Kharz'Vora groaned beneath its crust as something ancient stirred in its molten veins. Vyrrith-Kal stood in the Throne of Scars, a cathedral forged from the skeletal remains of ancient colossi, the walls pulsing with the blood-metal harvested over millennia.
They had already used a relic.
Not discovered, not earned. Inherited.
The Charym'Zul did not find their relic. It was given to them.
By the One and Only—Xerzith, the Hollow Flame.
A forgotten god not slain, but fed to by the Charym'Zul. His divine husk had become their source, his fading soul embedded in the core of their reality. Xerzith's power was not borrowed—it was consumed, metabolized, echoed in their flesh.
"Kal'Tesh," Vyrrith-Kal murmured, summoning his high general. "The humans...they have begun to believe in their relics."
Kal'Tesh bowed. "Shall I unleash the Choir of Teeth?"
"No. Let them see what true inheritance looks like."
Gaia High Orbit – The Forge Singularity
Commander Taron reviewed the anomaly data flashing on his HUD. Tremors from the Charym'Zul's homeworld were breaking gravitational norms. They weren't mining—they were awakening something.
"They've had a relic longer than we have," he said.
Dr. Arken leaned over the table. "Impossible. No god would've allowed it."
"Unless," Lys added, "the god didn't survive."
A pause. Then Arken's hands trembled. "If that's true, we're not in a war for dominance. We're in a war against a species powered by divine remains."
Suddenly, Helios, the AI system chimed in: "Precursor signal detected. Cross-checking against known relic patterns...no match. Alert: Origin pattern resembles the Prime Pattern—believed theoretical."
Taron turned to Neria. "How do we use our relics against something that's made of one?"
She stood, the flames of Ashfall curling around her shoulders. "By becoming something even gods never saw coming."
Elsewhere – The Obsidian Bastion
A conclave of the low-level gods convened. Arkturon the Storm-Eater, Vellithia of Echoed Song, Rul'Vek the Forgotten Flame—all argued.
"They are breaking the board," said Rul'Vek. "Humans and Charym'Zul wielding relics. Interference violates our pact with the Intelligences."
"But the war is boring," hissed Vellithia. "Petty tactics, emotion-drenched victories. No poetry. Let us tip the balance for entertainment."
"No," came a cold voice.
From within the Bastion's core emerged a being that silenced them all.
It was not a god.
It was one of the Seven High Intelligences—Elyndor of Axis 7.
"You will not interfere," he said. "The relics are under observation. This is not divine war—it is a test of evolution."
Arkturon sneered, "And if the Charym'Zul annihilate Gaia?"
"Then Gaia fails," Elyndor replied. "Unless..."
A tremor of something passed through the chamber.
A vision. A chosen one.
The humans... had just found the third relic—the Eye of Reverence, buried beneath Europa's frozen ocean.
Flashback – Europa, Three Months Earlier
Lys descended alone into the Leviathan Trench. The cold should've killed her. But the relic, embedded in a crystal casing, called her.
She touched it—and saw.
Not images. Possibilities. Futures.
A version where she led armies, another where she died in Taron's arms. One where Gaia burned, and one where she reformed the Charym'Zul through unity.
The relic asked: Which future will you bleed for?
She answered: "The one no one expects."
Now – Human Fleet, Strategy Deck
Taron gathered his captains. "We've confirmed they have access to the remains of a god. And we know their hunger has no end. But now—we have three relics. They were left behind for a reason."
"Helios," he commanded, "begin Project Resonant Dawn."
An outline of a war strategy pulsed into view: Fusion of relic interfaces with dimensional engines, amplifying their power using collective belief.
"From now on," Taron said, "our weapons are not forged in steel, but in purpose. Let them come. This is not just war. This... is the rebirth of myth."
Back on Kharz'Vora, Vyrrith-Kal felt something. Not fear. Not rage. But interest.
"They are learning faster than we expected," he muttered.
And far beneath his throne, the remnants of Xerzith's heart pulsed once more.
The gods were watching.
But the story... now belonged to mortals.