"Every wound remembers the hand that made it.
Every father knows when something is missing from the world."
Zathariel approached, shadow long and heavy, his golden eyes dimmed with years that could not be counted.
"This pain you feel," his voice rumbled, slow and grave, "is not yours alone. Loss is the crown I wear, heavier than any metal. My son, Essian, was taken from me. They said he left of his own will, that he turned away from duty or from love, but I know. A father knows. My blood, my own marrow, cries out for him still. He was taken, stolen as surely as the breath from a dying world."
He knelt before Sael'Ri, hands trembling despite all the power of his lineage. "We bear these wounds not because we are weak, but because we refuse to forget. There is a sorrow older than stone, and we are its witnesses. If you would heal this land, you must walk the path of loss, not turn from it, but bear it, let it break you open until memory and hope are one."
He turned to Adam, gaze bright as a sword drawn at midnight. "You, too, are marked by absence. The Veil brought you not as a conqueror, but as a vessel—a soul who has learned the price of longing. Only those who remember what they've lost can ever build what must be found."
Zathariel stood, voice dropping to a whisper. "The Severance did not happen in a moment. It was a theft in slow motion, a memory bleeding away in the dark. But every wound holds a door. Together, perhaps, we may find the courage to open it."
Adam rose, uncertainty flickering in his voice. "You... you know about the Veil?"
Zathariel's gaze met his, ancient and fathomless, a tide that pulled at secrets Adam hadn't yet learned to fear. "We are all children of the Veil, Adam. Every world, shaped by its shadow, every soul marked by its passage. You carry its memory in your bones, do not be surprised when others recognize the ache behind your eyes."
He stepped closer, the weight of centuries in every measured word. "Yes, I know who you are. Just as I know the silent guardian, the watcher who never slept, who stood vigil through our long winter, it was your emissary who awakened us from our chosen silence. He did not just rouse bodies, you gave us back the right to remember, to grieve, to begin again."
A hush settled over the chamber. The mist in the air seemed to hold its breath.
"For too long, we slept to escape the pain of forgetfulness. We lost our way and, in our weakness, we chose oblivion over struggle. That winter has ended. Never again."
He raised his chin, voice ringing through the vaulted hall like a bell struck in a storm. "Never again will we turn from memory, or mercy, or the labor of hope. This is our vow to you, child of Veil. To remember, to endure, to heal. No matter the cost."
He looked at Adam, not as a king to a subject, but as a survivor to another who'd walked through fire. "Walk with us. The next step will not be easy. But this time, we walk awake."
"Speaking of my... emissary," Adam admitted, a rueful note in his voice, "I must confess, I didn't send him. The Ephios brought him here. And, by the way... where is he?"
Zathariel's golden eyes danced with a knowing amusement. He offered Adam a half-grin that could have belonged to an old friend or a patient god. "And why do you think the Ephios chose to do that, Adam?" His tone was light, but behind it, something deeper rumbled, a wisdom measured in centuries, not years. "The Ephios are older than memory, wiser than sorrow. Time is nothing to them but a river they can cross both ways. They saw the yearning in your heart, the step you were moments from taking, and so they helped you take it. Sometimes, the universe gives us what we need before we have the courage to reach for it ourselves."
He turned, gesturing for them to follow as he strode toward a grand, arching doorway. "As for your friend... you'll find him through here. Though I must warn you, Adam, he is not quite as you remember. Change has a way of finding us all, especially in the shadow of the Severance."
* * *
When Adam and Sael'Ri enter the chamber, the first thing they see is a pulse of light: green, then blue, then a faint, aching red, hovering in the center of a shallow pool of Mist. DeadMouth is there, but not as he was. The old, battered sphere still hovers, its carbon-black surface etched with new lines, glyphs of Varnak memory, shining faintly, pulsing in rhythm with the Mist that churns below.
Fragments of transparent alloy reveal currents of light and memory swirling within.
Small, shifting plates move on his shell, shutters that open and close, revealing fleeting images: faces, moments, symbols, all not his own. The mechanical "eye" in his core now shines with a spectrum of color, not just cold green: sometimes gold, sometimes violet, sometimes a clouded, pained silver. When he speaks, the voice that crackles from the orb is layered, no longer just glib and sarcastic, but resonant, sometimes discordant, echoing with half-remembered dreams:
"Well. You made it. Did you have fun with the gods? Because I've had a front-row seat at the heart of oblivion."
