Chapter 9: Wind and Whispers

Roen Kast leaned against the dais, his breath ragged, the bent sword dangling from his hand like a broken promise. The platform stretched out around him, cracked and tilting—a mess of blood, dust, and busted stone—but it was theirs. The mech-unit lay in a heap below, a twisted pile of metal and sparks, its red glow snuffed out by their desperate stand. The Crack Void Hub loomed behind him, walls glowing blue, humming steady now—eleven hours and thirty-seven minutes until it turned into something real, something he could use. His side throbbed, blood crusted under his rags, but the rush of beating that thing still buzzed in his veins, sharp and alive.

Liya flopped beside him, her longsword clattering to the ground, her wild hair plastered with sweat and grime. She grinned, crooked and fierce, despite the gash on her thigh leaking red down her leg. "Seven for me, kid—mech counts double," she said, panting, smacking his arm hard enough to make him wince. "You're at six, right? Old lady wins again."

"Six my ass," Roen muttered, rubbing his shoulder. "I stabbed that thing's arm off—counts as much as your rock-chucking." He smirked, too tired to care who'd won their stupid tally. They'd taken down twelve enforcers and a walking tank—numbers didn't matter when you were still breathing. The platform was quiet, the mist curling thick around them, swallowing the carnage below like it'd never happened.

The system chimed, cutting through his haze:

System Notification: Crack Void Hub Evolution Progress: 11 hours, 36 minutes, 19 seconds. Stage 1: Basic Defensive Structure nearing stabilization. Defensive Pulse cooldown: 24 hours. Warning: Additional threats detected—700 meters, approaching at moderate pace.

"Seven hundred meters," Roen said, voice flat, staring into the fog. The Detection Aura buzzed in his head—no red dots yet, too far for the fifty-meter range, but that "moderate pace" gnawed at him. The Kast family wasn't done—couldn't be, not with their pride on the line—but this felt different. Slower, deliberate, like whoever was coming didn't need to rush. He didn't like it.

Liya sat up, wincing as she pressed her leg. "More already? Your folks don't quit, huh, kid?" She grabbed her sword, twirling it slow, her grin fading to a grimace. "What's the box say—more tin cans?"

"Doesn't know," Roen said, pushing off the dais. "Just 'threats'—could be anything. Soldiers, wolves, another damn mech for all I care." He glanced at the tower—walls were solid now, twenty feet high, cracks sealed tight, the blue glow steady but faint. That Energy Pulse had saved their asses, frying the mech's guts, but twenty-four hours 'til it fired again? Too long. They were back to swords and stones, and his was bent to hell.

She whistled, low and slow, shaking her head. "Gotta hand it to 'em—Kast family's got deep pockets. Mech-unit's no cheap trick." She squinted at the wreck below, then froze, swatting her arm. "Wait—something crawled! Kid, check it, quick!" Her voice jumped, sword dipping as she hopped, all that killer swagger gone in a blink.

Roen groaned, pinching his nose. "It's dust, Liya—wind's kicking it up. You're gonna die of a heart attack before a bug gets you." The breeze was stronger now, cutting through the mist, cold and sharp on his skin. She squinted at her arm, huffed, and slumped back, muttering about "sneaky breezes" like they were out to get her. He smirked—crazy as she was, she kept things lively.

The tower pulsed, a soft hum vibrating under his boots, and he turned to it, running a hand along the dais. Solid stone, warm to the touch, glowing faint blue through the cracks. "Eleven hours, thirty-six minutes," he said, half to himself. "Stage 1—Basic Defensive Structure. Whatever that means." He'd built plenty—high-rises, bridges, even a damn gazebo once—but nothing that grew itself. The architect in him itched to know how it worked—blueprints, specs, something he could wrap his head around. All he had was a timer and a vague promise.

"Means it's tougher than it looks," Liya said, limping over. "That zap thing—boom, right in the mech's face! Gotta love a tower that fights back." She thumped the dais, grinning, then winced, clutching her leg. "Ow—damn it, that stings."

"Yeah, well, it's one-and-done for a day," Roen said, eyeing her wound. "You're bleeding all over my castle—patch that up before you keel over." She waved him off, but he could see the strain—her leg was a mess, slashed deep, and her arm wasn't much better. He wasn't exactly pristine either—his side burned, ribs bruised, hands scraped raw from chucking rocks. They'd won, but it'd cost them.

The wind picked up, howling through the mist, carrying a faint sound—whispers, low and eerie, like voices on the edge of hearing. Roen froze, head tilting. "You hear that?" he said, voice low, scanning the fog. Liya stopped, her grin fading, sword coming up slow.

"Yeah," she said, quieter now. "Sounds like… people, but not close. Wind's playing tricks, maybe." She didn't sound sure, and neither was he. The mist swirled, thicker in spots, thinner in others, and those whispers grew—soft, overlapping, a murmur that prickled his skin. The system chimed:

System Notification: Detection Aura anomaly—unidentified signals at 680 meters. Hostile intent uncertain. Atmospheric disturbance detected.

"Signals?" Roen muttered, squinting harder. "What the hell's that mean?" No red dots, no clear threat—just a buzz in his head and those damn whispers. His architect gut kicked in—wind didn't talk, not unless something was screwing with it. The Kast family had mechs, sure, but this felt off—too weird, too quiet after all that noise.

Liya gripped her sword tighter, stepping closer. "Kid, I've fought a lot of shit—bandits, wolves, even a drunk guy with a pitchfork once—but whispering mist? That's new." She glanced at her boot, then shook her head. "Better not be bugs talking—old lady's out if it is."

Roen snorted, a dry laugh slipping out. "If bugs start whispering, I'm running too." He straightened, wiping blood off his face, the humor fading fast. "Six-eighty meters—closer, but not rushing. Could be scouts, could be something else." He didn't like "uncertain"—the system was too vague, like a blueprint missing half the lines. He needed more—Detection Aura was fifty meters, useless 'til they were on top of him.

The tower pulsed again, a soft ripple of blue washing over the platform, and the cracks under his feet sealed—slow, steady, like the thing was knitting itself back together. He stared, a flicker of something—pride, maybe—hitting his chest. "You're pulling through," he muttered, patting the dais. "Keep it up—we've got company coming."

"Talking to rocks now, kid?" Liya said, smirking, but her eyes stayed on the mist. "You're losing it—good thing I'm here to keep you sane." She twirled her sword, then winced, clutching her leg again. "Ow—damn it, this ain't stopping."

"Sit," Roen said, pointing at the dais. "You're no good bleeding out—tear some of my rags, tie it off." She grumbled, but plopped down, ripping a strip from his tattered cloak with a grunt. He tore another for himself, wrapping his side tight, hissing as it stung. "We've got a minute—maybe two—before whatever's out there hits us. Rest while you can."

"Bossy little shit," she said, tying her leg, but she stayed put, leaning back with a groan. "Fine—minute's all I need. Then I'm slicing whatever's whispering—bugs or not." She grinned, weaker now, and Roen shook his head, smirking despite the ache in his bones.

The wind howled louder, whispers rising—words he couldn't catch, a murmur that felt wrong, like it was seeping into his skull. He gripped his sword—bent, useless—and glanced at the tower. Eleven hours, thirty-six minutes. The Kast family wasn't done, and neither was he. He'd held this rock, beaten their mech, carved a win from nothing. Whatever came next—soldiers, whispers, or worse—he'd fight for it.

"Seven hundred meters," he muttered, staring into the mist. "Let's see what you've got."