The invitation came an hour later.
Kael, Echo, and Ayla were escorted into one of Ashveil's oldest spires—a half-broken antenna of slagglass and bone-metal spiraling into the clouds.
Inside, soldiers trained in silence. Some floated upside-down. Others screamed in languages that didn't exist.
At the highest level, in a chamber that bent gravity and light, sat Captain Veil.
A warlord stitched from ruin. Bald. Burned glyphs across his skin. Wires trailing into his spine. A breathing throne of cracked code pulsed behind him.
"You've got scars," Veil said. "Real ones. The kind that echo."
Kael stood silent.
"You cracked a Core. Beat Varrick. You're a question the Nexus doesn't have an answer for."
He stood.
"We want you in the Ash Guild."
Kael looked at Echo. She gave a faint nod.
"What's the price?" Kael asked.
"You eat. You survive. You level faster. But when war comes… you bleed."
Ayla scoffed. "You're a cult."
Veil smiled. "Better a cult than a corpse."
Kael extended his hand.
"I'm in."