Chapter Forty-One

  “Compassion is rare in games—not on the battlefield, but in the vast worlds that lie within. Yet, when it arises, pure and steady, it has the power to soften and transform even the most unyielding of watching eyes.” – Quantum Games Media Director.

  Zar’Keth Village

  Level Five

  Trish

  “Aunt Uma, this is Glitch. Glitch, meet my Great Aunt Uma,” Steel announced as he pushed through the door of the Weavers’ den, his words punctuated by the heavy aroma of sweat, body odor, and metallic residue that permeated the air. He hesitated briefly, adding with a smirk, “She’s also technically my great-great-great aunt, but before I get myself into more trouble, I’ll just stick to Aunt Uma.”

  The room was dimly lit, the faint hum of machinery mixing with the quiet shuffling of apprentices at work. Uma remained seated in her familiar rocking chair, motionless but imposing. Her apprentices bustled nearby, their movements fluid but deliberate, as though their tasks held the weight of generations. Despite the commotion Steel and Trish’s entrance had caused, Uma’s gaze was unyielding, fixed on the newcomers with an expression that betrayed no emotion—not amusement, not curiosity, not irritation.

  “Uma, Glitch is a friend of mine,” Steel continued as he turned to glance at Trish. She muttered faintly, the words barely audible but filled with disbelief. “Friend of yours?” she repeated, almost under her breath. Steel chuckled and replied with exaggerated confidence, “Yes. A friend of Brick’s is a friend of mine, and a friend of mine is, at the very least, a strong acquaintance to my dear Aunt Uma here.”

  Trish looked around the room, visibly out of place and uneasy, while Steel narrowed his eyes at Uma. “Uma... Somehow, Glitch here may have gotten the wrong impression of you when her crew first visited the den.”

  “What? No! We just—” Trish stammered, her cheeks flushing, before Steel cut her off with a knowing grin. “Yes, you most certainly did,” he interjected, his eyes still locked on Uma, whose stone-faced demeanor hadn’t budged an inch. The apprentices nearby paused their work, drawn to the peculiar exchange, curiosity evident in their expressions.

  “Steel, it’s okay. I promise,” Trish whispered, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

  Ignoring her attempt to smooth things over, Steel tilted his head slightly, addressing Uma with calculated precision. “Let me make this clear. Glitch here has a weaving talent.” He paused, the faintest glimmer crossing Uma’s face—a reaction so fleeting it might have been imagined. “But what she’s told me, in so many words, is that she hates it.”

  “Wait, Steel, it’s not that—” Trish began to protest, but Steel interrupted with a loud, decisive, “AND! She seems to have ideas about how to make weaving easier for all talented Weavers.” His smile widened, a gleam of both mischief and determination shining in his eyes.

  “Now, Uma, would you like to tell Glitch here what you really think about weaving?” Steel concluded, stepping back as if to let Uma take center stage.

  For the first time, Uma shifted in her chair, her eyes now fully fixed on Trish. Her voice was low and gravelly with age yet unwavering in its authority. “I absolutely hate it,” she declared.

  “You… What?” Trish stuttered, her eyes widening in disbelief as she tried to process the statement.

  Steel took a step toward the door, his grin unfaltering. “And with that, I’ll take my leave. Uma, I’ll see you at our weekly dinner?”

  “Of course, darling. Be sure to tell Lysa hello—and next time, make sure she introduces me to her new friends properly,” Uma replied, her tone sharp yet oddly affectionate.

  Steel nodded and exited the den, his mind still reeling from the walk that had led them here. Trish’s endless chatter about automated defense towers, detection units, and scrapyard innovations lingered in his thoughts—topics he hadn’t expected but now felt urgently needed to be discussed with the Chief.

  Inside the den, Trish and Uma were left alone. The apprentices resumed their tasks, the rhythmic clatter of their work filling the space once more. Breaking the silence, Trish asked hesitantly, “Kael told me you don’t have a family name. Is that true?”

  Uma’s piercing gaze shifted to her apprentices. “Would you two stop your working?” she commanded firmly. “We have one of our own here. No need to fixate on your tasks.” The apprentices stood upright, bowing slightly before turning their attention to Trish. “Glitch, meet your new friends, Ziad and Melra.”

  “Hello,” Trish said softly, receiving small waves in response.

  Uma leaned forward, her tone heavier now. “Yes, child, I no longer claim my family name. I am old and tired, and things like that no longer matter—especially when it comes to paths that lack meaning. But don’t mistake my disconnection for indifference. I still love my niece and nephew dearly.”

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  Her gaze deepened, locking onto Trish with an intensity that felt unshakable. “Now, tell me everything. I know damn well Steel wouldn’t pull what he just did without good reason. Family means something here, and that bond now ties us together. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  ***

  Frank

  Frank departed the village at the usual hour, the rhythm of routine anchoring his steps. Today, however, his group was smaller than before—a stark contrast to the bustling camaraderie of the prior runs. The absence of voices around him was almost palpable, though it wasn’t uncommon for some to spend the night under the stars near the mountain’s entrance. Frank gripped the largest of the carts, its well-worn handles now a familiar burden that had grown dear to him. What had once felt heavy and laborious now carried an almost comforting weight, a reminder of the bonds he had forged with the workers around him.

