Kreta's yellow eyes locked with Nero's, which seemed like black holes devouring all light. She searched his face for signs of a joke.
"That's impossible!" she snapped.
Kreta was unlike any other Polykenas. She was special. But she was still a Polykenas. She was imprisoned in this dimension, stripped of all stimulation. Since Xersies' departure, this dimension had become unbearable.
Xersies had been her pupil. Her favorite child. She had educated and trained him and recognized his incredible talent very early on. He had given her a purpose again, but after Nero came, she lost all her fun again.
Kreta was like a caged bird. She wanted to spread her wings, hunt with her offspring, raze entire worlds to ash. That was her deepest yearning, the yearning of all Polykenas, and now Nero stood there, claiming what he did. Of course she was skeptical.
Nero didn't respond right away. Instead, he watched as Gargoyle flew in through the entrance with Krell. Krell looked even worse than before. Nero could see he was on death's doorstep. Kreta noticed too and waved her hand. Instantly on a silent command, Polykenas rushed to Krell's side and began healing him.
Before Xersies seized power and brought order to the Polykenas, any of them who showed signs of lifemagic had been slaughtered in the endless carnage. But Xersies knew how valuable lifemages were to an army. He protected, nurtured, and enhanced specific mutations. These were the fruits of his labor.
There were exactly three lifemages in the entire Polykenas army. A pitiful number compared to the total, but their race simply wasn't made for healing. It was made for destruction. Nero's gaze shifted as the crowd of Polykenas parted, making way for a new figure.
It was none other than the oldest male Polykenas, second only to the Queen herself—Ramor, Nero's second general. His yellow eyes gleamed, symbols glowing across his body. They boosted his speed, his strength, even his intelligence. The others looked at him with deep respect. Ramor bathed in their admiration. He made no effort to suppress his aura; it poured from him in waves.
Symbolics weren't powerless. Ramor was the leader of all Polykenas for more centuries than even Xerses. It was just that Symbolics needed a lot of preparation to fight equally with a mage like Xersies. Ramor got lazy after so long, and so Xersies attack caught him unprepared. It still was a close fight, the closest Xersies ever had, but he won in the end. But Xersies spared his life under the promise that Ramor would never try to seize his power again. They had to promise it in front of the Queen. That was the only way to guarantee that the promise was not broken. Since then, Ramor was the second only to Xersies.
He bowed deeply, first to Nero, then to Kreta.
"No, my Queen," he said, "our Duce speaks the truth."
Kreta regarded him curiously.
"I—and thus the Tree, the Nest—am bound to this dimension. If I leave, I die. And with me, the Tree."
Nero nodded.
"We know that, of course. That's why we won't try to pull you out of the dimension. Instead, we'll bind this dimension to the real one."
"And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?" Creta asked, cautious hope flickering in her eyes.
Ramor smiled. "That's where I come in. It wasn't easy, but I've created a new symbol—actually, two."
He knelt and drew a symbol into the ground.
"This one we'll paint all around the Nest. I call it 'Hook.'"
Then he drew another beside it.
"And this one goes in our world. I call it 'Anchor.' Together, they form a connection between this dimension and the real one. If placed correctly, they can fuse the two, and we can place this part of the dimension in the real world."
Kreta studied the symbols with fascination.
"Ramor, that's... astonishing. I've existed longer than I can count. I've seen and studied thousands of Polykenas with your powers—but you are, by far, the most talented. I'd even dare say, more gifted than Xersies himself if it comes to perfecting their own magic."
Nero agreed with her silently. When he and Xersies had selected the generals, Xersies had told him everything about Ramor. There weren't many Symbolics in the Polykenas army, and while Ramor wasn't the only one, the others couldn't do what he could.
He didn't just memorize or replicate symbols like the others. He created entirely new ones with precise effects. Nero had observed him many times and still couldn't understand what Ramor did.