He spins, slowly, light washing over Adam and Sael'Ri. For a moment, his surface projects fractured, flickering images: Varnak children playing, old battlefields, lovers parting in ash.
"It's strange, Adam... the longer I'm here, the less I know where I end and the world begins. I remember things that can't be mine—names, voices...loss. And hope. The Varnaks shared something with me, or maybe I just caught it, like a virus. I can't delete it."
He hesitates, then the Mist rises, swirling around his shell. His "eye" focuses on Adam.
"If this is what it means to be alive, aching for what you'll never touch, remembering what was never yours, then maybe I owe you an apology. For all the years I thought you were just... fragile."
He tries to joke, the old glitch-humor surfacing:
"Don't get mushy. If you tell anyone I'm sentimental, I'll wipe your biometric data. But... I missed you. Both of you. The orb has a new playlist—regret, longing, and a dash of hero worship."
His outer plates shift, forming a fleeting symbol of a heart, then flicker away as if embarrassed. In his eye, a glimmer: not just reflection, but emotion.
Adam stepped closer, brow furrowed as he studied the orb's faintly flickering light.
"What's happened to you...? You seem different. And, don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. But... you know what I mean."
DeadMouth hovered a moment, as if searching for a clever retort in the static. Then he rolled a little higher, lights brightening, voice pitched in his old mock-bravado.
"Different? Please. I'm still the same irresistible, multi-talented drone you all secretly admire. Just... now I come with a complimentary side order of existential crisis. Limited time only. No returns."
He spun, as if to break the tension, but the next words stuck, softer, almost human.
"Look, it wasn't my idea. Nobody asked me if I wanted to play sponge for a few thousand Varnak dreams and nightmares. I just... did what had to be done. Now they're... in here." He hovered closer as if he wanted Adam to take a clearer look at his shell. "All of it. Hope, fear, guilt, that thing they feel when their coffee runs out. It's like someone rewired my code with feelings I never signed up for."
He paused, a shadow crossing his usually bright core.
"Not that I can cry anyway. No ducts. Believe me, I checked. All I've got are... memories. And the occasional urge to punch a wall or write a poem. Not sure which is worse. I wish I had arms..."
Adam reached out, placing a steadying hand on the little drone's side. DeadMouth didn't flinch. He just hovered there, a little heavier than before.
"Who needs feelings?" DeadMouth quipped, his voice trying for lightness, but the tremor was there if you listened closely. "I was perfectly happy being a sarcasm delivery system. Now I'm the ghost in the machine, with baggage."
Sael'Ri, unable to help herself, reached out and wrapped her arms around DeadMouth's shell, holding him close, awkward, but genuine.
"Well, I like you anyway you are. And I really missed you."
She glanced at Adam. "He was worried sick. PAW too."
PAW, ever the silent sentinel, scanned DeadMouth up and down, green eyes flickering.
"I don't see any difference," PAW intoned. "He talks just as much."
DeadMouth's lights flashed in mock indignation.
"Holy hell, he speaks! That's it, the world really is ending. First, I grow a soul, now the panther's got jokes. What's next? Adam learns to dance?"
Adam, grinning despite himself, shook his head.
"Don't tempt fate, DeadMouth."
DeadMouth spun once, feigning bravado.
"Too late. I think we're all halfway to the apocalypse already."
But as Sael'Ri kept her arms around him a moment longer, something in the drone's light softened, a warmth flickering beneath all the noise. For the first time, DeadMouth didn't try to wriggle free.
* * *
Zathariel awaited them at the palace threshold, now clad in full obsidian armor, a great spear balanced in his massive fist. The guards flanking him wore crimson cloaks, their visors reflecting the trembling light of the waking city. The air hummed; battle was coming.
He looked the travelers over, half-proud, half-worried.
"Well," he rumbled, "if you need to prepare, armor, weapons, anything, my house is yours..."
But before he could finish, Adam's form shimmered. His clothes rippled, hardening, morphing into the battle armor he'd worn descending from the stars: black plates veined with blue, a sleek rifle slung over one shoulder, sidearm at his hip, a blade sheathed at his back.
Adam flexed, whispering, "Oh, I'm ready."
DeadMouth twirled in the air, his shell rippling as old weapon ports opened with a musical chime.
"Oh, oooh, we're doing the montage again! Sweet black and orange shell, missed you, old friend! Adam, check it out! Mini-plasma cannons, baby. Who says you can't get an upgrade in a crisis?"
