First time I’ve heard his voice. Makes sense, I guess—he always cuts the stream whenever he drags you kings to the table.”
“Yeah. And it means the Wolf King isn’t dead. He’s at least got one life left.”
“Do we know who killed the Clockfather?”
“No clue. He wasn’t streaming when it happened. Alaric isn’t online yet either. My guess? He tried to run after losing his kingdom and didn’t manage to ally with anyone.”
Victor hums. “Do me a favor and keep Alaric up in another tab tonight. I want to see if he reacts on stream. Just DM me if anything weird happens. And we really need to figure out a safe way for you to talk to me from Nod. Turning off the brazier in emergencies works, but doing it too often is risky.”
“Agreed. Only for critical stuff. But yeah—keep your messages limited to things I need to know right away. If you catch something while I’m logged off, message me before I go in, or text me after.”
“Got it. And hey—watch Historia’s video on Channel 87. She finally posted it. I know you follow her lore breakdowns. Might help with the swamp situation.”
“Already planned on it. Thanks, man.”
“Anytime. And don’t get too hung up on Alaric. Yeah, he’s got overwhelming resources, but he’s still just a guy. No open hostility yet. Stay cautious, not paranoid.”
I huff out a laugh. “I’ll try.”
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Alright. Go research. Goodnight, dude.”
“Night.”
We hang up, and I lose the next three hours combing through lore, fan compilations, and theory threads. When my eyes start burning, I give in, take melatonin, and finally prep myself for sleep—another dive back into Nod.
The shift hits me like a long exhale—warm, resonant, familiar. The Citadel’s hum coasts along my bones before I even open my eyes. When I do, the monarch’s chamber is dim with bioluminescent glow, soft and gentle across the stone. I rise, stretch once, and immediately reach out through the resonance, to the guards near Felkas.
He’s awake, alert, quiet. Good.
I descend the stairs, and the guards straighten. Iskri is curled at the door to the guest room like a snowy guardian beast, tail swishing once as he senses me. He steps aside.
Inside, Felkas sits on the edge of the bedding, chewing on dried fruit from the delivered tray. His ears twitch when he hears me, but he doesn’t startle. That’s progress.
“Evening,” I say softly.
He nods. “Kyris.”
I sit across from him, not too close. “How are you feeling?”
His eyes lower. “Safe… I think. Tired, but safe.”
“I’m glad.” I let a breath settle. No pushing. “Felkas, I wanted to tell you something. We checked on your king—the Red Moon King. He’s alive.”
His head snaps up so fast I almost flinch. His eyes shine, wide and wet.
“Alive?” His voice cracks. “You… you’re certain?”
“Yes,” I say, steady. “He hasn’t lost all his lives. He may be missing, or hiding, or regrouping, but he’s alive. You didn’t fail him, Felkas.”
He exhales in a shaking rush, shoulders slumping as if someone cut the cords holding him upright.
“I thought…” He wipes at his cheek with the back of his hand. “I thought I left him to die.”
“Not your fault,” I say. “And you made it to me. That note—someone wanted you safe. You honored that.”
Felkas nods slowly, breathing steadier now. Iskri nudges his arm, and Felkas leans against the sablehound.
I shift a little closer. “Tell me about your kingdom. Only if you want.”
He hesitates… then nods.
“We are the Moon-Claw Tribe,” he says. “We serve the Red Moon King. He is good. Strong. He teaches us the Huntways—to track, hide, read the smells of the land.” His voice softens. “He protects us. Or did.”
I keep my tone gentle. “What happened?”
Felkas curls his hands. “Strangers came. Not beasts. Not monsters. People—but wearing the king’s sigils of another land. They found our dens. They made the elders kneel. They asked questions about our king… where he went. Why he vanished.”
He shakes his head. “No one knew. He told us he was leaving to seek a pact. For strength.”
Korran trying to get stronger.
Another king pressured.
Another king hiding.
This world is growing more jagged by the day.
Felkas continues quietly, “When the elders said they did not know… those strangers took us. Hurt us. Wanted the king’s secrets. I escaped when they fought one another.”
“Fought each other?” I echo.
He nods. “Two groups. Not the same tribe. They argued who would take us.”
My stomach knots. Two kings? Or two factions within one?
Before I can parse it further, Helisti’s resonance nudges the edge of my awareness.
My King, come to the vault. You will want to see this.
I squeeze Felkas’ shoulder gently. “Rest. Eat. Iskri will stay with you. I’ll be back soon, I need to go check on some things then I think we will go meet a friend.”
The vault chambers hum brighter tonight, glowstone light shimmering over smooth obsidian floors. Helisti stands at the console with a look I’ve come to recognize: her scholar’s hunger.