The others could link simple symbols and form minor enchantments. But Ramor? Ramor built massive frameworks, like the Fortress itself. He intertwined symbols in such a masterful way that they produced completely new effects. And if that wasn't enough, he could just invent new symbols altogether. Only he could do that, even if the other symbolics tried, they would fail.
Ramor may have been a grumpy old Polykenas, but Nero held immense respect for him. Other than the Queen, Ramor was the single most valuable piece of Nero's army. Even more so than Xersies, because Xersies could be replaced. Ramor could not.
"But there are two drawbacks," Nero continued. "First, it will take at least a decade to complete. Second, to activate the symbols, we'll need an energy source so vast that not even all the Polykenas combined could generate it."
"The only way," he added, "would be to find a method of storing Chaos Energy and releasing it all at once. Which means, Creta, you must stop creating new Polykenas."
Kreta hesitated.
"Why? What benefit does that bring you, my Duce? Energy is no longer hard to bring here. Sending Polykenas out has never been an issue. It's getting in that's difficult—so why would you risk losing a massive influx of new warriors?"
Nero tilted his head.
"You, my Queen," he said, charming as a serpent. "You are our greatest weapon. And you're trapped in here. With you as a general, there is no force we would fear."
Ramor picked up where Nero left off.
"And then, of course... there's the tree," he said, his eyes glinting.
"It alone is a weapon of immense power. With the right modifications, it could become our greatest tool. The possibilities are endless: It could help us locate worlds to conquer, channel chaos energy across the void, even open multiple portals at once."
"If our Duce's Fortress was the first gateway to our true conquest, then the tree is the path to the summit. After that, it snowballs. Rapidly. According to our projections, in five years, we'll quadruple the average power level of the army. In ten years? We'll probably be unstoppable."
Kreta listened carefully.
"And you're sure you can do this?" she asked, her eyes glowing.
"Almost certain," Ramor replied. "Though I can't promise a hundred percent. There's a tiny chance it might destroy the tree or even tear a hole in this dimension that swallows the world. But what's life without a little risk, right?"
He grinned; something feral and cruel gleamed in his eyes.
Kreta pondered, but Nero already knew she had made her decision. She would sacrifice anything to leave this prison. He saw it in her eyes, clear as day.
And he understood her. Oh, how he understood.
He, too, had once been a prisoner.
And he, too, would have given everything for freedom.
---
Nero stood before the rift, floating high above the stairs to his fortress. He gazed into the darkness of the other world, its great forest stretching across the horizon.
Down below, he saw the scorched earth—where Xersies had obliterated the village. A cold breeze drifted through the gate. Nero inhaled deeply, satisfied.
A cloud of shadow bore him forward. Beside him stood Shire, glowering at the portal.
Ester was perched on the wall, hands folded behind his back, yellow eyes gleaming beneath his raven mask.
Beside him knelt a naked man, bound by a long leash, the human they had kidnapped from Scur.
Ester had taken pleasure in breaking him: weeks of torture until all secrets were extracted, followed by the destruction of his faith. Then Ester declared himself the man's new god.
This human was now the first mage, aside from Nero, among the Polykenas. He was weak, barely at the level of a young Polykenas after a few battles. But Ester had made it his mission to discover how humans grew stronger in their magic.
So far, no luck.
The man claimed power came from prayer in the Sun Church monasteries. Ester didn't buy it.
Yet the deeper into the cosmos they ventured, the stranger the mysteries surrounding magic became.
"He's coming," murmured Xersies beside Nero, snapping him from his thoughts.
Ramor had stayed behind in Kreta's dimension, already mapping the symbol placements. He would remain there until the schematics were complete and his apprentices could begin the real work.
Nero looked through the rift.
And even before he saw Fril, he felt him.
A second later, Fril leapt through the rift, returning to their world, landing on all fours.
Nero descended and touched a small symbol etched into the stairs. Instantly, the link between the Fortress and the blue stone severed—the portal closed.
Then Nero looked coldly at Fril, who knelt before his Duce and bowed deeply.
"I bring good news, my Duce," he said. "I have completed your task successfully...."