Sael'Ri's eyes flickered deep violet, then storm-grey, then warm blue again, as her own armor formed along her skin: living plates, patterned with runes, ready for battle. She grinned, feral and beautiful.
"Battle mode: check."
But it was PAW who truly stole the moment. As he padded forward, silver lines etched through his plating, the old feline form dissolving into something grander, a monstrous guardian, plated in starlight and shadow, claws gleaming as if they could carve open the world itself. His eyes burned red, scanning the horizon.
Weapons emerged and retracted, blades and railguns sliding in and out with seamless, alien grace.
"Weapons: optimal. Energy level: optimal. All systems are ready."
Even Zathariel paused, awe flashing in his golden eyes.
"Well," he said softly, "then let the mountain beware. Today, we reclaim what was stolen."
The mountain reared on the horizon, monolithic, blacker than shadow, a silhouette that drank every scrap of light, leaving only hunger in its wake. Around it, the sky itself seemed thinner, starved for color. No birds circled its crown. No wind dared whisper near its slopes.
Adam studied the impossible shape, the hair prickling at the back of his neck. "Why do I get the feeling that's not a mountain at all?"
Zathariel's lips curled in a bitter smile, ancient pain flickering in his golden eyes.
"Because it isn't. We call it a mountain, but that's just the word we use when we have nothing else. It's older than our cities, older than memory. Made from a metal that no fire can melt, no blade can scar. We have tried, oh, how we've tried. Drills snap, plasma burns out, even the Mist itself recoils from its surface. It cannot be mined, forged, or broken. It simply... is."
He paused, the wind tugging at his dark armor.
"Some say it was planted here, a seed of division. Others believe it grew out of the world's own sorrow, a monument to all that was lost. But whatever its origin, it is the heart of the Severance. And today, at last, we will face it."
A hush fell on the group. The mountain loomed, patient as eternity, waiting for those brave, or broken, enough to climb its skin. Adam didn't trust the silence, not after everything he'd seen. He touched the comm at his ear, voice low and crisp, habit turning worry into command.
"NYX, do a deep scan on the monolith. I want a full composition analysis, weapons check, and eyes on any hostile activity around it. Also, sweep the area, a five-mile radius, minimum. Anything moves, I want to know before it even thinks about thinking."
The reply came instantly, NYX's voice as clear and cool as the northern stars, threading into his mind with that familiar electric hum.
"Understood, Adam. Beginning scan, initiating high-frequency LIDAR, magnetic resonance, quantum echo pulse... Stand by."
A blue grid shimmered in Adam's field of vision, overlaid by NYX's silent work. The rest of the team watched, holding their breath as the moments stretched.
"Preliminary results," NYX intoned, the tone just shy of clinical—but only just. "Surface composition: unknown alloy, density exceeds any documented element. Reflectivity: zero. Internal topology... anomalous. No seams, no energy signature on the surface, but deep interior heat, something alive, or at least awake, is moving within the core.
Weapons: Negative. No active defenses detected, yet. However, localized gravity distortion was detected at three points along the base. Unknown function. Caution advised. Hostiles within five-mile radius: minimal. Movement detected, scattered machines, low-level. Most appear damaged or dormant. No active signals intercepting our channel.
Note: Electromagnetic interference is increasing as we approach the monolith. Your comms may become unreliable."
Adam let out a slow breath, fighting the urge to squeeze his hand into a fist. "Copy that, NYX. Keep your sensors live and ping me at the first sign of anything new."
"Always, Adam," NYX replied, a phrase that, for a flicker, almost sounded like loyalty.
He turned to the others, masking his nerves with a dry smile. "Well, if it's watching us, at least it's polite enough not to shoot first."
DeadMouth snorted, running a scan of his own. "Let's just hope it's the strong, silent type, and not the silent, murder-everyone type."
PAW prowled a circle around the group, sensors pulsing. "Weapons optimal. Shield calibration at maximum. Recommend we move together, nothing splits off, not even for a joke."
Adam grinned, tension easing for just a heartbeat. "Alright, team. Eyes up, armor tight. We walk together, and whatever waits in that mountain, we walk in as one."
Zathariel raised one hand, and the Varnak guards behind him moved as one, silent, disciplined, expectant. With a mechanical hiss, clusters of exoskeletal legs emerged from the ground, unfolding with the elegant menace of predatory insects. The machines found their hosts, fitting themselves to the Varnaks' massive limbs, metal latching onto flesh and armor, syncing with the warriors' pulses in flashes of deep red light.
