The eagle landed on the dead ridge and let out a low cry.
Nine slid down from its back, his feet crunching against the brittle shale. The air was different here, heavy but moves gently.
Before him stood the mouth of the Vale. An ancient Opening cut deep into the mountain, smooth walls towering like a temple. He stepped in.
A chill ran down his spine from the Aura emitting from the cave.
The deeper he walked, the darker it became until stone eyes opened.
They weren't statues.
They were watching him.
Figures emerged one by one, peeling from the walls like shadows shedding dust. Giants. Skins of granite, their veins pulsed faintly with dull orange light, like magma too tired to rise.
One of them stepped forward. Taller than the rest. The stone in his chest bore a symbol. A cracked circle. Skin like the mountain cracked and gray, veined with molten orange beneath. His eyes glowed like twin embers. His mouth, a chiseled groove that spoke without breath.
"You come again, Soulborn." he said.
Nine didn't flinch, but something inside of him stirred.
"I didn't the first time," he answered. "That was my mother."
The Earthling blinked. Slowly. Like he didn't need to.
"And she was turned away."
"I won't be," Nine said. He tried to hold his stare, but he couldn't deny the chill he's feeling, his heart races loud.
Another giant rose from the stone behind him. Then another, and another. Ten, twenty, more emerging from walls, outcroppings, even the floor itself. No word was said they just stood Watching.
"We are not your army," the first Earthling said flatly, his voice echoes in the cave.
"No," Nine said, stepping forward, hands open. "I didn't come to deploy you."
Silence stretched. The heat from their veins pulsed in the cold.
"Why are you here?" the older one asked.
Nine took a breath.
"The village burns. Our warriors fight with bone and rope. But we're not enough, There are ships—five—coming in from the sea. Huge and I believe this is not just a raid"
"They came for you, what has it got to do with us ?"
"Five warships? They didn't cross the sea for bone-wielding tribes. They came for the mountain. For something more. For everything."
A younger Earthling stirred. "You assume."
"I do," Nine said. "If I wait for certainty, I'll be the last one left alive."
The first Earthling's voice was heavy. "Last time we broke our stillness, we shattered. We fought alongside flesh. We lost kin. For immortals who buried their dead and forgot our names."
"Soul born you fear for your kind?" Another Earthling asked.
Nine hesitated. Just for a second. 'Such a tricky question'
"Not just mine,"he whispered. "I fear for everything that lives here. My people won't survive. But neither will the roots beneath your stone!"
"Such boldness!" An Earthling roar, his hand hitting the wall as the whole cave vibrates.
"You expect loyalty because you bleed?" the first Earthling asked.
"No," Nine replied. "I expect resistance"
Another Earthling laughed. Not kindly.
"Your mother came with pride. You come with desperation."
"I'm not asking," Nine said, voice cracking. "Help us or our bones will be bury along side yours"
"A strong word for a strong inexperienced immortal with a bright future" An Earthling commented.
'Was that a compliment?'
There was a pause.
Then, a hand rose. From stone to sky.
One of the Earthlings stepped forward. Then two. Three. Until seven of them stood apart.
The leader's eyes narrowed.
"Only these will go," he said. "No more."
Nine nodded, his knees nearly buckled. he blinked fast once, twice "That's enough," He said, his heart leap with joy from one end but the other end feel everything will still end bad but what can he do? Nothing! he's used to the two different voices in his mind.
The leader stepped closer. Close enough to see the tightness in his jaw. No matter how Nine tried to cloud it, He could see the fear in him.
"You still carry your mother's scent, Soulborn," he said. "But you walk heavier than she did."
Then he merge back into stone and vanished.
The rest followed, except the seven.
Nine turned, breath shuddering, his legs shaken as he tried to balance them.
---
The sea was quiet at first.
Then came the sound. low, deep, and strange. Like something waking from the ocean.
From the fog, five ships slowly emerged.
They were monstrous. Heavy. Black. No flags. No emblems. No names. Just steel carving through water, ghost-like and patient. Their sails hung torn in places, crudely stitched with silver thread that shimmered faintly under the moon. Some were crescent-shaped, others jagged like teeth ready to bite.
The water churned at their arrival. Wood creaked. Chains clattered. Metal groaned as anchors dropped like thunder into the shallows.
Then came the hiss.
With sharp, mechanical exhale, wide ramps dropped from the bellies of each ship, slamming into the sand with deep, jarring thuds. A hiss of steam rose where steel met earth—like the shore itself recoiling.
And then, they came.
Figures poured out in tight, practiced silence. Dozens at first. Then more.
Not a word spoken.
Just boots. Synchronized steps. Precision.
They wore black gear. Tight, padded, tactical. Their armor wasn't tribal. It was sleek, layered with plates and dark mesh. Some carried long, slender blades that flickered with unnatural light. Others moved with tools no one from the mountains would recognize. Hovering tech, foldable launchers, and things built for clean, silent kills.
They moved like clockwork, every gesture exact. No yelling. No confusion. They didn't need orders.
They already knew the plan.
The air changed thick with cold, heavy with dread. Even the wind fell silent, holding its breath as the hard thump of boots and hiss of steam claimed the shore.
Somewhere beyond the treeline, unseen eyes watched silent, tense.
---
Inside One of the Ships – Lower Deck, Officer's Cabin.
A dimly lit room sat quiet inside the largest ship.
Lanterns burned with a soft orange glow, casting long shadows against the iron walls. Machinery hummed in the background, steady.
A man sat in the center, in a dark wooden chair.. His skin was pale, almost grey under the light. Hair slicked back, neatly oiled. His eyes, cold and calculating, barely blinked. One leg crossed over the other, he sipped from a porcelain cup, steam curling lazily upward.
Across from him, another man leaned over a chessboard, fingers tapping lightly against a bishop. He had a rougher look. Broad-shouldered, with a grizzled beard laced with silver. His eyes were an icy green, sharp but tired. A scar stretched across his left brow, barely healed.
"What a lovely scene tonight. It's been long since I felt this good," the man with the tea said, voice smooth, his gaze still on the game.