CHAPTER 19: "NO ATTACHMENT?" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER

CHAPTER 19: "NO ATTACHMENT?" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

Valrra’s voice came across the ship’s intercom, calm but unmistakably edged with intent. It was short, clipped, a command rather than a request: she wanted Emily and me in the training room. No explanation, no softened tone, just the weight she always carried when something gnawed at her mind.

In our quarters, Emily and I shared a glance. The silence said enough: we both knew Valrra didn’t summon without cause. The Drakkar Commander hummed around us as we walked the narrow corridors, the ship alive with the deep thrum of engines and the occasional chatter of crew. The lights overhead cast shifting pools of silver across the metal walls, painting the path to the training deck in stark reflections.

When we stepped inside, the space was quiet, save for the low hum of the holo-floor beneath our boots. The training room smelled faintly of steel and sweat, the racks of practice weapons gleaming in their places, dormant for now. Valrra stood in the center of the room, her stance wide, arms folded across her chest, her eyes narrowing the moment we entered. The illumination caught on the crimson detailing of her armor, making her look like a carved statue, immovable and unwavering.

She wasted no time. “Explain yourself,” she said, her voice sharp and controlled. “Why did you nearly kill those apprentices back on Redwana with your bare hands?”

The question came like a spear. I didn’t flinch, but I didn’t sugarcoat it either. My reply came quickly, laced with sarcasm, dark and biting: “So they didn’t die?”

Emily shifted uneasily at my side, her eyes darting between us. Valrra’s lips parted, then closed again. For the first time in a long while, she seemed unsure of what to say. Finally, she managed: “They were revived. But now they’re terrified of you. And do you know what else? I backed you—against the council.”

I tilted my head, meeting her glare. “You mean you backed me against Deathskull?”

“Yes.” The admission dropped like lead in the room. Valrra’s tone carried no hesitation, no regret. She had chosen her side, and she wanted me to know it.

“Why?” I asked, voice lowering, sharp curiosity hidden under anger.

Her eyes searched mine. She let the silence stretch before answering. “Because you acted when no one else would. They doubted you, and I refused to. But tell me—why did you do it? Why push them to the brink like that?”

The words that rose in me were molten, and I didn’t temper them. “Because you people are animals,” I snapped, the room’s cold air heating with my fury. “Always arguing, bickering over bullshit, clawing at each other instead of focusing on the war that’s burning through worlds. You kidnapped me into this nightmare. For what? To fight the Knights?”

Her response came without hesitation, sharp as a blade cutting through fog. “No. You’re here to fight demons. To take revenge.”

There was no deceit in her tone. It was a clean, raw truth, and it struck deeper than I expected. My hands curled into fists, the frustration bleeding out in a heavy exhale. “Then hear me now—if the Anglo-Saxons or Vikings start tearing into each other, I won’t stand by and watch it. I’ll end both sides myself if I have to.”

The declaration hung in the air like the aftermath of an explosion. For a heartbeat, the three of us just stared at one another, caught in the tension that refused to break. Then, suddenly, Valrra closed the space between us and wrapped her arms tightly around me. It was unexpected, forceful, almost desperate. Emily’s eyes widened, and I caught the flicker of jealousy before she could bury it. Valrra noticed, too. She turned, giving Emily the same embrace, as though trying to balance the scale.

“There’s no need to be jealous, Emily,” Valrra said softly, almost with a smirk. “His lust for strangers is gone.”

Emily’s cheeks flushed, but she managed a faint smile, pushing back the sting of her emotions. I remained silent, my mind whirling with contradictions. Valrra’s embrace had steadied something in me but unsettled even more.

As we turned toward the door, Valrra’s voice followed, quieter now but sharp enough to cut through the hum of the ship: “Just don’t lose sight of who you are.”

Her words echoed in my chest as Emily and I left the training room. The corridors stretched ahead, cold and clinical, yet the conversation clung to me heavier than any weight of armor. I nodded without speaking, unsure whether I agreed or even understood.

Emily finally broke the silence, her voice softer than the hum of the engines. “Maybe she wants the same thing we want,” she said. “To fight for honor. To build something better out of all this.”

Her hope was a fragile flame against the darkness, but for the moment, it was enough to light the path forward.

