The surface of Vespera's home world was a desolate dream of volcanic stone and smoky heat, suspended just beneath a turbulent curtain of cloud and ash. Crimson light from the dying red sun filtered through in fractured beams, casting the jagged terrain in sinister golds and bruised purples. Wind coiled through the rocks in heated sighs, tugging at the tattered ends of the brothers' strands of hair as they crouched behind a scattering of massive boulders—weathered and cracked like the bones of the earth itself.
They were close. The fortress clearly in sight before them.
Just two Celestials remained now. And only this illusion of Sil's death—his phantom end—kept their wrath in check. It was a razor-thin edge of secrecy they balanced on. One misstep, one slip of truth, and the entire weight of the gods would fall upon them.
The fortress ahead was a brutal structure, hewn into the slope of a dormant volcano. Black stone walls curved like armored scales, thick and imposing, barely visible beneath the low-hanging cloudbank that blanketed the mountainside. Through the shifting mist, they could see the fortress's front entrance—a pair of massive metallic doors lined with glowing glyphs that flickered like dying embers.
Then suddenly, there was movement. The large double doors hissed and parted. She emerged like a blade drawn from a ceremonial sheath—tall, elegant, and brimming with restrained menace.
Vespera.
Her long limbs moved with alien grace, Bronze skin, marred by luminous red tattoos, that glowed beneath her flowing, raven-black mane. Imbued with some form of magic. Her golden eyes were fierce and merciless. Imposing and formidable, armored in obsidian that hugged her muscular frame—functional but ceremonial, bearing the sharp-angled markings of her kind. Veined with molten crimson lines that glowed rhythmically, mimicking a heartbeat.
"That's her," Sil said quietly, his voice steady but heavy with the kind of knowing that came from hard-earned experience.
Behind her, two males followed—similarly built, similarly clad. They spoke briefly, the voices flowing over like a mermer of wind through a canyon, too distant to discern, but the posture was unmistakable. Deference. Veneration. They raised their fists to their chests, knuckles thudding against plated armor before they dropped into low, reverent bows.
Vespera returned the salute—precise and slow. Not with warmth. Not affection. A silent acknowledgment of loyalty.
The two men turned and strode away, down a narrow path carved into the cliffside, boots crunching against ash-laced gravel. Their footfalls faded as they rounded a bend, leaving Vespera alone at the threshold of the fortress.
She lingered for a beat—gaze fixed on the path the others had taken, unreadable.
Then came a beep, a short, crisp tone from the communicator strapped to her wrist.
She glanced down. A flick of her finger across the screen. Her expression remained blank, perhaps slightly sharpened with focus, before she turned smoothly and re-entered the structure. The doors closed behind her with a whispering hiss, sealing the fortress once more in eerie stillness.
"Timing's going to be everything," Vorden muttered, just loud enough for the others to hear.
Raten's jaw tightened as he exhaled, nostrils flaring with the tension that coiled in his gut. He met vorden's gaze, there he saw the same look exchanged—a quick, silent conversation honed over years of companionship. Then they both turned and slid back behind the boulders, pressing lower into the shadow of the rock.
"She's not just strong," Sil's eyes still on the fortress. "She's clever. Calculated. She doesn't seem like she makes many mistakes."
Raten, crouched beside him, cracked his knuckles without meaning to. "Then we make the first move. Strike while the iron is hot, no mercy."
The wind shifted, carrying the acrid tang of volcanic gases and the faint hum of archaic, foreign technology.
They waited. Not in fear, but in the breathless, sacred pause before war. "So—what's the plan?" Vorden pressed for preparation.
"Well—" Sill began slowly, like he was trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together from memory. "We know that there weren't more than a handful inside,"
Raten jumped in as well, adding that, "Two of them just left." He looked between his two brothers, "Let's just get the hell in there and catch 'em with their pants down!" A deep seeded spark of something laying dormant within Raten had shown the faintest sign of resurrection, Vorden saw it when they ended Morvidk. It has been subtle, but to those that knew him well—it was unmistakable.
What had simply just sparked before, was a glowing smolder now. The almost imperceptible vital signs had grown stronger too, pulsating like a weak pulse through his veins. Vorden felt nostalgic at the realization.
For the first time in what felt like ages, Vorden swore he saw a glimmer of bloodlust in those sinister bright eyes, highlighted by the dark demonic grin that rested beneath them.
Vorden hid an amused smile, shaking his head, attempting not to meet Raten's gaze directly.
Noticing this, Raten furrowed his brow. "What?!"
Sil cleared his throat, in an attempt to draw their attention back, and with a disapproving glance at Vorden, he continued. "I don't see cameras, or any other recording devices, but that doesn't mean that there isn't other methods of detection in place. I'd prefer it if we don't just go running in there, in a blaze of glory, straight into the lair of a real life villain— not until we are sure of what's actually waiting for us on the inside."
Raten's shoulders slumped, all his murderous intent sapped in a split second.
Sil smirked then, looking at Vorden apologetically, he added, "Unfortunately— that might be our only option, I have invisibility, so let me take point." He glanced back and forth between his brothers, his face struggling to convey a look of stern resolve. Lowering his tone, and correcting his posture, he spoke calm and steady, driving home the point that his words were those of authority, and carried with them weight.
"I don't want you guys to use your mc up unless you absolutely have to. That way no matter what happens— at least one of you has enough to teleport you both back to the ship if—" Sil looked away, swallowing hard.
Vorden reached a single hand over and gripped his shoulder, then pulled him in, forcing his face to turn back. Vorden looked Sil directly in the eyes, close enough that he really had no other choice, but to meet his gaze. "It's not coming to that."
Sil stared at his brother and best friend like that for a moment, his morose face conveying more than any of the words that he knew ever really could. His face shifted to stone and resolve, a silent promise to himself and his brothers. Sil nodded firmly, he had made an important decision—
None of these Blades would be meeting their end that day. His will was potent, fortified by the deep bonds that he shared with the two youthful reflections he saw looking back at him.
His confidence, while genuine, had been tempered, through the years of struggle and suffering alone. Regret and self blame were a constant bitter taste on the tongue— and a constant reminder of the many failures that Sil carried around with himself always.
They looked at the building, shuffling to the side making room for Sil to pass. He jumped out from behind the boulder, his physical visage dematerializing in the process. As the subtle sound of his feet meeting gravel, with a satisfying crunch, skillfully light while demonstrating experienced agility, he whispered one final instruction to his incognito companions.
"Wait here for a sec, I'll signal you to follow, if the coast is clear." With that final sentence he was on the move. Footsteps could be heard crunching through the gravel, as quiet as possible, heading straight for the fortress.