The air shifted as we stepped past the gilded arch, thick with incense smoke that clung to the back of my tongue. My boots hit stone, metal, sometimes both, woven like fossils into the floor. The walls, ribbed and coiled with arching structures, looked grown rather than built, their filigree catching faint pulses from circuits buried somewhere out of sight.
We descended through a sequence of chambers that screamed reverence in a dozen dialects. Alcoves were lined with broken glass tablets, edges still glowing faintly. Veined columns curved like bone, reaching for a roof lost in shadow. Carvings ran across the walls, spiral glyphs etched deep with obsidian tools. Whisper-chants filtered in from somewhere overhead. The echoes weren’t quite human.
Aedan walked behind me. Vex flanked the gang member, who moved like she knew the corridors better than she knew her own name. She didn’t look impressed. Unlike me.
People saw us, saw me, and it was like I cracked the laws of their personal physics. A bent old man dropped his torch and fell to his knees, murmuring the name I didn’t claim. A pair of acolytes gasped and backed away like I radiated heat. A woman in torn robes lunged forward and kissed my hand before I could even raise it. Her lips were dry. Her eyes, wet.
We entered a vaulted chamber so vast it swallowed sound. The walls stretched up like the ribs of some sleeping god, and every alcove held a construct, glowing, shifting, ghost-lit. Duvainor. Each version slightly different. One held a shield wreathed in fire. Another stood among broken drones, arms raised to calm a storm. They all looked like me.
Selivar smiled and gestured us down. “Please. Be seated,” he said, with the weight of a prayer. “We dine not with mortals this night.”
The low round table sat at the room’s heart. We arranged ourselves on woven mats, knees folded, heat bleeding up from the floor. Selivar took his place with the grace of someone born to robes.
He turned to the gang member, one brow arched like a drawn bow. “By what name are you called?”
She gave him a look like she’d rather chew gravel. “Fira,” she muttered. “Vult Rive, third rank. Used to run logistics. Now I guess I run rescue ops.”
Selivar offered a slow nod, fingers steepled. “Then you are welcome, Fira of the fallen river.”
Then his eyes met mine, and I swear something flickered in them. Firelight, recognition… a distant storm.
“You’ve named your companions,” he said, “but you have yet to name yourself. We cannot continue to call you Duvainor reborn.”
A pause.
“What is your name?”
I met his gaze. “I don’t know,” I said. “Not really. I woke up in a wreck, in the upper city, with no memory.”
Selivar leaned forward like I’d just spoken prophecy by accident. “You crossed the upper city? Walked the heights, where the poison eats skin from bone?”
“I can breathe it,” I nodded.
Gasps fluttered. I looked around and saw robed figures circled around us in the gloom.
I shrugged. “I wandered. Found a plasma rifle under a broken military droid, surrounded by cooked Nether beasts. Took it. Kept moving. Shot some monsters. Ran from the rest.”
Selivar’s mouth opened like he might interrupt. I went on before he could turn it into scripture.
“Found a bunker. Couple survivors holed up there. We shared rations, rested. Next morning, I moved out. That’s when things got bad.”
# You were charming in captivity, Vex murmured in my head.
“My Neurolink was fried. Patrol droids picked me up, didn’t get a ping. Hauled me in for questioning. Directorate wanted answers. Then boom, someone sabotaged the place.”
Fira grunted. “That was us. Vult Rive hit the tower hard. Pulled Larek down. You were a bonus.”
“You kept Larek,” I said. “Sold me.”
She didn’t blink. “Lurian paid well.”
Aedan cut in. “Until we got him out.”
“Ripped the slaver chip,” Vex added. “Fixed his neural link while we were at it.”
“Then this cult found me,” I finished.
Selivar went still a breath too long. Then he rose slowly, robes pooling like water.
“Each thread you speak is woven with divine timing. From blood, ruin, and betrayal, you arrived. As foretold.”
He raised his voice like he meant to shake dust from the ceiling.
“Ashwarden rises from the bones of the broken city, marked by the three crests: valor, wisdom, and compassion. Only then shall he lead the lost from fire into dawn. So speaks the litany of our forebear.”
Great. No pressure.
“You have no name,” Selivar said, eyes gleaming. “Then take your title, until the stars gift you more. Ashwarden.”
# Still my prince, Vex pinged in my head, smug.
# And you’re still terrible at subtlety, I shot back.
Aedan cleared his throat. “Cute title. But we’ve got a rescue to plan.”
He glanced at Fira. “Larek’s your prisoner. Where?”
“Deep pit vault under Spine Nine,” she said, elbows on the table. “Old maintenance depot. Jax runs it like a warlord. Keeps Larek near the silos. Guards rotate in threes. Most are doped and mean.”
Aedan looked at me. “We go silent, quick, one-shot. Pull Larek.”
“There was a Directorate officer,” I said. “He helped sabotage their own tower. Cold face. Pale eyes. Walks like he’s already two moves ahead.”
Fira stiffened. “He’s been visiting Jax. Private talks. Never stays long.”
I nodded. “We time our hit for when he’s there. Grab him too.”
Plan began to form. Aedan laid out angles. Fira mapped the depot. Vex asked for details. I watched Selivar, who just smiled, wider and deeper the more we talked.
“Some of my kin are not only believers,” he said softly, “but capable. I will lend you a few. Quiet, skilled. Zeal and steel.”
The plan came together like broken teeth resetting. Ugly, messy, but tight. Good enough for a first draft.
Selivar clapped once, thunder in the chamber. “Come. The table is set. Even saviors must eat.”
We rose.
“Wow. Ashwarden instincts kicking in early. Nothing screams ‘chosen one’ like a half-baked suicide mission.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYOW8W6XI4G