Narai waits at her side, silent but alert.
“My King,” Helisti says, bowing. “The device revealed something new.”
“What did you find?”
She gestures to the console. “It reacts differently when the object has… potential.”
“Oh?” I raise a brow. “Define potential.”
“Artifacts, items, and materials that have yet to meet their peak. Things with room to grow.”
My stomach tightens a little. I pull off the Ring of the Outer Court—and immediately feel the watchers’ distant hum die down, like someone cut static from a radio. The quiet inside my own head surprises me.
I lay the ring on the console. Hoping that Im right in my instinct.
The reaction is immediate.
Light floods upward. A projection twists into shape—my ring, enlarged, rotating in midair.
Half the text is redacted. Thick bars of shimmering black obscure entire lines, but what is readable makes my chest tighten.
[RING OF THE OUTER COURT — TIER 0]
Status: Incomplete
Faith Resonance: Insufficient
Tithe Circuits: Dormant
Upgrades Available: 2 locked
A soft chime.
A new window blooms open.
TIER 1 UPGRADE — Voice of the King
Allows sovereign to:
— Respond to public Watchers in stream.
— Send private messages to selected Watchers.
— Direct-message Kings met in person.
Cost:
FAITH: ???
TITHE: ???
I swallow.
This is power. Not military,but social power.
Political.
A megaphone for influence.
And a weapon, if used wrong.
Helisti watches me with bright eyes. “My King… you understand what this means. You could coordinate with allies instantly. Or counter public narratives. Or… speak to your faithful directly.”
Narai’s voice rumbles low. “Communication shapes empires. The Queen used to say that words build foundations deeper than stone.”
I stare at the projection.
This is a path forward. A bridge between worlds.
But at the moment I dont have the faith or tithe requirements to unlock this. I wonder if other kings have done so already, or if Scott can use this terminal or has something like it he can use.
My viewer count flashes at the corner of my vision.
Damn. Lower than last night. Lower and lower every day after the Ashwing fight.
I’ve been too quiet. Too inward. And while I might not care deeply about peer pressure from strangers online…
Faith cares.
Tithe cares.
Ranking cares.
And if ranking dips too far, the Summit becomes a battlefield stacked against me.
I inhale. “Helisti, continue your study. I might need this upgrade sooner than planned. And test it with items from the armory, have each captain come and test their gear. If it can be upgraded notate what it needs and what item it is. I will prioritize the upgrades to get the captains in fighting form.”
She beams. “As you command.”
Back at the Citadel’s entrance, the night wind carries warm desert air. Felkas perks up when he sees me. Iskri’s tail wags once.
“How do you feel about a trip?” I ask him.
Felkas blinks. “Trip?”
“To Scott’s kingdom. It’s not far. And I need to check on something personally.” I crouch. “You’ll be with Iskri the whole way. Safe.”
His ears flick once, then again. “If… if you want me to.”
“I do,” I say. “And I think the ride might do you good.”
Iskri lowers himself, letting Felkas climb on his back. The boy buries his hands in the sablehound’s thick mane like it’s a lifeline.
Chat flickers faintly.
[Archivolt]: FIELD TRIP FOR THE WOLF KID LETS GO
[Carapace_kid]: ohhhh we goin to tremor-land
[VioletVex]: KYRIS ON A ROADTRIP WITH HIS SON!!!
I groan internally.
They’re incorrigible.
But… at least they’re here.
Engaged. Watching. I need that right now.
We leave the Citadel beneath a wide sweep of moonlight, the desert still holding the last exhale of the day's heat. Iskri lowers himself so Felkas can climb on first, the boy gripping fistfuls of snowy fur with a practiced, animal-born instinct. He doesn’t cling out of fear—more like he’s anchoring himself to the only familiar thing in an unfamiliar world.
I swing up behind him and settle in. Iskri rises in one smooth, powerful motion.
“Hold on,” I tell him.
“I am,” Felkas murmurs, voice barely above the breeze.
We start forward, Iskri gliding across the dunes like a black and white shadow. The sand gives under his weight and then firms again, his paws distributing the force so perfectly it almost feels like we’re floating.
For a little while, none of us speak.
We crest a ridge, and the newly paved stone road appears ahead, stretching out like a pale scar across the darkness. Drones worked nonstop to lay it, and it shows—smooth, wide, reinforced with crystalline ribs beneath the sand.
As we approach the midpoint of the road a faint glow rises over the next hill: lantern-slates, campfires, phosphorus torches.
The border fortress.
