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 ever lived—quiet, structured, and filled with an unspoken reverence for knowledge and discipline.

Akashma walked beside him, saying little. Her dark red robes swayed as she moved, the same quiet intensity in her steps as when she had first approached him in New Asemeri. But now, as they neared the final threshold, she finally spoke.

"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 had brought him here for a reason.

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. "You have finally arrived."

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, the one foretold by the Balance." Her voice was firm, but reverent.

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

The chieftain smiled—though there was no warmth in it. "You carry yourself well, as expected," she mused. "But tell me, Tlandar… do you yet understand who you are?"

Tlandar frowned slightly. "I am here because I was summoned," he answered carefully. "Because Akashma believes I have a role to play. Because the hologram of Astashica called to me."

Salgar tilted her head. "And do you truly believe that is all there is to it?"

She rose from her throne, descending the steps toward him, the metal of her armor glinting under the violet glow of the chamber. "I have already seen what you will become," she continued, circling him like a predator studying its prey. "You will wield Val'katl's sword, though it has not yet come into your hands. You will stand at Boulderkeep Stockade, though you have not yet set foot upon its stones. You will enter the Valiant Contest, though your name is not yet spoken among warriors."

Tlandar's body tensed.

She spoke of things that had not yet happened.

"And you will meet Chieftain Val'katl," she added, her golden eyes burning into his. "Not as you are now, but as you must become."

Tlandar did not answer. He did not know how.

Salgar turned away, walking back toward her throne. "It is strange, is it not?" she mused. "To hear of a path you have not yet walked? To hear of victories and burdens that have yet to touch your soul?" She glanced toward Akashma, whose expression remained impassive. "But then again… I suspect you have known more than you've let on, haven't you?"

For the first time, Tlandar saw something flicker in Akashma's eyes.

Salgar smiled. "Good. Keep it that way."

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.