Motion of the Dawn

The old ones used to speak softly when the fires burned low.

Loria remembered that much.

In her hometown, when night crept close and the world slowed, the elders would gather—not to teach, but to remember. Their voices carried weight, not volume.

“There will come one,” an old man once said, staring into the embers, “who does not inherit the world—but challenges it.”

A child asked him then, Is it a king? A warrior?

The old man shook his head.

“Someone who understands that humanity has moved too far ahead of itself. Someone who can pull it back… or push it over the edge.”

Another voice followed, quieter.

“That person can bring both sides to the same page. Whether the page remains blank… or is filled with blood—that choice will be theirs.”

At the time, Loria thought it was only a story.

Now, walking beneath the earth itself, she wondered if it had ever been one.

The passage beneath Montlaif was colder than she expected.

Light pulsed faintly through the stone—energy veins running like roots through the world. The woman ahead of her moved without hesitation, as if she had walked this path a hundred times before.

“You’re sure he’s there?” Loria asked.

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

The woman did not stop walking.

“Because everyone leaves traces,” she said. “Even those who believe they’re invisible.”

Loria tightened her grip.

Wrex’s name echoed in her thoughts. How had they found him? When had the world learned to move this fast?

They descended deeper, into a space few citizens of the Eight Superntis even knew existed.

Above them, the city of Grenick burned with false light.

The Royal Festival continued despite the unrest—music forced louder, banners raised higher. Then the screens changed.

The Crown appeared.

“Remain calm,” the King’s voice boomed. “Peace is not broken. It is enforced.”

The air shimmered.

Weapons in the hands of rioters fell inert. Explosions died mid-breath. Violence itself seemed to hesitate.

Point Touch Zero.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Awe. Fear. Relief.

“You see?” the Crown declared. “This is why you live free. This is why the system must remain.”

For a moment—it worked.

Then the world answered back.

Across the district, the Persecutors moved.

Devices ignited in their hands—raw, imperfect, dangerous.

Point Touch Zero faltered.

Not collapsed—but resisted.

Royal units stumbled. Control wavered.

Qoval watched from the shadows, calm.

“Now,” he murmured.

The bait had been taken.

High above the city, armored carriers descended.

HSK.

Humanity’s strongest force.

Not a warning.

A verdict.

Deep underground, another group advanced.

Four figures moved through an abandoned tunnel—ancient, carved long before Montlaif’s glow claimed the mountain. Their target lay ahead, pulsing.

Not destruction.

Revelation.

Loria felt it before she saw it.

The air changed.

She stepped into the open chamber—and froze.

Fozic stood across from her, flanked by soldiers clad in unfamiliar gear. Their weapons hummed—not with Montlaif energy, but something older.

“You move quickly,” Fozic said. “Too quickly for someone who’s supposed to be lost.”

“You always did arrive early,” Loria replied.

Their eyes locked.

“This path isn’t safe,” he said. “Turn back.”

“I can’t.”

“Then you’re choosing sides.”

“No,” she said, stepping forward. “I’m choosing truth.”

The first strike came fast.

Loria moved faster.

Steel rang. Bodies fell. She fought not with fury—but certainty.

She would reach Wrex.

No matter what stood in her way.

Far from the tunnels, beneath the shadow of the Lions’ Wall, Wrex stood alone.

Blood streaked his shoulder. Sweat traced the line of his jaw.

Around him—silence.

He did not celebrate.

He did not hesitate.

The dawn was coming.

And it would not be gentle.