Ashwalker

The coiled, tendril-like feet never blinked. The blue fire above the hood continued to burn, a silent promise of power—not mercy.

Vox struggled to stand, his ribs rattling with every breath. Despite the pain, something in the revelation ignited a spark: Hope. Not for redemption—but for clarity.

"What is it?" he rasped. His voice was rough but insistent. "What becomes of them?"

The being stepped forward, robes swaying in the stale void-air. "They are the cornerstone. The Veil itself is incomplete without birth—a living conduit between our worlds. Once they deliver the Vessel, the Veil can fully manifest." Their tone was cold, distant, almost clinical.

Vox clenched his fist despite the agony. "You're creating... something born of Void and flesh. Something that—"

"That will transcend," the figure finished.

A low growl echoed behind them from the direction of the shattered corpse of Vox's battlefield. Smog shifted impatiently.

"And once the Vessel is born?" Vox croaked, staring at the three flickering silhouettes—from the vision—inside the crimson-lit cylinders.

The being's voice was a whisper that rattled the bones.

"Once the Vessel is born, we will tear open the skies. We will release the Fury that even an emperor-class cannot contain."

Silence.

Whispers of rubble falling. The far-off hum of Viora-runic energy.

Vox swallowed. His lungs protested. But his mind raced.

He's still useful. He can still act. Maybe—

A spark of defiance flashed behind that burning blue glow.

"Then I will do what I must," Vox said quietly. The chest-wound opened wide, but he straightened, forced his face upward. "I will do what's needed… for you."

The blue flames wavered.

A breath passed.

Carold Base – Suela Infirmary Corridor

Kaiell's boots tapped lightly against the floor, each step echoing through the sterile hallway. The briefing had ended, but its weight hadn't left his shoulders.

Three unborn children. Not alive. Not dead.And still… calling to something.

He paused at the medbay door.

From inside, laughter—warm, real—spilled out.

He pushed the door open.

Joran was awake. Sitting up. Wrapped in bandages and sarcasm. The IV was gone, and half a protein tray sat in his lap. His hair was a mess, and his smile was a little crooked—but it was a good kind of crooked.

Kaiell stepped in.

Joran grinned. "Look who finally stopped brooding. Come to lecture me on dying properly?"

Kaiell shook his head, but didn't smile. "Suit up."

That made Joran blink.

"What?"

"We're being deployed," Kaiell said, voice low. "Together. Real drop. Theta-9."

Joran stared at him for a moment. Then laughed again, this time short and incredulous. "I just woke up from being impaled by a Void captain. You want me to gear up now?"

Kaiell didn't flinch. "You're stable, you're cleared, and you're on the list. Command says we ship in ten."

Joran groaned. "Ten? I don't even have pants on."

Kaiell walked to the side of the bed, pulled Joran's combat jacket from the nearby rack, and tossed it to him. "Then make it five."

Joran caught it midair. Stared at it. Then looked back at Kaiell.

"You serious?"

"Yes now suit up."

Joran's grin returned—tired, but sharp. "Damn. I must've missed you."

Kaiell nodded once, then turned for the door.

Behind him, he heard Joran muttering as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Fine. Just don't expect me to carry you this time."

Kaiell glanced back with a half-smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He stepped out into the corridor. The lights felt colder now. The deployment timer ticking down in his HUD like a heartbeat.

The war was shifting. And this time, they were being sent straight into the unknown—together.