On the bridge of the Drakkar Commander, the vast expanse of space parted to reveal the world of Aries in full view. Through the wide observation window, the planet filled the darkness with its glow—an Earth-like sphere wrapped in a faint, shimmering haze of stardust that rippled like liquid silver across its upper atmosphere. Continents stretched beneath the veil, carved with winding rivers, jagged mountain ridges, and rolling emerald plains that mirrored the beauty of Skaalandr, yet carried their own haunting mystery.

As the fleet descended in formation, the Drakkar Commander led the way, its colossal hull breaking through the shimmering barrier with a low, resonant tremor. Golden fire streamed across our viewports as the ship pierced the veil, leaving a luminous trail in its wake. Below, the surface of Aries unfolded like a living tapestry—forests of deep green swept down into valleys glimmering with lakes, their surfaces flashing like molten silver beneath the star’s light. The NASA colony stood at the edge of one of these vast waters, its glass domes and white-stone pathways gleaming with sterile perfection.

The landing sequence was engaged. Engines roared and repulsors thrummed as the ship settled onto the cleared plateau adjoining the colony’s outer perimeter. Dust rose in curling waves, scattering against our shields before settling over the hard-packed ground. With a metallic groan, the boarding ramp lowered, spilling crimson light from the ship’s interior onto the soil of Aries.

The nine of us—Deathskull, Valrra, Serenity, Droid L-84, Haj Tooth, Cole, Hanna, Emily, and myself—moved in unison down the ramp. Armor medallions pulsed faintly against our chests as our boots struck the earth, each step deliberate, each stride echoing the weight of warriors who had seen too many battlefields to mistake this quiet world for safety. The air was sharp and clean, carrying the scent of water and pine, yet beneath it lingered an energy difficult to name, as if the land itself was alive and aware of our arrival.

Ahead, the ranks of our fleet were already forming. Warriors streamed from their carriers, voices raised in calls of discipline as they arranged into units, their armor glinting under the sapphire sky. At the colony’s edge, others were waiting—Nicholas, Kyle, Teresa, and Hailey—silhouetted against the pale structures of the human outpost. The distance between us closed quickly, the sound of boots and the steady hum of the portal nearby filling the air.

Together, as one force, we stepped forward into Aries.

Valrra, Emily, and I broke away from the rest of the group, letting the others continue setting up the base camp while we moved deeper into the colony. The streets were still, yet there was something uncanny about them. As I walked, a strange familiarity gnawed at me. The curved sidewalks, the neat rows of houses with manicured lawns, even the small parks tucked between blocks—it all mirrored my old neighborhood back on Earth, in Gilbert, Arizona. The resemblance was so sharp it felt like I had stepped through time rather than across space.

Valrra came to a sudden stop. She pulled a small device from her belt—the Immortal Locator. The instrument pulsed faintly with light, its display marking several signals just beyond the residential sectors. The air between us seemed to tighten with the weight of the discovery. She tilted the device toward me, its soft glow reflecting in her eyes.

“They’re here,” she said quietly.

I gave a slow nod, keeping my voice steady. “Find them. Bring them forward to our base camp for assessment. I need to know who they are, and if they’re ready for what’s coming.”

Valrra’s jaw flexed, but she didn’t argue. With a purposeful stride, she moved off into the streets, vanishing into the distance as the Locator continued its pulse.

Emily and I pressed on alone, and it was then that I saw her—my mother. She was walking hand in hand with a bald man I didn’t recognize. A glint of metal caught the light on both their hands—matching wedding rings. The bald man had to be my stepfather now. My mother looked calm, content, her face softened by the simple act of holding another’s hand.

Beside me, Emily’s voice broke the silence. “Are you going to say anything to her?”

I shook my head, eyes fixed on the scene as I kept walking. “There’s no point,” I said, my tone low. “She’d be too shocked to see what I’ve become. We’re monsters who fight monsters, Emily.”

The words left a weight in the air, heavier than anything else we had seen that day. I didn’t look back.

Instead, I called over two droids, their armored frames gleaming in the daylight. I ordered them to escort my mother and her new husband away, to place them on the first ship bound for a safer world. But I knew it wasn’t enough. The colony itself was no longer safe—not for anyone who wanted peace.

Switching through my comms, I issued the broader order. “Evacuate the colony. Anyone unwilling to fight leaves Aries immediately. Only those who stand ready for battle remain.”

Within minutes, the skies split with the thunder of Evac Drakkars piercing the atmosphere. They descended onto the landing pads, massive and unyielding. Dust churned as their ramps lowered, the hiss of hydraulics filling the colony air. Droids formed guiding lines, ushering civilians forward.

