Stargazer’s Quarry
Was the white glare above always this bright? Telero covered his face with one hand as he stepped out of his home for the first time in weeks. His wiry beard and unkempt mustache felt itchy on his face and he rubbed his eyes to get them adjusted to the natural brightness.
“Soon, my people,” Telero whispered as he walked toward the main street. “Soon, we will be free.” He glanced around warily like just being seen outside was some kind of crime. His house arrest had proved quite useful for his faith and his mind. Hours- whole days sometimes- he spent poring over single passages of the Book of Jomens finding new insights, making new connections, digging meaning out of the simplest phrases.
Even after his house arrest expired, his new appreciation for the Tome kept him in his room to explore its symbolic depths even further. His resolve was stronger than ever; no longer did the whispers of doubt tickle his mind like they had the first time he’d sent a message to the gildgrown. No longer was his soul full of regret for Jora’s disappearance. She was a brave soldier in the Visionary’s army, therefore she was protected and doubtlessly would return to describe the Storm Devil’s defeat.
Such was the gamble, he thought. Telero waved to Peoru, one of his converts, and nodded hello. I cannot kill the Betrayer, so I must destroy his image. Sad it must take so much sacrifice. His follower made the usual gesture of reverence over his eyes, then clenched a fist over his heart and pulled as if checking a rope’s quality, signifying his loyalty to him.
The Tether.
He who kept the people tied to the true faith of the Visionary.
Telero repeated the gesture as he passed by on his way to the Temple. Oh, how unholy of a place it had become. The Storm Devil’s presence was potent here. It laced the very air and glowed in its walls, evil and strong. He frowned at the building, sad to see how far it was fallen; to think he’d once marveled at its importance, felt honored by simply stepping up to the gate. Now, his own little church, the dusty, dark basement of a low-output refinery, was much more of a place for worthy communion of the faithful.
Surely, the fight has begun by now. He moved to the backside of the Temple towards the cliff facing the ruins of Atlanta and squinted into the distance, looking for any signs of violence. It was impossible of course, but if he really focused, Telero thought he heard gunshots echo faintly in the gentle wind.
A dagger of sadness pierced into his heart for those that this endeavor would sacrifice, but they’d chosen their lot in swearing to the Fiend and his dark will. All he could hope now was that the gildgrown spared Halari. It was a reaching wish, one Telero desperately prayed to the Visionary to make a reality.
“Oh, Greatest Guide,” Telero whispered, looking to the sky. “I humbly request a sign that my path is true. Show me, your last true servant, that your Sight has not left us.” Nothing happened, much like he predicted. The Visionary’s presence was far beyond his station, not something that belonged on this mortal pla—
Telero gasped, and his blood went cold. On the horizon, a great wall of stormcloud swirled out to cover the city, centered at the top of the Spire of Melokon. Dark, roiling, and flashing with purple-red lighting, they grew upwards for what seemed like miles on miles into the sky.
“No,” he whispered, falling to his knees. “No, this can’t be happening.” The electricity in those horrible clouds sparked upwards and their bloody-amethyst illumination outlined the vast draconic silhouette shrouded within. The Book of Jomes called this phenomenon the Shade of the Dragon.
And the image only appeared in moments of great power to display the ancient drake’s support for its Blessed Flames.
The Visionary wrote that being his god’s former favorite, the Betrayer was known for achieving such an honor regularly. Even frequently. It was a point of suspicion to the Visionary that Melokon’s favor was what helped pushed the Storm Devil to corruption and tyranny.
How? Telero begged the sky. He felt tears of terror run down his cheeks. This wasn’t a sign of favor from the All-Seeing Guide, but an omen of punishment. He is diminished and damged, how did he heal? He thought of Halari in that moment. She’d told him about the supposed stores of resources that existed below the Spire, hoping that he’d see their benefit and help obtain them. Even then, there had been something else concerning behind her eyes that Telero lost sleep over.
Was it this?
A way to reforge the man who’d bewitched her and stolen her away with kisses and lies?