  He thought of Smitha first—her icy demeanor had softened over the days, broken by shared toil and steady friendship. The bonds in the group had formed through the shared endurance of their work, nurturing a sense of pride and purpose. Their runs to the mountain were often filled with laughter and chatter, the path blurring into a seamless journey. It felt, on some days, as though the mountain itself came to meet them; the effort of reaching it was forgotten in the joy of companionship.

  Today was different. The mine was different. The air itself seemed charged with an unease that gnawed at the edges of their collective spirit. The energy that usually propelled them forward felt distant—dimmed, perhaps—and the path toward the cavern felt longer, more winding as if the mountain itself was reluctant to let them in. The silence settled over the group like a heavy fog, conversations reduced to murmurs—an intangible wrongness pressed against their senses, growing sharper with each step.

  Finally, they reached the last turn in the winding trail. The group halted abruptly, their steps faltering as they looked ahead—a large gathering had formed, encircling one of the five nexus veins. Towering and awe-inspiring, the vein rose like a pillar of ancient vitality, its dark blue energy pulsing rhythmically, mimicking the steady beat of a living heart deep within the mountain’s core. The raw power emanating from it was palpable, radiating outward in invisible waves that seemed to tug at the senses. It bore the weight of ages, undiminished and eternal, commanding attention with its ageless presence that dwarfed the remaining four veins scattered across the cavern.

  It was old—older than their lifetimes combined—and its sheer magnitude drew every eye toward the luminescent base, where the glow clung to the rock like veins of molten light. As Frank’s gaze swept the circle, his focus landed on Smitha near the back, standing apart from the others. Her face, usually sharp and resolute, now appeared weighed down by the heavy tone of the gathering. She seemed almost diminished, her frame retreating inward, subdued by the ancient energy thrumming around them.

  Frank stepped closer to her, weaving through the silent workers until his eyes caught the smithing leader standing alone by the wall, a semi-circle of her apprentices gathering solemnly around her.

  “Smitha, what’s going on?” Frank asked, the worry in his tone clear.

  “It’s a damn shame, Forge. A damn shame,” Smitha muttered, her voice losing its usual feistiness as it fell into something softer, heavier.

  “What? She’s not—” Frank began, his voice faltering.

  “Straight from the top. Demands from the Northerners,” Smitha spat bitterly, her usual edge returning briefly but dimming again under her somber demeanor.

  “Wait, you mean she’s taking one? Giving it away?” Frank’s eyes widened as understanding began to dawn.

  The smithing leader stood firm, gripping her axe tightly as she advanced toward the wall. “Seems the Chief’s daughter is out for vengeance. Word is, she gave no other options during the last exchange,” Smitha replied, glancing back at Frank, who was no longer by her side.

  Without realizing it, Frank’s legs moved instinctively. He strode forward, his pulse racing as though the energy of the vein itself had taken hold of him. He came to a sudden stop, standing between the smithing leader and the nexus vein. The faint flicker of the vein’s energy illuminated the enclosure, its light dancing across the workers’ stunned faces.

  “Forge?” The leader’s voice softened, breaking through her usual commanding tone as she took in the man now standing before her, the vein’s pulsing energy casting him in a flickering glow.

  “You can’t do it. Not for them,” Frank said with a passion that burned in his words, his rage directed not at her but at the idea of surrendering something so vital to those who didn’t deserve it—thieves. The Northerners had no claim to this power, this lifeblood of the mountain.

  “I have to… We have to. Chief’s orders,” she replied, her voice steady but tinged with regret.

  “No…” Frank’s words faltered, searching for some thread of reason. “Grace will talk to Elric. No—Steel! Steel will fix it; he’ll listen to Steel!” Frank pleaded desperately, his emotions surging uncontrollably.

  The leader shook her head, her resolve unwavering. “Steel was there. All the leaders were there. There is no reasoning. The mountain demands and the mountain takes…”

  “All of them? Nobody rejected this path?” Frank’s voice was sharp with disbelief.

  “Truth be told,” the leader began, gesturing toward the nexus vein, “this spire, this tree, this core—it has been separating itself from its branches for days now, almost as if it knew its time had come. Look at it, Forge. It shows a path—a means to an end and the beginning of something new. Can you feel it?”

  Frank swallowed hard, his throat dry as he turned to face the great nexus pillar for the first time. His hands trembled as he reached out, the energy pulsing outward the moment his fingers touched the rock. It wasn’t something he could see, but something he could feel—a discrepancy, a gap between its form and its connection to the cavern. His mind struggled to comprehend the sensation when he heard the leader’s voice behind him.

  “I have to believe this is only the beginning,” she murmured, her words weaving through the energy-laden air. “When it returns to the earth, it will spread its power across the lands… It’s calling.”

  Frank turned to face her, his breath catching as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him. “My mother once told me the earth has a pulse—a pulse connected to the Will of life itself. Life for all beings. Wisdom beyond bearing and knowledge unshared. That voice has spoken, and it cannot be ignored. It must be done.”

  She placed her hand gently on his shoulder, nudging him back toward Smitha as her final words lingered in the space between them. “Vix,” she said. “A name earned is better than a name learned.”

  Somber silence followed as Frank rejoined the group, his thoughts spinning wildly. All eyes turned to Vix as she raised her axe. Her strikes landed against the wall with unmatched precision, each one purposeful, each one echoing through the cavern as the energy source began to fracture. The nexus vein pulsed one last time before fading, its vibrant light dimming across the branches that once carried its power. The Five Nexus Pillars were now Four, leaving the cavern shrouded in diminished light.