Chapter 3- Fortunix

  “Strength is proven before it is needed.”

  -The Deep Canon

  Fortunix stood a head and a half taller than the men around him, built of thick slabs of muscle and steel-strong bone, the sort of biothaumaturgy Khavatch drafted before it bothered to ask moral questions. In the northern conscript housing, his kind were spoken of in terms of use — breach weight, shield line, first through the smoke. He had long since stopped bristling at it. There was a comfort in being necessary. A clarity in being told where to stand and what to break. War required pieces, and he fit the game well. If he sometimes saw more than he was asked to see — the way a wall would fail, the way a charge would travel through timber and stone — he kept it to himself. Precision did not require philosophy. He would place the blast, step back, and let the rest belong to men who preferred to speak of causes.

  As Fortunix exited the barracks, he felt the small human infantry units staring at him. Many had yet to see an Arcanum Heavykin in person until they joined, so this was standard behavior on walks like this. As the gate entered view, he adjusted his uniform, flattening the sturdy fabric into something not just presentable, but crisp. Crowds parted as he made it into the training yard where the hooch was located, allowing him to stride right into the receiving post. The retaining wall had dwarven geometry — interlocked load paths, no decorative waste, designed to fail slowly instead of all at once. He snapped to attention and cut the lieutenant a salute before reporting.

  “Reporting, Lieutenant,” he said, voice low and steady.

  The lieutenant’s eyes flicked over him, noting the uniform, the stance, the scars crisscrossing his forearms. “Report on the morning drills. Status of the human squads?”

  “All accounted for, sir,” Fortunix replied mechanically. His gaze swept the yard—timing their drills, noting slight deviations in footing, the way wind hit the training platforms. “Movement times consistent with training logs. No deviations observed.”

  “Good.” The lieutenant hesitated, then added, “And the Heavykin squads?”

  Fortunix’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “On schedule, sir. No issues.” Beneath the words, his mind ran calculations: angles of approach, weak points in the barricades, exit routes should a charge misfire. None of it needed to be reported.

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  A faint hum thrummed through the ground, a vibration that barely registered to the humans milling around. Fortunix felt it through bone and sinew, a subtle tension in the air that suggested energy moving somewhere far north. He said nothing.

  The lieutenant glanced up from his notes briefly. “Fortunix… any concerns?”

  Fortunix blinked, aware of the subtle resonance underfoot but uncertain of its source. “None that require reporting, sir.”

  The lieutenant nodded once. “Very well. Dismissed.”

  Fortunix cut a salute and stepped back, letting the humans around him resume their routines. His eyes lingered just long enough to note the slight dimming of lamps and the low, rising hum in the distance—unremarkable to most, but enough to stir caution in his instincts. He about-faced, and began his rounds before attending to his siege table for the assignment of the day.

  Fortunix could feel the Arcanum thrumming underfoot, more with every step. As he approached his brothers in the sparring pit, he could tell from their stances that they felt it too—the flat feet, the pressed hands on gravel, subtle shifts in posture, all disguising unease as disciplined training positions. The demolition teams were no different, assembling shape charges, bombs, mines, and cords, their boots pressed to the dirt as the hum tugged at their senses.

  Fortunix lost himself in the ominous activity beneath the essence of the Earth. The thrum had become a rhythmic hum and the sand within the gravel had begun making patterns under the surface he was barely aware of. A flicker caught his eye as he began to move again, the electric lights inside the cartographers tent had begun to dim and flicker slightly. It was enough to stand the hairs on his neck straight up.

  Fortunix knew it had to be something truly powerful when he saw the humans walking by with similar concern and distraction plainly on their faces. There was now an almost audible hum pulsing over the battalion, registering in all those gathered. Fortunix stood still, part in assessment, part in amazement, and part that he’d never admit in war trained anticipation. His muscles began to tighten and ripple under his skin as though anticipating a blow from a place he couldn’t see.

  a preservative part of his brain instantly began running calculations. The corners of the walls that needed shored up, the sections least equipped to withstand siege, the troops best situated to deal with it, and the resources required to make the attack real. As he did, he looked around as though one of the humans might take the idea if they saw him thinking it.

  Just as he thought the power building around him had already peaked, he saw the lights in the cartographers’ tent dim to almost nothing. The humming was now enough to leave ripples in the bucket next to him. The humans were now murmuring to each other, fully aware of something, but unable to sense the immense scope of the power. Fortunix clenched his fists ever so slightly, aware that whatever was building that kind of power was truly dangerous. The very air felt dangerous, like it was rallying for an assault.

  Then, nothing.

  Fortunix was almost set off balance by the lack of the force that had been building. The hum lingered like the ring from a bomb blast, but the other signs had completely abated. Whatever that was, Fortunix hoped it never woke up completely.