The storm swirled violently over the city, and the Shade of the Dragon engraved itself into the sky.
“Stop him,” Telero whispered, collapsing to all fours and crying into the black stone below. “Please, O Perfect Pathfinder, please stop him.”
The only response he received was a deep, mocking peal of thunder.
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The hulking, armored gildgrown in the plate mask stepped up to the lever, exuding a smugness with movement alone. Halari glared down her scope at it, tightening her finger on the trigger. She fired one more bullet at it, just to make a statement really, then braced herself for impact. Her shot sparked off its pauldron and flew off into the world uselessly.
But the tall gildgrown didn’t move. Its circular mask aimed upwards towards the sky and he stood as if frozen with his hand clenched around the lever. The gildgrown forces around the giant weapon did the same. All masks looked up while their arms went slack.
“What’re they doing?” she whispered to Kurt. The Fortian didn’t answer her, so she dared a glance at the man to see him staring at the sky too, as were the rest of their forces. Halari looked up and her jaw went slack. Where did those storm clouds come from? “By the Visio—”
She was interrupted by a thick, bright bolt of crimson lightning. It cracked down in a bloody flash that lit the world scarlet for an instant and slammed into the gildgrown’s terrifying machine of war. The weapon exploded in a beautiful blossom of red flames, sending charred, amber debris into the air. The armored gildgrown was thrown clear by the force of the explosion and launched into the open window of a nearby building. Yellow forces backed up and raised their weapons at those black clouds.
Violet-ruby lightning flickered and flashed in their swirling depths. The light highlighted a single figure standing inside the clouds, looking down on them with one arm raised.
Whoa... Halari gasped at the sight.
Six arcs of lightning struck the battlefield between the two armies at a single spot; each bolt was glaringly bright and forceful enough to gouge holes in the stone. Rocky chunks scattered into the air and rained back down in showers.
When the light faded and the spots in her eyes went away, Halari looked where they’d struck.
Before her, stood a myth come to life.
His armor was black and jagged, like the very electricity that danced up and down its glossy surface. In his right hand, a malicious polearm sparked with power and purpose. He looked identical to the statue she’d cleaned behind the Temple when nobody else dared to even look at it.
“Callan?” Halari whispered, voice small and amazed.
The figure turned his spike-crowned head to look at her over his shoulder, one horizontal slot glowing purple at eye level on the black mask. He looked right at her, meeting her gaze steadily.
And Halari knew.
This wasn’t the Tyrannical Betrayer, who had never actually tried to dominate the world in an iron grip.
He definitely wasn’t that damaged, defeated king who mourned for a long-lost world and wept on her shoulder for the woman who’d died with it.
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This was the Dragon’s Champion.
And he was ready for war.
“Go get ‘em,” Halari whispered. The Champion nodded once and turned his glare to the mass of yellow freaks before him. He raised his weapon and began to walk forward.
One of the gildgrown came back to itself and screamed something she didn’t make out. Whatever it was, the shout prompted the entire force to aim all their weapons and open fire on this new threat.
Electricity lashed out from the Champion’s armor, catching and incinerating each thin arrow before any came within five feet of him. Their spore loads didn’t even get to detonate.
“I think it’s over,” Halari sighed, allowing herself to relax a bit as Kurt gaped beside her. The Dragon’s Champion really did look like a storm devil made flesh, but the man she knew was underneath was her very definition of safety. Unfortunately for the gildgrown, all they got to know was the demon and the ruin he brought with each step closer to them.
The Champion hit the front line like a bomb. He swung the mace end of his weapon down and around in a wide arc back-to-front, and a wall of lightning, flashing with violet-red power, surged forward to scorch a group of gildgrown instantly. They didn’t get a chance to scream before his lightning charred their flesh and rags.
He swung again, bringing the flanged end down on another group. The force of his weapon’s impact cracked a crater into the stone and scattered their roasted corpses over ten feet into the air in a hundred different directions with an explosive burst of crimson lightning.
