Infiltration Secured
After the suspicious patrol brought them in, Tamun and Je'ka were separated and locked in adjoining containment cells deep within the Zelith forward command bunker. The stone and alloy walls were etched with Zelith warding sigils ancient safeguards against psychic intrusion. Automated sentries stood like silent sentinels in the halls, and the hum of shielding fields vibrated through the cold floor.
Tamun paced quietly, his breath steady, remembering Vaelora's last command: "You are my eyes and ears now. No hesitation. No failure."
Zelith medics—silver-eyed and emotionless examined the brothers thoroughly, scanning for neural parasites, chemical triggers, and memory falsification. Je'ka endured it in silence, offering only the occasional nod or grunt of discomfort. His composure impressed the attending officers. Tamun, though stoic, seethed at the indignity. But they both knew the mission mattered more than pride.
After six grueling hours, the twins were deemed "clean." Their cover stories—carefully crafted identities as fringe scouts who had broken from Mahasimu-occupied territory—held under scrutiny.
The Meeting with Commander Vekra
The twins were finally escorted, wrists unbound but watched by four armed guards, through the fortified inner corridors to a command chamber dug deep into Venter's rocky crust. There, standing beside a vast holo-map of the planetary defenses, was Commander Vekra himself.
A tall, sharp-browed Zelith clad in matte crimson armor reinforced with bone-steel plates, Vekra radiated the iron composure of a man burdened with defending a dying world. His gaze swept to the twins as they were led in.
"So," he said flatly, "the survivors who claim they've been trailing Mahasimu scouts through the ash corridors. I've read your file. It stinks of timing."
Tamun bowed his head slightly. "We speak only what we've seen, Commander. Mahasimu cults using the shadows to move ahead of their fleets—building something… or burying something."
Je'ka added, his voice measured, "We've seen slaves flayed alive for trying to speak of it. That's why we left. We're not cowards, sir. We just didn't want to die for a lie."
Vekra studied them for a long moment. Then he stepped forward and circled them, as if judging their soulprint by posture alone. When he stopped, he looked to his adjutant.
"Assign them to the third recon unit. Monitor all their transmissions. If they falter, burn them."
He turned back to the twins.
"But if what you say is true… and the Mahasimu are hiding something beneath our own soil…" Vekra's voice dropped to a near-whisper, "…then you'll earn more than freedom. You'll earn vengeance."
The twins bowed. Inwardly, Tamun and Je'ka exchanged a silent thought Phase Two had begun.
Ruthen's Den of Shadows
The base Ruthen established was minimal but shielded—buried beneath a collapsed ravine. The stealth ship folded into camouflage netting and signal dampeners. Esh'tal crouched in a prayer-like posture within a containment sigil, its presence a coiled threat. From here, Ruthen monitored enemy troop movements, pulse-code transmissions, and the brothers' deception.
She knew her mistress, Vaelora, would accept no failure.
In the dim-lit confines of the stealth ship's containment bay, Ruthen stood before the stasis chamber of Esh'tal.
The Thal'Karn's monstrous silhouette loomed in slumber, coiled like a spider waiting in the abyss. Its iridescent black chitin shimmered with unnatural hues, reflecting the low red emergency lighting with oil-slick brilliance. Crisscrossing lines of bioluminescent runes pulsed faintly under its armored carapace, signaling latent readiness. Ruthen, clad in obsidian battle-plate augmented by rites of subjugation, placed her left arm no longer flesh, but a bonded neural gauntlet against the activation node.
The gauntlet, fused with her nervous system, emitted deep harmonic frequencies that resonated through the containment unit. She grit her teeth as her spine stiffened with feedback—each pulse linking her mind with the engineered nightmare she controlled. Scarified runes across her shoulders glowed dimly, marking her as a Prime Handler of the Vaelora's Legion.
"Esh'tal," she growled through clenched teeth, "awaken."
With a hiss, the chamber split open. Steam curled like fingers around the creature as its multiple red eyes flickered to life. It let out a clicking exhale, then folded out from its cocoon-like stance. The Thal'Karn was terrifying in motion—elegant, silent, purposeful. Not bred for berserker warfare like its kin, Esh'tal specialized in infiltration and mental dismantling.
It would be the hidden blade behind the twins.
Admiral Tyven Suspects the Game
Above Venter, the Zelith Grand Fleet held its position like a coiled serpent. Admiral Tyven watched the Mahasimu retreat behind their blockade lines, unease clawing at his instincts. He had survived three major offensives in the past decade—and something about this felt… wrong.
He turned to his adjutant.
"Get me High General Vrakhar."
A moment later, Vrakhar's formidable visage appeared—haloed in red warlight from his command dais aboard the fortress-ship Iron Tithe.
"They've planted something," Tyven said bluntly. "This retreat isn't real."
Vrakhar narrowed his glowing gold eyes. "Send a full data packet. I'm dispatching the Inferno Squad."
Tyven inhaled. "All of them?"
"All of them."
The Inferno Squad and the Council's Dread
Hours later, streaks of crimson light tore through Venter's upper atmosphere as the Inferno Squad descended—each member clad in jet-armored warplate, armed with relic-grade weapons from forgotten eras. Feared across the Zelith Empire, they hunted infiltrators without mercy.
Vrakhar's report reached the High Council within the hour.
The chamber of the Seven Stars was cast into turmoil.
One elder, her horns wrapped in ceremonial thread, spoke solemnly: "Mobilize every fleet. Full conscription. But that… may not be enough."
The High Oracle's voice was hushed. "Then we send one of us to Venter. Personally. To ensure we know what we face."
Another councilor oldest among them stood.
"Prepare the rites. If Venter falls, we open the Great Crypts."
Gasps filled the chamber.
"No one's accessed them since the Founding," another protested. "Seven million years… no records, no safeguards."
"They were sealed for a reason!" one shouted.
"Which is why they must only be opened when there is no other path," the elder said coldly. "We are nearing that threshold."
Beneath the capital of Zalethar, ancient vaults pulsed faintly—forgotten machines stirring in timeless slumber.