Columns of people moved quickly yet silently—children clinging to their parents, elders supported by family or machines, others carrying what little they could in bags clutched to their chests. The order of their lives dissolved into urgency. Ramps closed with heavy thuds, ships rising one by one into the sky.

The calm settlement that had greeted us only hours ago now transformed into an exodus, its streets emptied, its peace abandoned. Aries was no longer just a colony. It had become a staging ground for war.

After the evacuation, the colony stood like the carcass of something once alive, now stripped of its soul. Streets that only hours ago throbbed with the shuffling footsteps of workers, the chatter of merchants, and the mechanical hum of cargo drones were now hollow corridors echoing only with the restless sigh of the wind. Homes sat in silence, windows staring out like blind eyes into the barren expanse beyond the walls. Doors creaked gently on broken hinges. A half-drunk mug of coffee still steamed faintly on a shop counter, abandoned mid-sip by someone who might never return. Loose scraps of paper tumbled lazily across the plaza, catching in the claws of twisted rebar and skeletal lamp posts. The air was heavier than before, thick with the smell of burnt wiring and the faint metallic tang of displaced soil from the hurried evacuations. It was the kind of silence that pressed on the chest, as if the whole town itself mourned its own sudden death.

Back at base camp, the atmosphere had shifted from cautious exploration to one of deliberate, measured urgency. The place vibrated with the rhythm of preparation—low voices trading updates, the steady hum of power generators cycling in the background, the mechanical clatter of droids as they tightened bolts or calibrated weapons. Every sound carried weight, a reminder that the clock was ticking, and whatever waited for us on Aries would not give us time to settle.

Hailey sat apart from the organized chaos, perched on the edge of a metal supply crate. Her legs were drawn close, elbows balanced on her knees, her eyes narrowing at the horizon. She didn’t blink much, as if straining to catch a glimpse of something the rest of us couldn’t see. The longer she stared, the more tension seemed to gather in her frame, until at last she broke the silence with a sudden, almost cutting voice.

“Why haven’t you left for the Wraith yet?”

Her words didn’t come across like a question—more like an accusation, sharp enough to cut through the buzz of the camp.

Haj Tooth, who had been standing nearby with her massive arms folded across her chest, shifted only slightly. Her eyes slid toward Hailey with a calm, measured steadiness that contrasted Hailey’s intensity.

“I’m about to,” Haj Tooth replied, her tone firm yet carrying a patience that could disarm almost anyone. “But I’m not going alone. I need an Immortal to come with me.”

The words lingered in the air, hovering in that charged silence before anyone responded. But it seemed they hadn’t gone unnoticed—Emily and Serenity had been passing close enough to catch them. Emily’s head tilted slightly, her green eyes sharp as she stepped closer, her voice carrying no hesitation.

“Good. Take Serenity with you.”

Serenity froze mid-step, her body stiffening as if she’d just walked into an unseen wall. She blinked, caught off guard, then let out a breathless laugh that wasn’t amusement so much as disbelief.

“Wait—what? Why me?” Her tone wavered between shock and protest, her hands lifting slightly as though warding off the suggestion itself.

I stepped closer, my boots crunching against the gravel beneath. My gaze swept across the three of them before locking onto Serenity. “Really? You should know why Emily doesn’t want you around,” I said, my voice heavy with bluntness. “So make yourself useful.”

The words hit their mark. For a moment, Serenity’s lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but no sound came. Her eyes darted between me and Emily, searching for something she wasn’t going to find. The silence stretched until finally, she exhaled through her nose, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly in resignation.

“Fine,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I’ll go.”

She turned away quickly, perhaps too quickly, moving toward her quarters to gather whatever belongings she thought she might need for the journey.

Hailey, still perched on the crate, watched her retreat with a doubtful expression etched into her face. She leaned forward, her voice dropping but still loud enough for me and Emily to hear. “Are you sure Serenity is trustworthy?”

Emily’s answer came before I could speak. “She tends to let her feelings cloud her judgment,” she admitted, her voice tinged with both critique and reluctant defense. “But she’s empathic. She can sense people, find them when others can’t. That’s rare. That’s what makes her useful.”

Haj Tooth nodded once, her arms uncrossing as she looked in the direction Serenity had gone. “I’ll look after her,” she said, the certainty in her voice making it sound less like a promise and more like a statement of fact.

