CHAPTER EIGHT
The Cry in the Void
It came in the middle of the night.
Belial sat alone in his tent, polishing the hilt of his blade, when the air shimmered. The fragment of Shamru-crystal he kept at his side pulsed, faint, irregular, like a dying heartbeat.
Belial froze.
Brother…
The voice was so thin it barely touched his mind. But he knew it. Akhan.
Belial, can you hear me?
Belial seized the crystal, pressing it to his brow. "Yes. I hear you."
The voice wavered, broken by static and distance. Akromos… the skies fail… the people gasp… Lo falters still… gold… we need gold…
The connection shuddered, then dissolved into silence.
Belial's hand trembled. For the first time in weeks, he had heard Akhan's voice. For the first time, he was reminded that Akromos still lived; but barely.
The whisper of creation stirred in him again. Return and save them. Or stay, and rule here. Your heart decides.
The Fractured Council
At dawn, Belial summoned his generals. They gathered beneath the half-built spires of their camp, the Forged standing motionless like statues around them.
"I heard Akhan," Belial said, his voice iron. "Akromos still breathes. But not for long. Without gold, they will choke. We must act now."
Saren rose to his feet. "Then we must mine harder. Send more Forged. Strip the veins bare. We can load the landers and return with gold enough to flood the skies."
Maelor slammed his fist against the table. "And doom Edin in the process? Already storms grow fiercer, beasts more violent. The Forged disturb the balance. Do you not see? The planet fights back. If we keep cutting, we will wake something worse."
"Akromos dies!" Saren roared. "Would you abandon our people for the sake of strangers?"
"And would you slaughter strangers for the sake of pride?" Maelor shot back.
The council erupted in shouts, voices overlapping. Half the generals swore to return with gold at any cost. The other half argued to remain, to forge anew, to abandon Akromos to its fate.
Belial rose, and silence fell.
"We will not bicker like frightened children. We will act. And I will decide."
Udu's Plea
Later, Udu found him at the edge of the camp, staring out across the inland sea. The waves lapped gently, but the horizon boiled with storm.
"You heard your brother," Udu said softly.
Belial did not turn. "I did."
"And yet you hesitate."
Belial's jaw tightened. "Because I see truth here, Udu. Akromos gasps, yes. But even if I return with gold, will it be enough? Or will the suns falter further? Will the skies collapse again? How long until another voyage must be made?"
Udu stepped closer. "And so you would abandon them?"
Belial finally turned, his eyes blazing. "And what if by staying, I build something greater? A world not shackled to suns, not bound by Shamru, but by will. A world of my making."
Udu's face fell. "That is not salvation, Belial. That is conquest. That is tyranny."
Belial leaned close, his voice low and dangerous. "Survival is tyranny, Udu. Only the strong endure. The weak are forgotten."
The Forged Multiply
Days passed. Belial forged more. A hundred became five hundred. Five hundred became a thousand.
The Forged marched in endless lines, their golden eyes glowing, their bodies laboring without rest. They dug deeper into the green zone, hauling gold dust by the ton. Storms lashed them, beasts tore into them, but still they rose again, reshaped by Belial's will.
Workers no longer labored. Soldiers no longer bled. The Forged did everything.
Some Shamites cheered, convinced the mission was saved. Others whispered in terror, convinced they had become slaves to their commander's ambition.
Maelor confronted Belial again. "You no longer lead men. You lead husks. You forge obedience, but not loyalty. Is this what Akhan gave you? To shape slaves, not save brothers?"
Belial's gaze was cold. "Akhan gave me survival. What I shape with it is my choice."
The High Priest's Vision
The high priest came in fury. He entered the camp with elders at his side, Udu translating.
"You twist the land's bones!" the priest thundered. "You pull her essence and shape it into mockeries. Already the storms rise higher, the quakes strike deeper. Do you think she will endure this forever? Do you think she will not answer?"
Belial stood unmoved. "Your land resists because it fears. But fear bends. It always bends."
The priest's voice dropped to a whisper, filled with dread. "No, sky-voyager. Fear does not bend. Fear awakens. And when she awakens, even your Forged will crumble."
Belial turned away. "Then let her wake."
The Rift Among Generals
The council fractured beyond repair.
Saren and his faction rallied behind Belial, demanding immediate preparation for a return to Akromos with the mined gold. "With this, we save our people," he insisted.
Maelor and his faction refused. "Even if we return, Akromos will only need more. And this world will not forgive. Better we remain, forge anew, and build a future here."
Arguments became threats. Threats became skirmishes. Forged stood silently, awaiting Belial's command, while Shamite soldiers eyed each other with distrust.
Belial watched the division with a strange calm. Part of him grieved the fracture. Another part whispered that it was necessary.
Akhan's Final Whisper
One night, as Belial shaped another Forged, the Shamru-crystal pulsed again.
Belial…
Akhan's voice was weaker than before, fading into static.
Do not forget… your oath… return… save…
Belial closed his eyes. "I remember, brother. I swore. But oaths are wind. Hearts are weight."
The connection broke. The crystal dimmed, its light almost gone.
For the first time, Belial felt no grief. Only release.
Udu's Confrontation
At dawn, Udu stormed into Belial's tent.
"Enough!" he cried. "You have shaped hundreds, thousands. The land groans beneath you. The storms rage. The beasts multiply. This world rejects you, yet you will not stop!"
Belial's eyes glowed faintly gold, the mark of creation burning in them. "I will not stop because I cannot. Akromos will die without me. Edin will resist without me. But I am not merely servant to worlds. I am master. I am creator. My heart has chosen."
Udu's face twisted in sorrow. "Then you are lost."
The Choice of Hearts
Belial climbed the cliffs above Edin. The sea stretched vast before him, storms swirling on the horizon. Behind him, his camp blazed with fires, Forged marching in endless drills, Shamites arguing, indigenes watching in fear.
He raised the Shamru-crystal. Its light flickered faintly, the last echo of Akhan's call.
He crushed it in his hand. The shards fell into the wind, scattering into the sea.
"My heart," Belial whispered, "chooses Edin."
The Forged below bowed as one. The storms above thundered in answer.
That night, Belial stood before his generals and declared:
"Akromos is no longer our home. We will not crawl back to beg mercy from dying suns. Here, on Edin, we will forge anew. Here, we will build a dominion of strength, unbroken by weakness, eternal as stone.
And I will lead it."
Some cheered. Some fell silent in dread. Udu watched, his heart breaking. The high priest turned away, whispering prayers to a land already stirring in wrath.
And far beneath the soil, deeper than Belial could imagine, something vast awakened, ancient, patient, furious.
The true war for Edin was about to begin.