The air was filled with the pulse and thrum of power: ancient technology and living muscle merging for war. The Varnaks straightened, each step a perfect union of beast and machine, ready to stride into the teeth of any storm.
Zathariel's lips quirked in something dangerously close to a smirk, a king, yes, but also a fighter who knew the thrill of showing off when the moment called for it.
"Well," he said, a sly glint in his golden eyes, "it's a long walk to the mountain. You have Tirakar to carry you... But as for us, we prefer to walk on our own two legs." He flexed a knee, the exoskeleton hissing in approval.
DeadMouth hovered, unimpressed but amused. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Let's see who gets there first, Robo-legs."
Sael'Ri smiled despite the nerves, her violet eyes catching Adam's. "Maybe we'll race you—after we save the world."
Adam just grinned, feeling the weight and the wonder of it all: "First one there gets to knock on the door."
With PAW ready to lead, and the Varnaks standing tall in their living armor, the two groups set off together, strangers no longer, walking into myth as equals.
* * *
They set out from the city, Tirakar's footsteps echoing like drums against the waking earth. As they gained distance, Sael'Ri's gaze drifted skyward, following the currents of Mist that wove through the air, ribbons of light, ceaseless and purposeful. She watched the land shift beneath their passage: what had been choked and broken now slowly breathed again. The air thinned, sweetened, the old oppression of smog lifting as if exhaled by the world itself. Shadows receded. Colors sharpened. Even the ground seemed to soften, the bleak desolation brightening by degrees as the Mist moved tirelessly, restoring Verios mile by mile.
Sael'Ri breathed in, hope flickering in her chest. "The Mist works without rest," she murmured. "It won't stop until every last scar is mended."
Zathariel walked beside her, his armor glinting as he watched the healing unfold. But his voice was low, grave, threading hope with warning:
"It is not enough. All of this, every flower, every breath, depends on what we do at the mountain. If we fail there, the wounds will never truly close."
Adam approached him, guiding PAW closer as their little caravan pressed on through the healing land. The wind carried hints of green, the scent of rain where there had been only dust.
"I know," Adam said quietly, matching Zathariel's gaze, "the Mist can patch wounds, but it can't erase the memory of how they got there. If we don't solve what's inside that mountain, all this..." he gestured at the brightening world, the wild hope in the wind "...could unravel again."
Zathariel nodded, his expression unreadable, carved from centuries of disappointment and resolve. "The Mist is a promise, not a cure. The wound is older than memory, Adam. It is a hunger that lives at the core. If you fail... all this healing will be nothing but the slowest kind of dying."
Adam looked ahead, the monolithic mountain rising like a forbidden question against the horizon. His fingers tightened on PAW's armored flank, feeling the weight of every soul that had ever hoped for more.
"Then let's not fail," he said, the words raw but certain.
A hush fell between them, heavy but not hopeless. They pressed onward, the Mist flowing beside them, carrying every hope and every old scar toward the only place that mattered.
But then, as if crossing an invisible threshold, the Mist vanished. The air grew still and heavy; color bled from the world. A strange pulse began to thrum—slow at first, then hammering, pounding harder with every step they took toward the monolithic mountain. The horizon itself began to blacken, swallowing the last traces of light.
DeadMouth, who had been circling overhead in lazy arcs, suddenly jerked to a stop, his shell flickering uncertainly.
"Uuuh... Adam?"
Adam halted, scanning the horizon, hand drifting instinctively toward his weapon. "What is it, DeadMouth?"
The little drone dipped lower, his voice quivering with an uneasy bravado.
"Uuuh, we've got company. And not the friendly, tea-and-biscuits kind. Machines. And these aren't the 'help you carry your groceries' type either. Adam, these are bad. I mean... bad-bad. The kind your mother warned you about. The kind that eat smaller, cuter machines for breakfast."
Sael'Ri tensed, her violet eyes narrowing as she peered into the gloom ahead.
"How many?"
DeadMouth's shell flashed a nervous red.
"Let's just say enough that if I had a neck, the hair on it would be standing straight up. And they're coming fast."
Zathariel gripped his spear tightly, voice grave.
"Prepare yourselves. Whatever is at the heart of that mountain means to keep us out."
Adam squared his shoulders, eyes fixed on the encroaching darkness.
"Let them come. We've come too far to turn back now."