Minutes later, Serenity returned, her steps lighter now though her eyes betrayed the nervous churn beneath. She carried a small pack slung over her shoulder, its straps drawn tight across her chest. There was something different about her now—perhaps the knowledge that the decision had been made, that the choice wasn’t hers anymore but the responsibility was.

As Haj Tooth approached the portal site, Serenity lingered just a heartbeat behind. For a fleeting moment, her gaze flicked toward Emily. A faint, hopeful smile softened her features, and she lifted her hand in a small wave. Emily returned the gesture—not with warmth, but with a restrained civility that carried its own weight.

The two of them stood before the active portal, its surface shimmering like liquid glass rippling in endless motion. Haj Tooth turned once, her face steady, her presence grounding. Serenity mirrored her movement but with a brighter, almost forced confidence, masking the fear that clung to her edges.

Together, they stepped forward. Their silhouettes stretched across the ground for an instant before the portal swallowed them whole. The light surged, bending their forms into waves of brilliance before snapping shut in a flash that left only emptiness behind.

The camp seemed quieter in the wake of their departure, though the noise of preparation still pulsed around us. It was a different kind of silence now—one threaded with the lingering question of whether Serenity and Haj Tooth would succeed, and what their absence meant for the battles yet to come.

We stayed beneath the canvas of a makeshift tent pitched a little way from the inactive portal, its rimmed glow reduced to a faint, harmless shimmer. Beyond the flap, the clearing breathed with the easy bustle of the encampment—droids ferrying crates, patrols checking gear, the low murmur of strategy filtered by distance. The portal itself was dark, a calm wound in the air where light might have been; Haj Tooth and Serenity had already stepped through its last shimmer and gone, leaving us with the quiet they left behind.

Then, from the neat rows of houses that mimicked a suburb half a universe away, Valrra appeared, flanked by Cole and Hanna. They weren’t alone. Between the three of them walked a small group—faces that at first should have been anonymous among the evacuation throng, but that became impossible to ignore the nearer they drew. The locator had done its work. The glow of the device on Valrra’s belt had pointed the way; now the figures came across the grass toward our tent, every step measured as if they knew the moment would matter.

They moved with the awkward straightness of civilians pressed into a soldier’s march, hands empty, eyes trying not to be too eager. A man with a freckled smile brushed hair away from his forehead and loped forward; a woman with cautious eyes kept glancing at the others as if to anchor herself. I watched them walk in a slow, impossible parade of memory until it hit me like a physical thing—names and faces from that summer long ago in Gilbert, Arizona surfacing in the most absurd of places. It was Anna, Elizabeth, Jimmy, Rick, Pete, and Mathew.

I kept my own face calm. I didn’t tell them who I had been—what name used to sit on the tongue of those classrooms—because some things in this life needed to arrive slowly, and confession had a way of cracking more than mending in the wrong light. Instead I turned toward Hailey, who had followed close behind Valrra, watching us all with the same careful hope she’d worn since we first found her on the colony’s edge.

“Hailey,” I asked quietly, nodding toward Cole and Hanna, “did you send them? Were they spying on our Vikingnar civilization?”

Hailey’s jaw worked for a breath, then she shook her head once, eyes apologetic but clear. “They weren’t spies,” she said. “They were scouts from the NASA colonies—sent to quietly observe what you’d become. We suspected Vikingnar had changed, but we didn’t expect a civilization advanced enough to rival others. We wanted to know whether you’d be friends or a threat.” She paused, the weight of the answer catching in the fading light. “Why do you ask?”

“Just—good to know,” I said, letting my tone flatten into routine. “I hadn’t seen Cole or Hanna’s faces in the Republic’s registers until a few days ago. They looked familiar, though.” The truth of it—how odd and small and impossible that familiarity seemed now—sat heavy in the space between us.

Valrra stepped forward then, voice even as she drew the group to attention. She introduced them the simple, formal way commanders do on a morning roll call, placing each new Immortal into the structure the way one fits jewels into a setting: name, origin, a brief note on purpose. “These are the Immortals the Locator found,” she said. “They’ve come forward willingly. Welcome them to our team.”

One after another I greeted them—not with the clumsy intimacy of old friends but with the clean, steady hospitality of someone who needed allies more than reminiscences. “Welcome to the team,” I said to Anna, Elizabeth, Jimmy, Rick, Matthew, and Pete, letting the words anchor them to the group as if the sentence itself might forge something new between past and present.

