The days – if such a term even applied in the timeless dawn of Aethelgard – became a blur of focused intensity.
The knowledge that Warlord Krell's fleet was already mobilizing, that the Solstice Concordance was a mere handful of rotations away, lent a frantic edge to every moment.
There was no time for the slow, contemplative unfolding of the Ahna'sara's mysteries that Coria and Lyren might have preferred.
This was learning under fire, a desperate cramming of cosmic secrets.
In the heart of the Sanctum of Echoes, the great Progenitor sphere became Bolt's classroom.
Lyren, their usual gentle demeanor replaced by a focused urgency, guided Bolt through its swirling nebulae, unlocking layers of information about the Heart of Orion.
He learned of its true function – not a mere power source, but a delicate, unimaginably complex regulator of interstellar energies, a celestial organ whose steady pulse maintained the equilibrium of countless star systems, including, indirectly, distant Earth.
Krell's plan to use a volatile, reverse-engineered Progenitor weapon to "control" it was akin to performing heart surgery with a plasma torch.
"The Heart is already in distress due to the ancient schism, Seed-Bearer," Lyren explained, their voice resonating with sorrow as images of the fractured Heart, bleeding raw, chaotic energy, swirled within the sphere.
"Krell's weapon will likely not control it, but shatter it, or turn its immense power into a cancerous, consuming force.
Your Ahna'sara… it is the only known counter-resonance that might soothe its agony, or perhaps even disrupt the unstable energies of such a crude weapon before it fully impacts."
Meanwhile, Coria pushed Bolt's empathic abilities to their limits.
In a shielded training chamber, she recreated psychic assaults, simulations of the chaotic emotional maelstrom that would surround a battle, the cold, invasive mental probes of a hostile intelligence, the raw terror of a dying star.
Bolt, in his towering husky-wolf form, learned to shield the core of his being while projecting the Ahna'sara's song of harmony – a fragile counter-melody against a symphony of simulated destruction.
He sweated, he trembled, he often failed, the psychic feedback leaving him disoriented and raw. But with each attempt, his control sharpened, his projection growing steadier, more focused.
Eva, never one to be idle, was equally immersed. Aethelgardian technicians, beings with skin like polished bark and eyes that held the wisdom of ancient forests, guided her through the intricacies of the vessel they would take.
It was named the Nyxwing – a small, impossibly sleek ship that seemed less constructed and more grown, its hull a shimmering, dark material that rippled like living shadow.
It was designed for traversing the hidden, non-linear "songlines" of the galaxy, pathways imperceptible to conventional sensors, and its controls were a fusion of advanced technology and direct empathic interface.
"She will respond to your will, Captain Rostova," a technician with feathery antennae explained, "but she will sing for the Seed-Bearer.
His emotional state, his connection to the Ahna'sara, will directly influence her stealth, her speed, even her structural integrity in the songlines." Eva received a compact Aethelgardian toolkit, containing devices whose functions she was only beginning to grasp – personal shield emitters that resonated with empathic fields, communication crystals that bypassed standard hyperwave, and medical stasis units that seemed to heal through focused light.
The moment of departure arrived far too soon. Lyren and Coria stood with them before the Nyxwing, which rested in a hidden, subterranean docking bay that opened directly onto a shimmering distortion in space – a songline entrance.
"The knowledge we have given you is but a fragment, Bolt," Lyren said, placing a small, warm Waystone, similar to the one that had guided them to Aethelgard, into Bolt's large, clawed hand.
"This one is attuned to the Heart of Orion itself. Let it guide your empathic senses when the time comes."
Coria stepped forward, her golden eyes holding Bolt's.
"Remember the first lesson, Seed-Bearer: stillness. Even in the heart of the storm, find your center. Project not what you fear, but what you hope for.
The Ahna'sara is a power of creation, not destruction. Krell understands only the latter."
Her gaze softened. "May the echoes of Aethelgard travel with you."
With a final, poignant exchange of nods – words felt inadequate – Bolt and Eva boarded the Nyxwing. The interior was softly lit, the controls glowing with the same organic light as the city.
Eva settled into the pilot's chair, her expression a mixture of steely determination and unspoken anxiety. Bolt took the co-pilot's station, his larger frame fitting surprisingly well into the empathically-molded seat.
He closed his eyes, reached out with the Ahna'sara as Coria had taught him, and focused on the Waystone's gentle thrum and the destination Lyren had imprinted upon his mind. He sang to the Nyxwing, a silent melody of intent and direction.
The ship responded instantly. With a barely perceptible hum, it glided forward, into the shimmering distortion.
The universe outside the viewport dissolved into a breathtaking, non-Euclidean river of light and shadow, colours that had no name, and the sensation of immense speed without G-force.
They were on a songline, a hidden artery of the cosmos.
For what felt like an eternity and no time at all, they journeyed through this surreal, beautiful, and utterly alien medium. Then, with a final, gentle surge, the Nyxwing slipped back into normal space.
The viewports cleared. Before them lay the familiar, cold spatter of stars against the black velvet of the void. But it was not a peaceful sight. Alarms, soft Aethelgardian chimes but urgent nonetheless, began to sound on the bridge.
Eva's hands flew over the controls, her face grim.
"Multiple energy signatures, Bolt. High-yield weapon discharges. And… gods… a massive fleet, Felid Dominance configuration, on an intercept course with the Orion Nebula.
They're not even trying to be subtle."
Bolt looked at the main viewport. Distant, angry flashes of light marred the serenity of the stars – a battle raging on the periphery of their emergence point.
The sanctuary of Aethelgard was far behind them.
The raging void, and Warlord Krell's ambition, awaited.