One gildgrown, clearly insane or enraged, charged the Champion alone, screaming through its mask with its machete held high. It swung down hard in a two-handed grip; the weapon shattered on contacting the armor, not even leaving a blemish behind. The Champion grabbed the manic creature by the neck, raised his mace, then slammed it down on the freak’s shoulder. The blow hammered the pitiful soldier down to the ground and was trailed by a violet arc from overhead.
Again, the Champion raised his mace and slammed it down one more time on the gildgrown’s broken body. The complementary bolt from the sky sent its burnt, mangled corpse hurtling into the remains of the pale yellow front line.
“All of you...” The Champion faced them, his voice pealing like thunder itself. Halari felt her bones vibrate from its resonance. “Lay down your arms. Swear your fealty to me. Or die.”
Terrified idiots to the last gurgling, wheezing soldier, the gildgrown opened fire with every weapon they had. The Champion shook his head like he was disappointed, then started hovering a foot off the ground. Dust and debris swirled around his feet in a wide circle.
The air trembled, then began shaking as if it were terrified of whatever was about to happen as power gathered around the floating form of the Champion, warping reality around him like a heatwave.
No. Fucking. Way. Halari’s eyes went wide as the translucent outline of a dragon’s head manifested above the Champion. The base of its thick neck, connected to his armored back, sparked with an amethyst flame that rippled over the entire mirage, leaving glossy black scales in its wake. The fire extinguished just after where its jaws and neck met, leaving the beast with a ghostly face. It snapped at the air with a mind of its own, snarling towards the sky before laying its spectral eyes on the gildgrown.
The Champion roared and the dragon’s head mirrored him. Its fanged maw opened wide.
A furious beam of condensed flame, the same color as the lightning that already destroyed so much, screamed from its throat toward the pale yellow army. The Champion swept destruction across the gildrown in a wave of fire and light.
They burned, screaming as the amethyst flames ate their flesh.
They ran, only to be overtaken by the bloody inferno that chased them.
They died, remains withering away under the heat of the Drake’s Rage.
When it was all over, when the flames died down and the ghost of the serpent faded back into nothing, all Halari saw was a field of smoking death.
“If there are any of you alive,” the Champion began, his spoken Command visible in the air as it pulsed over what remained of the broken battlefield, “come to me and kneel!”
Halari approached him from behind, carefully stepping up beside him. His armor generated heat like a stove, but it somehow didn’t hurt when she took his elbow.
Survivors of the fury, only a handful, staggered to their feet and walked like stiffening corpses toward them before kneeling at their feet. The big, armored gildgrown was there, but his mask was broken in half and his face underneath looked partially melted.
You assholes are done, Halari thought, taking in their burnt and tattered rags as she sidled up to the Champion. She had a strong urge to shoot the big one right in his exposed face, but she held herself back.
“Are you the commander of this force?” The Champion pointed at the armored one with the sword end of his weapon.
“Y-yes, Snake-Devil,” he said, voice heavy with terror and... was that grief? Halari almost smiled.
“Take your survivors,” the Champion ordered, “and return to your home. Tell your leaders to swear your people to Stargazer’s Quarry or I will lay your city to ruin. Tell them that the First Blessed of Melokon, the Dragon’s Champion, is returned to this world.”
The gildgrown commander nodded heavily. His eyes looked vacant behind his partly-melted lid. Halari wondered if he’d retain any of this, but the description of what happened here was probably going to be enough.
“Go!” the Champion Commanded. The survivors rose as if pulled up on strings, then turned and staggered away together.
“Callan? You in there?” Halari looked up at him once they were out of sight. She reached up to his armored face and pulled it to look at her. His horizontal eye slot glowed brightly, but she tried to see past it and read his face underneath.
The Champion’s masked helmet dissolved into dark cloud under her fingers and swirled away into the air.
Callan grinned warmly at her, draconic eyes brighter than ever before. “Hello there.”
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Are you alright?” He reached up with one hand; the clawed gauntlet dissipated like the helmet and only his soft finger caressed her cheek.
“I’m fine.” Halari leaned forward and kissed him gently. “And it looks like you’re great.”
