The square of Nepthuren had never been so crowded.
Humans, goblins, beastkin, Hollow Howl wolves, and the kippers (perfect miniature humans no taller than a forearm) pressed shoulder-to-shoulder under the new glass-roofed pavilion. Torches burned low, but Flow's streams glowed brighter, painting every face in shifting blue-white light.
Kai, Neo, and Daniel sat on the central bench.
Across from them: Xalith and her squad of Americans, cloaks thrown back, eyes sharp with secrets they'd paid for in blood.
Xalith wasted no time.
"You built a city," she said, voice carrying over the hush. "We used the same weeks to learn what this world actually is. Listen."
She pressed two fingers to her sternum. Resonance flared violet-silver. A ripple passed through the air, and something small tumbled out of nothing into her waiting palm.
A kipper.
Female. Barely taller than Kai's forearm. Skin pale as moonlight, hair long and silver, features delicate and perfectly human in miniature. But where eyes should have been there was only smooth, unbroken skin.
The crowd gasped. Even the Hollow Howl wolves leaned forward.
The blind kipper tilted her head, as if she could feel every gaze.
"My name is Lira," she said, voice high and clear, like wind chimes made of glass. "I see with threads Sovereign forgot to cut."
Kai's breath caught. A seer kipper. Blind, yet seeing farther than any of them.
Lira lifted her tiny hand and began.
"Imagine the worlds are graves stacked one atop the other.
At the bottom, the Underworld—six layers deep, each darker than the last.
Layer One — the Shallows. Low demons, newborn and mindless, gnawing on the newly dead.
Layer Two — the Crimson Cities. Demon lords with thrones of bone and contracts written in blood. They trade in memories and years.
Layers Three to Five — the Anarchy. The great sealed demons, the ones the gods themselves chained. Endless war, silence that eats sound, reality that fractures every heartbeat. No one rules there. Only the mad survive.
Layer Six — the Abyss of Echoes. Azourath is chained there. His heart torn out, scattered as lineages. The scream never ends.
Above the Underworld lies the Human Realm — Earth. Soft. No lineages. No true gods walking. It floats on the Underworld's back like a leaf on black water.
Above the Human Realm sits the Old Realm — Nepthure. The mountain drinks the poison before it rises. That is why no Underworld rifts scar this land. The Peak is a lock. And locks can be picked.
Above the Old Realm is the Realm of the Gods — the Empyrean. Where Zoma sleeps on his cloud of indifference, where Rhaek devours futures, where Ymra binds with chains of love. They look down and play with us like pieces on a board.
And now the board is cracking.
One month. Not a year.
The merge is coming.
Vorath marches with salt legions.
Rhaegor marches with war-banners.
Karthos marches with iron chains.
Three armies. One road.
They come for the Peak.
They come for you."
She turned her blind face to Kai.
"You are the hinge. The one who builds when others destroy. The one who feeds when others starve.
But one month is not enough to build an army.
It is only enough to build a legend."
The square was silent.
Then Kilo stood on his crate, voice small but fierce.
"We'll be ready."
The Hollow Howl alpha dipped his head. "We will bleed for this place."
Flow's voice rippled through the streams, soft and sad.
"I will light the dark. Even if it burns me out."
Kai looked at them — goblins, humans, miniature kippers, beastkin, wolves — all staring at him with fear and fire in their eyes.
"One month," he said.
The square answered with a single breath.
"Then we have work to do."
The fire burned higher than any before.
Because tomorrow, the world would remember their names.
And the gods were already listening.