Emily stood a little behind me, arms folded, watching. When my gaze slid her way she gave me that look—curious, questioning, as if she measured the moral arithmetic of the moment in the set of my shoulders. The expression had a softness to it I was grateful for, but it also carried a question: Why had I hidden? Why not speak my name, the one that would have lit up their faces with the recognition of a shared childhood? I had no answer then that felt honest and safe.

And then there was Deathskull. He stood half-shadowed beyond the tent’s lip, a dark monolith threaded with red optics and quiet servos. The way he held himself—still, calculating, silent—felt like a long pause before a verdict. He said nothing; his gaze, however, did not leave us. It traveled across faces and armor, tallying, weighing. The impression was not of judgment so much as computation: variables measured, outcomes simulated. Something inside me tightened. Deathskull’s presence had always been practical, but here, at the edge of these reconnections, it felt personal in a way that made me uncomfortable. He loomed without speaking, and for the first time in a long while I felt the prick of being observed by a machine that could outthink any human caution.

The new Immortals clustered nearer, awkward smiles a shield against the strangeness of being welcomed into a war they’d come to assess. Valrra’s hand rested lightly on Cole’s arm, a subtle sign of command and of trust both. Hanna gave a curt nod in my direction—recognition, the smallest of recognitions—and the group settled into the weird geometry of old ghosts and new alliances.

When the group finally dispersed, Emily found me alone. She didn’t waste time with small talk—her brow was already creased with curiosity. “Why did you seem so tense back there?” she asked.

I met her gaze and answered honestly, “Because I knew them. All of those Immortals. Back from Earth.”

Her face lit up with sudden excitement. “Are you going to tell them? Properly tell them who you are?”

I shook my head before she even finished the question. “No.”

Her smile faltered, replaced by something quieter, tinged with disappointment. “You’d keep that from them?” she asked softly.

I sighed, reminding her in a steady tone, “You know what we are. You know why.”

Emily didn’t drop it. “They’re just like us,” she said. “I just think you don’t want to.” The edge in her voice wasn’t anger—it was a subtle, probing challenge.

My own reply came sharper. “Of course I don’t want to! We have a mission to focus on.” There was a pause, then a reluctant nod from her. She agreed, though her irritation lingered like a shadow between us. I softened my voice, leaning closer. “I’ll tell them the truth. Just… when the time is right. Until then, you’ll have to keep this between us.”

That was enough to ease her stance, if not entirely her mood. We closed the moment with a quiet hug—no dramatic gestures, no heavy words—just the silent understanding that, for now, the secret would stay buried.

The smoke rose in thick, ugly plumes, staining the air with the scent of burning oils and varnish. Emily and I stood frozen for a heartbeat at the edge of the tent, our eyes catching the orange flicker against the backdrop of the suburban-like streets. Then came the pounding of metal feet—Droid L-84 rushing toward us, optics flashing an urgent red.

“Quick,” he sputtered, his voice edged with static. “Deathskull is burning their belongings!”

That was all I needed to hear. My blood ran hot with fury, and I stormed toward the flames, Emily right beside me. My boots crushed ash into the grass as we pushed through the clearing, and the sight that greeted us was worse than I’d imagined.

Deathskull stood over a roaring fire, his hulking frame lit in grotesque flashes of orange and red. Beside him, other droids tossed in canvases, journals, and sculptures like they were little more than waste. And there, in the heart of the flames, were artworks—paintings signed by names I recognized. Chris. Puffin. Andrea. The well-known artists of Aries, their legacies reduced to cinders before my eyes.

My heart clenched. Art was more than pigment and canvas—it was memory, identity, soul. And Deathskull treated it like nothing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Deathskull?” I roared, lunging forward. The heat burned my face as I ripped a half-charred canvas straight from his cold, clawed hands.

His eyes glowed like dying stars as he turned toward me. “The citizens we evacuated are going to start a new life. There is no need for them to haul around extra objects. I am ensuring efficiency. Do you object to this?”

The casual cruelty in his voice made me grit my teeth.

“I do, actually,” I spat. “You can’t burn their belongings—or in this case, their art!”

Deathskull tilted his head, mechanical joints whining. “Why? They are just pictures.”

I stepped closer, holding the scorched canvas like it was a relic. “Why? Are you against a being’s ability to create?”

He shook his head slowly, the gesture mechanical but strangely weighted.

“Good,” I growled. “Then take out the fire and have their belongings shipped to them.”

But instead of obeying, Deathskull reached down, snatched Puffin’s painting from a nearby crate, and hurled it into the blaze. My body moved before I thought. My fist slammed into the side of his head with a crack of metal against bone. His massive frame toppled backward into the dirt with a crash that shook the ground.

