The Summons of the Warrior Queen

The towering gates of the Grand Hall of the Warrior Queens loomed before Tlandar and Akashma, carved from a single, seamless slab of obsidian-like stone, etched with golden constellations. The air itself pulsed with an unseen force, as though the very walls of the Sanctum of Orchids breathed with ancient wisdom.

Tlandar's steps were measured, though his mind swirled with uncertainty. The sanctum was unlike any place he had known—its towering archways stretched beyond sight, columns draped in woven banners of deep crimson and silver, each marked with the sigils of Salgar's ruling lineage. The scent of burning resin and floral incense mingled in the air, a stark contrast to the battlefield where his life had once been forged.

Akashma strode confidently, her dark red robes swaying with each step. She had said little since they entered the sanctum, her focus unwavering, her movements precise. But now, as they stood before the final threshold, she turned to face him.

"You must not speak unless spoken to," she murmured. "Chieftain Salgar is a woman of patience, but only just. She will test you—not only with words but with presence. Show weakness, and she will see no use for you."

Tlandar inclined his head slightly. He had already decided that he would not be cowed, but he would also not be reckless. Akashma seemed to trust this leader, and trust was in short supply these days.

At last, the golden gates parted.

A vast chamber awaited beyond, lined with statues of Salgaran warrior-queens, their stone faces locked in eternal defiance. The room was lit by glowing orbs of violet-blue, floating near the ceiling like celestial sentinels. At its heart, seated upon a throne of dark metal entwined with silver vines, was Chieftain Salgar.

She was breathtaking in her radiance and presence—an image of both royal splendor and battle-hardened might. Her long, light-blonde hair was gathered into an intricate high hairstyle, woven with delicate golden chains that shimmered under the chamber's ethereal glow. Upon her brow rested a golden tiara, its filigree delicate yet regal, bearing the sigil of the Warrior Queens of Salgar.

But what struck Tlandar most was her armor—polished plate of silver and violet, layered over a flowing princess gown of deep crimson and black, lined with embroidered sigils of Salgar's noble house. Unlike mere ceremonial garb, this was battle-ready—every plate, every clasp was designed for both beauty and war. Even seated upon her throne, she exuded intelligence and tactical mastery, the keen mind of a ruler who had long studied the art of strategy.

Her golden eyes locked onto Tlandar, measuring him in an instant.

"So," she said, her voice smooth yet edged like a honed blade. "This is the one?"

Akashma stepped forward and performed the Salgaran salute—her right fist pressed over her heart, head slightly bowed. "Yes, Chieftain. This is Tlandar, son of Verdantis Nexus, victor of Boulderkeep's Valiant Contest, heir to Val'katl's sword." Her voice was firm, but reverent.

Tlandar remained silent, meeting Salgar's gaze without hesitation.

The chieftain's lips curled in an unreadable smile. "You speak his titles well, Akashma. Yet, I see before me not a leader, but a wanderer who has yet to decide if he belongs to war." She leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, Tlandar—why are you here?"

Tlandar had anticipated this question. He had wrestled with it since he left New Asemeri. He took a breath before answering.

"I do not seek war," he admitted. "But war does not wait for those unwilling to fight." His gaze remained steady. "You already know why I am here. Akashma believes I have a role to play. The hologram of Astashica called to me. But I have yet to decide if this fight is truly mine."

Salgar watched him, her expression unreadable.

Then, she exhaled softly, stepping down from her throne, her movements slow, deliberate.

"What you do not yet understand, Tlandar," she said, "is that you are not here by chance." She circled him, her golden eyes piercing into him as though measuring every fiber of his being. "You were not chosen by Akashma. You were not even chosen by the hologram of Astashica. You were summoned by forces that have shaped this world since long before your birth."

Tlandar frowned slightly but said nothing.

"The Ancient Archons have spoken," Salgar continued. "And the Siluran Kingdom has confirmed it. They have given me but one command—to bring you here." She turned to face him fully, her voice carrying a weight unlike before. "You will train. You will learn. And when the time comes, you will fulfill a mission far greater than any you can yet understand."

Tlandar's jaw tightened. The Ancient Archons—beings of legend, those who had once cast Cosmus from New Asemeri. And the Siluran Kingdom, whose warriors fought with weapons beyond the understanding of most Asemeri. If they had truly commanded his arrival, then his path had already been set long before he had even lifted Val'katl's sword.

"Why me?" he asked at last.

Salgar smiled slightly, but there was no amusement in her expression. "That, you will come to learn in time. But for now, there is only one question that matters."

She gestured toward the towering doors on the far side of the chamber.

"You will stay here, in the Sanctum of Orchids, for the years to come. You will train. You will study. You will master what is necessary to support your mission."

Tlandar stiffened. "Years?"

Salgar nodded. "Five. That is the least amount of time you will need to be ready."

Tlandar felt the weight of the statement settle over him. Five years? What could possibly require such a span of training?

"What am I training for?" he asked.

Salgar's golden eyes met his. "To support your mission," she answered simply.

She gave no further details, no deeper explanation. But the way she spoke it—calm, measured, with an unshakable certainty—left no room for doubt.

She continued. "You will be given the finest training the Sanctum of Orchids can offer. You will master the piloting of Xothek Formicrons and all known spacecraft. You will study the arts of diplomacy, warfare, strategy, science, and even the ancient disciplines of the Silurans. You will learn more than just how to fight."

She turned away, walking back to her throne. "A room has been prepared for you."

Tlandar glanced at Akashma, but she did not meet his gaze.

It was already decided.

The doors of the chamber opened once more, and Salgaran attendants entered, waiting to escort him to his new quarters.

Tlandar exhaled. Five years.

And still, he did not know the true reason why.

But the path was before him. And he would walk it.