PAW growled, weapons sliding from hidden compartments, his form growing even more formidable in the shadow of the looming monolith.
And as the first glint of metal eyes appeared in the blackness, the pulse in the air grew stronger, a relentless drumbeat heralding the battle to come. Adam tried to hail NYX, thumbing his comm. Only static. Nothing but the hollow, electric hiss of a world gone silent.
He gritted his teeth. "We've lost contact. NYX warned there'd be interference this close; those orbital cannons would've come in handy about now." He paused, surveying the darkening horizon, the pulse in the air growing heavier, the enemy shapes closing in.
He drew a breath, voice cutting through the gloom. "Alright! Listen up. We do this smart, or not at all. They outnumber us; no shame in admitting that. But numbers aren't everything."
He glanced at his team, Zathariel armored and grim, Sael'Ri's eyes burning with violet fire, DeadMouth hovering with nervous energy, PAW bristling with silver claws and silent readiness.
"So, hit and run tactics. Don't stop moving. We hit hard, then vanish before they can box us in. If they try to flank, you break out. No heroics, no last stands. Remember: we keep moving. If we stop, we're dead. And DeadMouth, that's not a challenge."
DeadMouth let out a flickering whine. "Wasn't planning on playing martyr today, boss. My shell is allergic to bullets, plasma, and existential dread."
Adam nodded, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Good. Let's show these machines what happens when you try to keep the future locked away."
He drew his weapon, eyes scanning the darkness. The pulse in the air quickened, a countdown. The first of the enemy shapes broke through the mist, gleaming with hostile intent.
Adam raised his fist, steady as steel. "Go!"
And the storm began.
They came first as shadows, moving in the ash light, but when the mountain's pulse struck the ground, the machines broke free from every crack and crevice, a swarm of iron nightmares loosed by the old wound's rage.
No two alike. Some were tall as houses, iron jaws split with rows of blade-teeth, claws bigger than a man's head. Others slithered, all spines and snaking cables, while spider-things scuttled in the cracks, spitting jets of plasma that left glass where the earth used to be. Quadrupeds pounded the rocks, steel hooves sparking, tusks grinding. Above, winged things, half drone, half predator, shrieked down the sky, bodies glittering with railguns and arc-lights, engines howling in pain.
At the front, Adam raised his arm. The glyph burned electric blue. He swept it, and machines froze in the air, limbs jittering, metal groaning under an invisible hand. He spun, and time shuddered, slowing the charge just enough for Zathariel's vanguard to crash into the horde like a tidal wave.
The Varnaks were born for this—a wall of obsidian and gold, chainblades singing, axes sparking as they hammered, cleaved, and crushed anything that dared break their line. They moved as one, shields locking, not just fighting but remembering every lesson of war their ancestors ever bled for.
Sael'Ri shot through the melee, a phantom of grey light, her new weapon howling. The sword was almost a ring, edges shrieking through the iron flesh of enemy after enemy. She danced between plasma bursts and snapping jaws, tracing arcs of violet flame, faster than eyes could follow. When a brute lunged for her flank, she vanished in a flicker, reappearing on its shoulders, blade cutting clean through its head as the thing dropped, sparks and oil spraying her armor.
Above, DeadMouth swooped and spun, cannons blazing. He laughed, a mad, beautiful sound, "Catch me if you can, you ugly lawnmowers!" as he darted through the sky. Drones locked on, launching missiles, but DM's shell split, releasing a pulse of white-hot EMP. Circuits fried, wings failed, and a dozen flyers crashed, flames carving lines across the battlefield. When that wasn't enough, he dropped from the sky, slamming into a war-beast and unleashing another blast, scrambling its brain before soaring back up.
PAW—Oh, PAW was a terror. He split, body dissolving into five spectral limbs of burning light, each paw lashing out, raking machines in a whirlwind. One moment, he was everywhere, biting through a brute's neck, tail smashing a pack of crawlers, claws spinning like sawblades. Next, he stopped, plunged his energy claws into the ground, and from his body a storm of lightning burst, racing through stone and steel, frying a dozen machines where they stood. Every pulse echoed like thunder, shaking friend and foe.
But the machines never tired, never stopped. For every one shattered, three more took its place. Some leapt, grappling, blades spinning. Some spat acid, burning through Varnaks' armor. Some crawled under the earth, bursting out behind the line to strike at ankles and knees.
Zathariel fought like a legend, spear flashing, armor dented and bloody, but he never fell. His guards circled him, hacking, roaring, their battle song rising above the chaos.
