Chapter 66: The Silent Ones Return

A silence gripped the battlefield as the figure stepped fully into the crimson-hued light. The burning skies above Venter seemed to dim around him, as if even the twin suns hesitated to illuminate the being now emerging from the Great Crypt.

The creature—more artifice than flesh, more will than life—stood tall before the gathered forces. The Thal'karn handlers and Shadowscourge legionnaires watched in frozen awe.

The Silent One inhaled deeply, as if tasting the war-choked air of a world long forgotten. Then, with a voice that reverberated in the bones of all present, he spoke:

"I am the Third Archone… Laerhkyth."

His words were not merely heard—they were imposed upon the minds of those who listened, etching themselves into memory like fire into wax.

As his pitch-black gaze swept the line of battered prisoners, it paused—lingering—on a beautiful Thalor woman among them. Her long silver braids were half-caked in ash and blood, her luminous violet eyes wide with terror, one arm barely hanging from a shattered shoulder. Her defiance still smoldered, though the light of her resistance waned.

Laerhkyth tilted his head, admiring the symmetry of her suffering. Then he spoke a command—not in modern Mahasimu tongue, not in any dialect known to the Zelith, but in an ancient, chime-like language laced with predatory cadence.

From the mouth of the crypt, they emerged.

Two creatures—slender and humanoid, with six arms and two legs—slithered forward on digitigrade feet, their torsos twisting unnaturally as they pulled behind them a pair of leashes made of woven black energy.

At the end of those leashes stepped forth another of the Silent Ones—a woman.

Description:

She was a Sybarite, her beauty razor-sharp and unkind. Her armor clung like liquid darkness, a tight black-and-white bodysuit of barbed edges and slick sheen. Hardened plates along her chest and thighs gave the illusion of fragility while hiding wicked defense systems. Her skin was a ghostly alabaster, stretched over high cheekbones and lips painted a bruised violet. The angular helmet she wore partially obscured her eyes—eyes that gleamed with cruel amusement.

Name: Szel'Vorith, the Pale Leech.

She dragged the twin horrors forward with languid ease, then blinked at Laerhkyth through her helm.

"My lord," she murmured, voice heavy with sarcasm, "why so noisy? After a long rest, I'm still sleepy."

Laerhkyth ignored her flippant remark, already striding forward toward the wounded Thalor woman.

"That one," he growled. "She belongs to me."

The Thalor cried out, stumbling backward in protest. But before her voice could rise into a full scream, Szel'Vorith was suddenly there.

In a blink.

She appeared before the Thalor woman and gently raised one sharpened fingernail to the girl's throat.

A flick.

The sound was like wind slicing silk.

The Thalor gasped and fell silent instantly—eyes wide with horror. No blood flowed. No wound visible. But a thin black collar shimmered into being around her neck—a leash had manifested from thin air, coiled in Szel'Vorith's delicate hand.

"Hush," Szel whispered with a sadistic grin. "You're prettier when you don't cry."

Laerhkyth watched with satisfaction, then turned to Vice General Tano, who still stood with hand clenched around his weapon.

The Archone's voice darkened, like thunder muttering across black oceans.

"You. I remember your kind… Mahasimu. We thought we silenced your wretched bloodlines… after that war beneath the Dust Moons. I see your race still hasn't learned its place."

Tano gritted his teeth but said nothing.

Laerhkyth seemed to lose interest in him almost immediately, turning back to his Sybarite companion.

"Enough. This world bores me. It reeks of desperation and recycled blood. We return… to the capital."

Szel'Vorith sighed, tugged once on the leashes, and lifted her pale arm.

With a single motion—elegant, casual—she extended her index finger and drew a slow, deliberate line in the air.

Reality split.

A portal erupted in crackling silence, revealing a world beyond comprehension.

The Capital of the Silent Ones.

Towering monoliths of blackened metal spiraled into the void, each one dagger-like and impossibly tall. Bridges of bone and glass twisted between towers. At the center, an impossibly vast obsidian castle loomed—its spires like the teeth of a predator god.

The air in front of the portal shimmered with unfiltered malice. Even the Shadowscourge nearby recoiled instinctively, their monstrous minds recognizing a dominion far beyond their own.

Laerhkyth paused at the portal's edge. He turned, and as if knowing where the camera drone was, he gazed directly into it. His gaze penetrated the screens aboard the Mahasimu fleet, aboard the Giza Mtuji, and aboard Vaelora's command chamber.

A slow, amused grin spread across his flawless face.

"Don't worry. We'll meet again," he whispered, voice like velvet war drums. "I've been… in need of pleasure… and war."

Then, with his new prize dragged behind and his Sybarite stepping beside him, Laerhkyth entered the portal.

It closed with a snap.

And he was gone.