The Capital of Ozyra did not have weather. It only had ash.
It fell from a sky that had been gray for ten thousand years, coating the ruins of the First Kingdom in a suffocating blanket of silence. There were no birds here. No wind. Just the endless, gray snow of a dead world.
Through this desolation, something crawled.
Quartermaster Rask dragged his broken body across the obsidian flagstones leading to the Eternal Palace. His mechanical jaw hung loose by a single wire. His left leg was gone, replaced by a makeshift crutch made from the femur of a dragon he had scavenged in the wastes.
He was the only survivor of The Obsidian Gallows.
He reached the massive double doors of the Throne Room. They were three hundred feet tall, carved from the bones of the Leviathans that once swam in the oceans of the pre-Betrayal world.
The doors groaned open without him touching them.
Rask tumbled inside.
The Throne Room was vast enough to hold a storm. But it was empty, save for a single structure at the far end.
A throne made of bleached, white bone.
Sitting on it was a figure cloaked in shadows so deep they seemed to drink the dim light of the torches.
Rask scrambled forward, prostrating himself on the cold floor.
"Master," Rask rasped, his voice static-filled and weak. "Forgive me."
"Vane is dead," the voice from the throne said. It didn't sound human. It sounded like tectonic plates grinding together deep underground.
"Yes, Master," Rask shivered. "The mission... the ship... lost. A local swordsman caught Vane off guard."
"Vane was a fool," the figure dismissed, not even shifting on the throne. "He played with his food and choked on a bone. His death is of no consequence."
"But Master," Rask lifted his head, his mechanical eye whirring frantically. "Before he died... we learned something."
The figure on the throne leaned forward slightly. A skeletal hand, clad in armor that looked like solidified magma, tapped the armrest.
"Speak."
"The Heart of Ozyra," Rask whispered, the words trembling in the air. "It was not destroyed nor lost in the Great Betrayal. It... shattered."
The shadows around the throne rippled.
"Shattered?"
"Shards, Master," Rask confirmed. "The Traitors shattered the Heart and buried the pieces in the foundations of their new realms."
Silence stretched in the throne room, heavy and suffocating.
"So," the Master mused, his voice low and dangerous. "They simply stole my birthright to build their mud huts."
He stood up. He was ten feet tall, a looming nightmare of dark plate and ancient regality.
"It has been ten thousand years," the Master said. "And my heart is finally calling out to me."
He raised his hand.
"Summon them."
The ground beneath the Eternal Palace trembled.
It wasn't magic. It was the roar of engines, the screech of beasts, and the grinding of massive wheels against stone.
From the gray sky and the ash-covered wastes, a fleet descended. Each General arrived in a vessel that mirrored their own twisted soul.
A massive tank made of ice and leviathan bone crushed the obsidian flagstones outside, driven by a hulking figure from the Glacis region. From the east, a sand-skimmer shaped like a golden scorpion skittered over the ruins, its engine purring with illusion magic.
And then, there was a loud CRASH.
A spherical pod, painted blinding neon pink and covered in holographic stickers, careened out of the sky. It bounced off a gargoyle, spun out of control, and slammed into the courtyard wall, knocking over a statue of an ancient king before coming to a smoking halt.
The hatch hissed open.
"Ouchie," a girl mumbled, tumbling out of the smoking pink pod. She looked about sixteen, with bright pink hair tied in messy pigtails and a witch's hat that was far too big for her. She dusted off her knees, giggling nervously as she ran into the throne room. "Sorry! The stabilizers on the Star-Hopper are really bumpy today!"
"Stand up, Lysa," a cold voice cut in.
Landing silently next to the crashed pod was a sleek, needle-like craft made of black glass and blue geometric lights. It didn't make a sound as it touched down. Stepping out of it was a young man adjusting his spectacles. He held a tome of runes in one hand and looked at the girl with utter disdain.
He wore a pristine uniform that looked like a mix of a scholar's robe and military dress.
"General Silas!" Lysa waved, beaming. "You look grumpy. Did you run out of tea?"
"I am analyzing the tactical necessity of this gathering," Silas ignored her, walking past her into the hall. The other Generals followed—towering shadows of fur, scale, and steel. "The Master hasn't summoned all of us since the Great Betrayal."
Silas walked over to Lysa, lowering his voice as they approached the bone throne. "Do you understand what this means?"
Lysa blinked, tilting her head. "That he missed us?"
"He does not miss things," Silas said, his eyes sharp behind the glass lenses. "He conquers them. He doesn't call the full Council of Twelve for a skirmish. He calls us for a War."
Lysa's smile vanished.
In an instant, her clumsy demeanor evaporated. She stood up straight. The air around her suddenly grew heavy, smelling of ozone and crushed flowers. Her eyes, previously bright and vacant, turned into pools of swirling, chaotic magic.
"War," Lysa whispered, her voice losing its childish lilt. "Finally."
The Master—Hades—stepped down from the dais. He looked at his Generals. The monsters. The geniuses. The calamities he had leashed.
"The search is over," Hades announced. "The Heart exists. It lies shattered within the kingdoms of the Traitors."
"And the resistance in Sythetica, My Lord?" Silas asked, adjusting his glasses. "The report mentions a something is being drilled for magic. Could it be-"
Hades replied with a heavy voice, "It seems so."
Silas asked, "What about Vane, my lord?"
Hades waved a hand dismissively. "An insect stinging a giant. Vane died because he was arrogant, not because the insect was strong. Do not waste my time with local heroes. We are here for the Shards."
He clenched his fist, and the air in the room screamed.
"Go to the corners of the world," Hades commanded. "To the Sky, to the Desert, to the Ice, and to the Jungle. Tear their kingdoms apart brick by brick. Find the Shards."
The Generals bowed.
"Bring me my heart," Hades growled. "And we shall reforge the world."
Miles away, in the Kingdom of Aethelgard, the sun was just cresting the Dragontooth Mountains.
Arthur stood on the ramparts of the castle, watching the sunrise. The golden light washed over the scars of the city, turning the scaffolding into a skeleton of hope.
He took a deep breath of the crisp morning air.
"It's going to be a nice day," Arthur said.
On his shoulder, the tiny, chibi-form of Bellona opened one red eye. She looked north, her ears twitching. A low, guttural growl vibrated in her throat.
"What is it?" Arthur asked, scratching her head.
"There might be a storm coming," Bellona whispered, her voice lacking its usual sarcasm.
"There's not a cloud in the sky," Arthur smiled, looking at the clear blue horizon.
"Not that kind of storm," Bellona said, closing her eyes again. "The kind that doesn't stop until the world is drowned."
[END OF VOLUME]