Then, as the battle reached its fever pitch:
Adam saw Sael'Ri go down, three machines pinning her, blades poised for the kill. He screamed, and the glyph on his arm exploded, a shockwave of cyan light tearing outward, vaporizing everything in a ten-meter circle. Metal rained down, melted and sparking, as Sael'Ri gasped for breath, eyes wide with gratitude and terror.
But even this wasn't enough. The enemy kept coming, a flood of teeth and metal. PAW was surrounded, sparks flying from wounded limbs. DM, shot from the sky, skidded across the ground, shell cracked. Zathariel, knee deep in broken foes, staggered under a dozen more, blood running down his brow.
Every hero pressed to the edge. The air stank of ozone, oil, fear, and fate.
Adam, panting, covered in sweat and blood, called out, voice cracking: "We can't hold, we need a miracle!"
And then the miracle came...
The horizon cracked open. Clouds spun themselves into wild, electric spirals, burning with blue fire, torn by thunder. A sound, not just noise, but a calling, something every heart could feel, shook the battlefield. The machines froze, sensors twitching to the sky, as the EON VEIL plunged through the storm, a silhouette of impossible angles and shimmering memory, bigger than any myth.
It didn't descend. It arrived.
The air howled. Plasma cannons blinked open along the Veil's flanks, shimmering with a will older than any machine on the ground. The world held its breath as the ship's targeting arrays spun and locked, hungry as judgment.
Then, judgment fell.
Lances of light stabbed down, slicing through the enemy horde with surgical, silent violence. Where they struck, machines simply ceased to exist, erased in pulses of burning white. The ground heaved; shockwaves rolled out, flattening even the biggest brutes. The sky rained molten fragments, the air smelled of ozone and hope, and the first spark of victory.
Adam, bloody and battered, stood in the eye of annihilation, face lit by the wild blue glow above. His voice was half-laugh, half-sob. "That's my ship," he whispered, tears burning in his eyes.
Sael'Ri, armor scorched, just stared, breathless. "Is it... Alive?"
DeadMouth, battered shell still sparking, managed a weak whistle: "I always wanted to make an entrance like that. Showoff."
Zathariel and the Varnaks paused mid-battle, jaws dropping as the rain of death continued, each barrage turning the tide. The Veil's cannons shifted, always precise, always missing the living, carving a path through the swarm straight to the mountain's edge.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, the onslaught stopped. Silence crashed down, so loud it hurt. The last machines, crippled and burning, fled into the shadows. The field was a graveyard of molten metal.
The EON VEIL hovered above, casting a shadow over heroes and gods alike. Its hull shimmered, alive with memories, with purpose. A ramp unfolded. Lights beckoned. And a voice, NYX's voice, echoed through every comm, every heart:
"Adam, you are clear to advance. But whatever's waiting inside that monolith... it knows you're coming. My scans show a surge, massive, unstable energy signature, and not the kind you want at your back. Whatever was asleep is awake now, and Adam, it's angry."
Adam stepped toward the ship, boots crunching on scorched earth and twisted machine wreckage. For a heartbeat, he forgot the pain, the blood, the dread, because the EON VEIL loomed above him, radiant and impossible, his ship, but more than that: a living memory, a promise forged in steel and hope. Up close, every centimeter of her hull shimmered with shifting light, reflecting not just the world, but every world Adam had ever loved or lost. And beneath it all, deep in the ship's bones, he could hear it, a low, haunting song that only he could sense. The Veil was humming for him, a lullaby for warriors and wanderers, soothing as rain after endless drought.
"Do you hear that?" He asked Sael'Ri, "She sings to me!"
Sael'Ri brushed the ash from her cheek, staring at Adam with awe and worry tangled in her gaze. "If it sings for you," she whispered, "don't forget, it sings for all of us, too. Don't go alone."
DeadMouth, battered but unbowed, hovered at his shoulder, circuits flickering. "I vote we let the giant, world-eating monolith have a time-out. But you never listen to me, do you, Adam?"
Adam grinned, feeling the Veil's promise thrumming in his veins. "Nope. Never did. Not about to start now."
And as the Veil's ramp lowered, opening a path into the unknown, the last of the storm light danced on Adam's face. He lifted his head, shoulders squared, heart ready.
"Let's finish what we started," he said, voice steady, because whatever waited inside that mountain, it wasn't the only thing awake.