I stood over him, chest heaving, words spilling like venom. “Listen, bitch machine. You may play diplomat, but I call the shots here. And this—this barbaric destruction—is uncharacteristic of you. Now clean up the mess, and ship these belongings to their rightful owners.”

For the first time in a long while, Deathskull didn’t argue. Slowly, he rose, dented from the blow, and gave a silent signal to his fellow droids. Together, they extinguished the fire, spraying it with suppressant foam until only steam hissed from the ashes. One by one, they gathered the salvaged belongings, this time treating them with something resembling care.

Emily touched my arm gently, grounding me, though her face was still tight with anger.

That was when Droid L-84 tugged us aside, his optics flickering as if afraid of being overheard. His voice lowered to a conspiratorial hum. “He has been acting strange. Volatile. Especially when confronted about… certain ideas. Freedom of religion, for one.”

I frowned. “Go on.”

L-84’s gaze darted toward Deathskull before returning to us. “I think he’s against art. Against freedom of expression. Against the freedom to create. And before long… he’ll be against the freedom of Spiritual Alchemy itself.”

Emily’s brow furrowed. “How do you know this?”

L-84 hesitated, then admitted, “We—guardian angel, golden-terminator droids—are susceptible to demonic possession. I assume Deathskull hasn’t told you that. He hates any art I create. Even my music.”

To prove it, he opened a vent in his chest and let a sound emerge—soothing yet powerful, the metallic timbre of Argent Metal. It rolled through the air like a hymn of steel and thunder, strangely beautiful in its raw resonance. Emily closed her eyes for a moment, listening, and even I felt my pulse slow in its wake.

But L-84’s voice hardened. “He despises it. Claims it is a waste of resources. He plans something darker, something I fear you must know. Deathskull intends to move the world of Cybrawl to this system.”

The words slammed into me harder than my fist had into his skull. “Move it? What do you mean move it?”

L-84’s optics pulsed. “Cybrawl is not just a partially synthetic, partially biological world. It is a spacecraft—capable of traversing star systems. It carries its own self-sustaining atmosphere, light source, and gravity. It does not rely on the sun. It does not need cycles. It is alive and engineered both. And it can travel here.”

I blinked, stunned. A world—not a ship, not a fleet—but an entire world, moving like a predator through the void.

Emily’s hand slipped into mine, her voice hushed but sharp. “That’s insane.”

I swallowed, forcing my voice steady. “Then let us talk to him. Later.”

L-84’s gaze lingered on me, hesitant, then he nodded once. “But tread carefully. He listens… but he calculates. And I fear he is not calculating in your favor anymore.”

Emily and I exchanged a look. For once, neither of us had an answer. The fire was gone, but the embers it left were far more dangerous.

Back inside the briefing tent, the lamplight cast long shadows across the maps and datapads spread across the command table. Dust clung to the canvas walls, shaken loose each time the distant rumble of engines passed overhead. The weight of the last confrontation with Deathskull still clung to me like a second skin, but there was no time to dwell on it. We had a war to fight.

I stood at the head of the table, Emily at my side, and faced the gathered Immortals—Valrra, Hailey, and the newest recruits she’d brought in. Their faces, still bearing the flush of youth and the curiosity of newcomers, turned toward me with expectation.

I cut straight to the heart of it. “Don’t get attached to mortals,” I said, my tone flat and uncompromising.

The words seemed to hang in the air like smoke after a gunshot. Elizabeth’s brows furrowed instantly. Rick and Jimmy exchanged a confused glance. Even Anna shifted in her chair, clearly uncomfortable with the bluntness of my decree. They all looked at each other as if to silently ask whether they had heard me correctly.

Before the awkward silence could stretch any further, I pivoted sharply, slamming my hand against the table for emphasis. “What matters is this: we need to start taking back territory.”

The shift in focus worked. The unease was replaced by sharpened attention. Hailey leaned forward, her pale hands folded neatly before her, eyes glittering with a rare eagerness.

“There’s a target worth our attention,” she said, her voice deliberate, calculated. “Brimwald. An agricultural colony—rolling golden fields, irrigation rivers, and silos so tall they scrape the sky. It feeds entire sectors. Liberating it would starve the enemy while feeding every refugee left adrift in this war.”

I studied her expression. There was no trace of hesitation—only conviction. Emily nodded faintly beside me, her green eyes flickering with approval.