“Indeed,” Callan chuckled. “That drained feeling I’ve had is gone. I’ve been put back together.”
“So you feel complete?” Halari asked.
“I’d say yes, but...” Callan smirked and pulled her close. The last of his armor swirled away like smoke in the wind and he held her to him. “I think I need you in order to really be complete.”
Halari laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, then smiled. “I’m with you, I promise.”
“I’m sorry it took me long,” Callan said, hugging her tighter. “I was... delayed.”
“But you showed up,” Halari breathed. “I never doubted you.”
“And I don’t scare you?” Callan asked with real worry in his words. “After all that?”
“Are you kidding?” Halari giggled and kissed him on the cheek. “That was awesome! I’m sticking as close as I can for as long as I can.”
“Good.” Callan beamed. “We have lots of work ahead.”
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The weight of the object in Callan’s jacket pocket was heavy, but not with mass. His favorite piece of attire had returned to him with his armor and it felt like a second skin around him.
The silver canister had fallen out of the big gildgrown’s pocket when he and his survivors retreated, so as Halari left their embrace to begin tending to the wounded and working out who would stay behind to guard the Spire’s wealth, he’d walked over and picked it up, curious. When he’d read the contents on the paper inside, his blood had boiled so hot with rage that he’d almost atomized the missive entirely, but he controlled himself. The ramifications of its existence would have to be dealt with later; there was just too much to do.
Now, Callan stood facing the statues of his kin that rose before the steps of the Temple.
Byeol.
Kalia.
James.
Oliver.
And the three who had replaced Fedir and Imani after he’d killed them that fateful day when his life was ruined and his world was taken away from him. He stared up at his brethren and grinned while their reliefs glowered down at him.
We’re coming for you. “Today,” he began, turning to the assembled population of Quarrymen who watched him with a gallery of expressions from grief to anger to glory, “ten Quarrymen and eight Fortians gave their lives for the future of our home! They will be remembered as heroes. Their names will be carved into stone to last for all time! Their lives earned the greatest wealth that this world has seen in centuries, and with their sacrifices... we are ever closer to leaving this world behind and taking what we deserve! More than that...” Callan raised his hands to the sky and clenched his fists. Melokon’s Storm gathered above the entirety of Stargazer’s Quarry in an instant. His god’s Shade did not appear since there was no need for it, but still, the people gasped and murmured at the spectacle of dark clouds and vibrant electricity within. “My strength is returned in full! With your help, I will take us to the cosmos and we will face those who abandoned us here to die. The Old Flames will know our justice!” He brought his fists down as if smashing a table.
Each statue, except Kalia’s, who definitely earned a place of gratitude in his new Empire, received a thunderous bolt of lightning straight to the top of their heads. One by one, the depictions of his kin exploded, sending small chunks into the air and demolishing them into steaming piles no taller than his knees.
Cheers erupted from the people of Stargazer’s Quarry and Callan basked in their excitement like the light of the sun. “Sounds like they’re on board,” Halari said, yelping as Callan pulled her to him and wrapped an arm around her waist. Some of the crowd cheered louder, happy to see their two head figures united. Halari didn’t blush this time as some called to her, using the title of ‘Lady’ that so flustered her. Instead, she waved and smiled.
Captain Dalvo wasn’t there. Most likely, he was with the family of his friend who’d been butchered in the battle. They’d found him cradling the corpse and weeping, surrounded by his forces, but he’d released it for them to dress and prepare for the long ride home. He and Viria stayed with it all the way, silent the entire time.
At the back of the raucous crowd, Callan saw Halari’s brother standing alone. Where his people were, he didn’t know. Telero's hatred bled into the world around him, draining it of color and life, but he paid the man no mind... yet. He was a major problem, more than Callan imagined he ever could be, but this moment wasn’t for him.
It was for them.
“It’s not going to be easy,” Callan said softly so only she heard, “but this isn’t the same Quarry I was met with when you saved me. They can do this.”
“We’ll take them there,” Halari said, leaning in and kissing him. “Together, we’ll get them to the stars.”