Obsidian Peak – Late January, 1:00 AM.
Obsidian Peak usually went quiet after midnight.
Not silent but subdued. The kind of stillness that hangs over powerful places when grief has settled into the walls.
For days, the security room had felt less like a command center and more like a mourning hall. Conversations were whispers. Coffee went cold, untouched. Men who were trained to anticipate threats stared at blank screens like they were staring at loss.
Then the alarms detonated.
A sharp, metallic shriek cut through the air.
LED panels flared alive in violent blues and reds. Consoles blinked. A private encrypted channel forced its way to the top of the display.
Ares' private line.
Every head snapped up.
On the central screen, a short message burned against black:
Mount Ourea. Escaped rebel stronghold. Safe for now. – LR
For half a second, nobody moved.
Then Linux—Head of Security at Obsidian—slammed both palms on the desk.
"Finally! We have a lead!"
