I. The Silence of Victory
The roar of the victory celebration had faded, replaced by a heavy, expectant silence that hung over Obsidios Iubeo like the low clouds of the Obsidian Ordo. The construction crews lowered their hammers; the smiths at the Obsidian Forgemaster's anvil stilled their tongs.
The entire city gathered in the central plaza. At the base of the towering black pyramid, twelve biers of dark wood held the bodies of the fallen Legionnaires. They were not covered in shrouds of anonymity; they were dressed in their finest tunics, their faces cleaned of blood, looking like men sleeping before a long watch.
Corvin Nyx stood before them. He had removed his armor, wearing only the black robes woven by the Obsiaven Weavers. He did not look like a conqueror; he looked like a father grieving his sons.
II. The Engraving of Souls
Corvin turned to the monolithic base of the Second Observa Tower. He raised his bare hand. He did not summon a chisel. He summoned his Will.
He placed his palm against the cold, unyielding obsidian. The stone hissed—a sound like water hitting hot iron. Violet light bled from beneath his fingers. He moved his hand with agonizing slowness, burning the names of the twelve into the foundation of the Imperium.
Kaelen. Jory. Tannis...
Every stroke was a commitment. The crowd watched, breathless, as the names glowed with a faint, eternal purple luminescence, drinking the light from the air.
When the final name was cut, Corvin stepped back. He turned to the families—the widows clutching children, the fathers whose hands shook with age. He spoke the Binding Word, his voice resonating not just in the air, but in the marrow of every person present.
"Aeternum."
III. The Reunion of Mist
The reaction was not violent; it was profound. The Void Stone at the apex of the tower pulsed—a single, deep heartbeat of magic. The violet light cascaded down the sides of the pyramid and pooled at the base.
From the stone wall itself, twelve figures stepped out.
They were not corpses. They were not rotting revenants. They were composed of solidified shadow and translucent obsidian glass, yet they retained the perfect, idealized features of the men they had been. They wore the spectral echo of their armor, but their faces were peaceful.
A collective sob broke from the crowd—a sound of heartbreak crashing into joy.
A young woman, the wife of Legionnaire Jory, broke the line. She ran forward, falling to her knees before the spectral figure of her husband.
The spirit of Jory looked down. He did not speak—the dead do not have voices—but he smiled. He reached out a translucent, shadowed hand and placed it on her cheek.
She gasped. She did not feel the cold of the grave. She felt a humming, protective warmth—the energy of the Void Reservoir channeled through love. She leaned into his touch, weeping, her tears passing through his hand but her soul connecting with his.
Around them, other families rushed forward. Children reached up to hold the hands of their fathers one last time. It was a scene of impossible intimacy—the barrier between life and death thinned to a veil, held open by Corvin's power. They were saying goodbye, but they were also saying hello to their eternal guardians.
IV. The Witness of Innocence (Sola's POV)
Sola, the young refugee girl, stood at the very front, pressed against the leg of a Legionnaire. She held her breath.
She looked at Corvin. He stood apart, watching the reunions with a stoic, tragic expression.
In her mind, the world shifted. The Trazarch Union priests spoke of gods who demanded gold and offered silence. Corvin Nyx demanded obedience, but he offered eternity.
She watched the spectral soldiers. They weren't monsters; they were angels of the dark. She realized that to serve Corvin was to conquer the final fear of humanity: the fear of being forgotten.
Her awe deepened into something heavier, something permanent. She fell to her knees, not in fear, but in reverence. She pressed her forehead to the cold obsidian pavement. He keeps us, she whispered to the stone. Even in death, He keeps us.
V. The Envy of the Damned (Union POV)
At the edge of the plaza, under heavy guard, a group of surrendered Union Mercenaries watched. They were hardened killers who had sold their swords for copper. They expected to see the rebels burn their dead in a ditch.
Instead, they saw this.
A grizzled mercenary sergeant, a man who had fought in three wars, stared at the spectral figures embracing their families. He felt a hollow ache in his chest. If he died tomorrow, he would be looted for his boots and left for the crows. No one would carve his name. No magic would let him see his wife one last time.
"They... they don't die," the mercenary whispered to the man next to him.
He looked at Corvin Nyx. For the first time, he didn't see an enemy warlord. He saw a King worth dying for. The seeds of loyalty were planted not by the sword, but by the envy of a good death.
VI. The Shrine of the Hearth
The spirits began to fade, their forms merging back into the black stone of the tower, their watch beginning. The families stood back, their grief transformed into a solemn, sacred pride.
The Obsiaven Weavers and Obel's Masons moved through the crowd. They carried heavy, polished Obsidian Slabs, cut from the same rock as the tower. Each slab bore a single name.
Corvin addressed the families.
"Their souls hold the wall," Corvin said gently. "But their memory belongs to the home."
He pointed to the slab in a widow's hands.
"Take this. Embed it above your hearth, the heart of your home. As long as the fire burns, and as long as this tower stands, you will feel him. He will watch over your sleep."
The woman clutched the stone to her chest. She could feel it—a faint, rhythmic pulse, like a second heartbeat. It was him.
The crowd dispersed slowly, carrying their slabs like holy relics. They returned to their homes, to the Obsidian stone houses, and installed the shrines. That night, as the Obsidian Ordo clouds rolled overhead, twelve families sat by their fires, not in the emptiness of loss, but in the comforting presence of the Eternal Watch.
The Nyx Imperium was no longer just a territory. It was a communion of the living and the dead, bound by an unbreakable covenant of the Raven.