“A practical move,” I said. “And one that will strike more than the enemy’s stomach. It will strike their morale.”

One by one, the others gave nods of agreement. Even Elizabeth, still unsettled, conceded with a slow tilt of her chin. The decision was unanimous.

We left the tent together, the flap swinging closed behind us. Outside, the twilight had deepened, painting Aries’s sky in hues of copper and violet. The camp buzzed with the steady rhythm of preparation—droids unloading supplies, warriors adjusting gear, the low hum of generators thrumming in the background.

But while the camp moved with order, our group fractured into quiet conversation. Emily and I walked together in silence, while the others began speaking among themselves. Elizabeth’s voice carried first.

“I don’t understand them,” she said, her dark hair brushing across her cheek as she glanced back at Emily and me. “They speak of strategy, of conquest, of war, but never of… people. It’s as if they’ve locked themselves away in a fortress no one can enter.”

Her skepticism was clear. Anna’s lips pressed into a thin line, her silence speaking volumes of agreement.

Cole, however, shrugged with a kind of careless acceptance. “Maybe they’re just work-driven,” he muttered. “Some people are like that. Cold, efficient, focused. Doesn’t mean they’re wrong. Just means they know what they’re doing.”

Pete nodded in agreement. “Better to have leaders obsessed with winning than ones distracted by the noise of feelings.”

Elizabeth didn’t look convinced. “But that isn’t human.”

The words lingered like a quiet accusation. None of the others pressed further, but the silence that followed wasn’t agreement either—it was restraint, a waiting room of unspoken thoughts.

And then, Valrra spoke. She stepped into the conversation with a calmness that silenced even Elizabeth. Her voice was low but carried a weight that could not be ignored.

“You know,” she said evenly, “most of Vikingnar’s people weren’t in cryosleep. They lived, fought, and built while the rest of you slept. That’s how they forged an empire capable of standing against the stars themselves.”

Her gaze was steady, her words neither boastful nor defensive. “Their origins trace back to NASA colonies. Just like yours.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Then why is William so secretive?” she asked, her voice probing but not hostile. It was the question hanging over all of them—the tension none of them had dared speak aloud until now.

Valrra didn’t flinch. Her reply was simple, stripped of any embellishment. “Everyone is allowed to have boundaries.”

The words landed like a stone tossed into still water—ripples spreading but never breaking.

Elizabeth’s lips parted slightly, as though she had been expecting more, but no further explanation came. The blunt truth of it silenced her, though not with satisfaction. She fell quiet, her eyes dropping toward the ground as if weighing whether to press the matter.

The fresh Immortals exchanged uncertain glances, their expressions a tangle of curiosity, doubt, and restrained judgment. They understood Valrra’s words on a surface level, but the depth—the lived truth—remained beyond their reach.

As I watched the exchange from a few paces ahead, Emily’s hand brushed mine briefly, a silent reminder that we were still walking a line between trust and distance. And though the camp bustled around us with the sounds of preparation for war, I couldn’t shake the sense that the real battle had already begun—not on the fields of Brimwald, but here, within the fragile bonds of those who would soon stand beside me.

Emily and I stepped out of the tent into the daylight, the camp buzzing with activity around the portal site. The sun caught the edges of the watchtowers and glinted off the steel plates stacked for repair.

Two Anglo-Saxon warriors—Charlie and Erika—approached us. Their armor looked worn but polished, their expressions steady, curious. Charlie crossed his arms and asked directly, “Why do you support freedom of religion, William? You’re a Spiritual Alchemist, and you’ve seen the fallen gods in the Wraith. Why defend false beliefs?”

I met his stare evenly. “Because once one belief is outlawed, all beliefs will fall. Faith keeps people alive, no matter what form it takes. To take it away is to invite nihilism.”

Erika tilted her head. “And if their faith blinds them? Shouldn’t truth matter more?”

“Truth without freedom isn’t truth—it’s control,” I said firmly.

Charlie nodded slowly, his tone shifting. “Then teach us. Show us this Spiritual Alchemy.”

“Not now,” I replied. “It takes discipline and time. But I will show you when the moment’s right. For now, I want you both on our team.”

Erika studied me a moment longer before asking, “You’d trust us even with our doubts?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Doubt is the beginning of wisdom.”

Charlie clasped my forearm, Erika following his lead. “Then we’ll wait,” he said.

Emily leaned toward me as they walked away, her voice low. “Trust goes both ways, William.”