Even half-finished, it’s larger than I expected. A sprawling, star-shaped foundation, its walls rising in jagged terraces. Dominion drones carry massive stone blocks, setting them with mechanical precision. Sunhome soldiers work beside them, their movements less efficient but full of grit.
Two civilizations—one born of metamorphosis, the other of sweat—building a future shoulder-to-shoulder.
Felkas leans forward, staring.
“You work with other kings?” he asks, awe tinting his voice.
“Sometimes,” I say. “This one’s an ally. And this road is for both our nations.”
He watches the workers like he’s trying to memorize the sight. Maybe because the last kingdom he knew fell apart around him. Maybe because the idea of cooperation seems… foreign.
Maybe both.
We ride past the fortress as workers pause just long enough to nod at us. A few Hekari shieldwardens kneel briefly in greeting. Sunhome soldiers give cautious half-salutes.
Felkas whispers, “They aren’t scared of you.”
“Should they be?”
He thinks about it.
“No,” he decides softly.
The desert at night is never truly silent. There are winds, shifting grains, pockets of heat that whistle faintly as they move. But the black dunes of the Dominion have a tone—a layered hum underneath everything, resonance trapped between millions of obsidian particles. It sounds like distant windchimes through the dunes.
Felkas is the first to comment.
“It smells different,” he says, nose twitching. “The sand. The air. Even the wind.”
“Oh?” I adjust my grip around his waist. “Different how?”
“It’s… quieter, smells less smokey” he says after a moment.
He says it so matter-of-factly that for a moment I forget he’s a child.
“You’re used to my blacksand dunes,” I say. “They hold sound differently. The resonance doesn’t reach this far from the Citadel.”
Felkas nods, but I get the sense the explanation only satisfies him halfway. His senses are sharper than mine—wolf-born instincts layered over human thought.
We continue northwest, following the fading glow of Sunhome’s capital. The dunes change as we go—lighter, finer, carrying less heat. The wind sounds harsher here, like it’s dragging claws across the sands.
Felkas stiffens unexpectedly.
“There,” he says, pointing ahead. “I can smell it now.”
“What?”
“Something watching”
I don’t sense anything. No vibration in the ground, no shift in the air, no resonance flicker. Just dunes rolling beneath the moon and a distant silhouette of Thallos’s city rising like an ember on the horizon.
“We’ll reach Sunhome soon,” I say. “Thallos isnt expecting me, but he will be happy to meet you.”
“You’ve never been?”
“Not yet,” I admit. “But I planned to. This just gives me more reason.”
Felkas nods and leans back into my arm. He’s trying to be brave. He’s also exhausted and clinging to some tiny piece of hope he’s barely letting himself feel.
I open my mouth to reassure him—
Then the world explodes.
A thunderous shockwave erupts beneath us, a geyser of sand blasting upward like a volcanic burst. The ground tears open in a spiral trench, wide enough to swallow a house. Iskri yelps and leaps back by pure instinct, all three of us thrown.
I feel myself lift , spin, impact, then land on my feet in a sliding crouch, the Chime already in my hand before my mind finishes catching up.
Iskri manages to regain his balance, claws digging into the dune face as he shields Felkas with his entire body. The boy clings to his mane, eyes wide and terrified.
And then the creature emerges.
It erupts from the earth in a roaring twist of muscle and bladed scales—longer than a train car, thick as a silo, its segmented hide rotating like a massive drill. Its snout is a spinning crown of razor-edged plates, grinding the air into a scream.
A sandworm. More like Sandwyrm honestly.
Not like the ones in stories.
Not like the ones in games.
This thing is a living siege weapon.
“Damn it, Vic,” I mutter, ash shaping itself along my chest and arms as the Ashwing Aegis forms around me, volcanic heat flooding my limbs. “You didn’t tell me these things were this damn big.”
The worm tilts its spinning head toward us—the air rippling from the force, throwing sand in spiraling arcs in every direction.
And then the dunes erupt again.
One. Two. Three.
Four more of the monsters spiral out of the sand, encircling us in massive arcs, their bodies rotating as they rise like drill-tipped towers.
A ping at the back of my skull—a private DM.
[LifelineV]: Yeeeah, so, my bad man. To be honest? I really didn’t think you’d head straight to Thallos the moment you got back in.
I let out a long sigh that steams inside my helm.
“Of course you didn’t.”
The first worm lowers its spinning snout, sand whipping in a violent halo. Iskri growls, Felkas hides behind his mane, and the dunes around us vibrate with the hungry anticipation of predators.
I shift my stance.
Chime blazing.
Heat rising.
Blood boiling from the burning fire building in my chest.
“Alright,” I tell the desert.
“Let’s do this.”
And I charge.