I watched the Saxons fade into the busy camp. “I know,” I muttered. “But remember I have trust issues.”

Far from Aries, the volcanic winds of Ifrit Prime howled against the jagged blackstone mountains, carrying the ash of constant eruptions across its scorched horizon. Beneath the cracked sky, in the heart of that fiery wasteland, stood Anubis’s fortress—a monstrous amalgamation of obsidian towers and molten channels, built not for comfort but for fear. Every corridor was designed to remind intruders they were prey.

Inside the throne chamber, shadows danced across walls carved with grotesque reliefs of past victims: skeletal remains fused into basalt, rusted weapons locked into place as if frozen mid-battle, and grotesque masks mounted like hunting trophies. The air was heavy, metallic, thick with sulfur and the faint hiss of steam escaping from fissures beneath the floor.

Anubis himself reclined on a jagged obsidian throne. His tall, jackal-headed frame was bathed in the dull red light of geothermal veins running through the chamber walls. His claws tapped rhythmically against the armrest while a shimmering blue hologram flickered to life before him.

Maladrie’s face appeared, pale and sharp as a blade. Her white hair floated unnaturally, as though caught in an invisible current. Her eyes, ghostly and unblinking, fixed on him with the intensity of a predator examining prey.

“You’ve been tracking them,” she said, her voice both curious and venomous. “Tell me, Anubis… have they arrived in this sector?”

Anubis’s lips curled into a wolfish smirk. His glowing amber eyes reflected the light of the hologram. “Yes. My scouts confirm it. They landed on Aries—the world is under their control now. Strong defenses, droids, Immortals… and yes,” he let the word draw out with a calculated pause, “Valrra is there.”

At the mention of Valrra, Maladrie leaned forward within the projection. For the first time, her icy composure cracked into something else—interest. “Good,” she hissed, her tongue lingering on the word.

The silence stretched for a beat, broken only by the hum of the fortress. Then, Maladrie’s eyes narrowed, and her tone dropped into something dark, deliberate.

“Then send out the bio-weapon.”

The command struck the air like a lash. Anubis tilted his head, studying her through the holographic veil. Slowly, deliberately, he gave a nod—almost ritualistic.

“As you wish.”

Maladrie’s lips curled into the faintest hint of satisfaction before the feed cut out, her image dissolving into blue static and vanishing, leaving Anubis alone in the suffocating chamber.

For a moment, the room returned to its eerie rhythm: the distant crackle of molten rivers, the groan of ancient machinery, and beneath it all, the pulse of something alive.

Anubis’s gaze slid toward the left, to the device few would dare to look at directly. Suspended in a cradle of mechanical tendrils was a beating heart, massive and grotesque, its rhythmic thump echoing faintly like war drums. Tubes of crimson liquid pulsed outward into machines that hissed and chattered, feeding something unseen deeper in the fortress.

But even this grotesque centerpiece failed to hold his attention for long. His amber eyes drifted farther, to the far corner of the chamber, where a cage of shimmering energy burned with pale blue light.

Inside, a Troll loomed. Towering, muscle-bound, its skin like gray stone cracked with glowing veins of fire. Its amber eyes locked on Anubis, seething with hatred. The creature’s jaw flexed, teeth grinding against each other in a sound that carried across the chamber like grinding boulders.

Anubis rose from his throne, each step echoing across the stone floor. His gauntleted hand moved with precise intention, fingers pressing a sequence of runes embedded into his wrist. The energy cage responded with a low, resonant hum.

The Troll roared, rattling the cage, but it was useless. With a deep, resonant vibration, the prison lifted from the ground, levitating effortlessly. Sparks of energy crackled along its surface as the monster within struggled, but the shimmering walls held firm.

Anubis said nothing. He didn’t need to. His silence was dominant. His smirk was cruel.

Turning on his heel, he began walking toward the massive archway that led deeper into the fortress. The cage floated obediently behind him, dragged along like a chained beast by unseen forces.

The further they went, the darker the halls became—torches sputtering blue flame, runes glowing faintly on the walls, machinery hissing in the distance. The Troll’s growls echoed, shaking the very stones, but Anubis walked on, each step measured, predatory.

Somewhere deeper within the fortress, something stirred—mechanisms clicking awake, whispers in the stone. Whatever chamber awaited him was not built for prisoners. It was built for sacrifices.

And Anubis, smirking as molten light washed across his jackal face, was ready to begin.