Chapter 85: The Broken Seers Arrive

The Shadow of the Star-Fortress

Orbiting the Zelith capital like a second moon, the colossal Broken Seers' fortress its architecture a monolithic array of black spires loomed, dwarfing the world below. It matched the size of the planet's natural satellite, casting a long shadow over the spired skyline. The air of impending judgment was tangible, even through the planet's orbital defenses.

On the ground, streets teemed with uniformed Thalor conscripts farmers, scholars, artisans pressed into service by decree of the High Council and Elder Xiran. Their uniforms were crisp, starchy, uneasily clean, contrasted against battle-ready weapons they'd never seen before.

A Sole Emissary Among Thousands

High in orbit, a small, polished transport vessel broke away from the leviathan fortress. It descended toward the capital's grand docking bay, its white hull shimmering with angular glyphs.

On the runway below, Zelith engineers hurried to align refueling conduits and run diagnostics. Elite Thalor guards in ceremonial armor stood at attention. Councilors flanked Elder Xiran draped in somber robes poised for the arrival.

With a hiss, the bay ramp unfolded. First out: Dakarie, face stern under dim lighting. Behind him: a humanoid creature wearing nondescript robes tall, gaunt, and entirely faceless, its smooth head devoid of features except for a single serial code etched on its collar.

It spoke with a voice like polished stone:

"I am Faceless warrior-Facet 51‑977, emissary of I:1‑Aurum, representing the Grand Blind One's will."

Councilors recoiled. This was no seer-elder but a representative of a lesser caste. Bristling outrage filled the air.

But Facet spoke again, louder:

"Let it be known: if the Thalor refuse assistance, withdraw now. Do not waste the Grand Blind One's attention."

No one responded. Even the most senior generals were forced to fall silent. The emissary was escorted into the palace court, leaving behind a suffocating tension.

The Council of Scales

Inside the council hall deep within marble colonnades the emissary waited at an elevated dais. The High Council debated furiously: the sin of slight, the deliverance offered, the peril they now faced.

Finally, Elder Xiran stood and called for calm. Then, turning to his son, he spoke:

"Why such minimal respect? Why send this… this faceless warrior?"

Dakarie, steadied, replied:

"The Seers view themselves as transcendent. They see us as lesser more akin to insects than equals. But this envoy echoes the Council's own status. A compromise, not an insult."

A murmur rippled through the High Council. Some felt betrayed; others, pragmatically hopeful.

Decisions in the Seers' Fortress

Meanwhile, in the orbiting fortress, the Grand Blind One watched proceedings from a circular chamber, perched above a sea of luminescent consoles. Besides him stood the four Seer Elders.

The emissary's arrival report played:

"…the Thalor show pride, but accept the offer for now."

The Seer Elders nodded solemnly. The Grand Blind One's single voice intoned:

"Aid them but ensure their dominion remains. They are tools, not equals. Their blood must not soil ours unless no other way remains."

Elders bowed in unison:

"Your will is our law."

A Pact Formed Under Duress

Back in the capital's council hall, Elder Xiran ended the session with resolve:

"The Broken Seers shall assist but only as allies, never masters. Our sovereignty remains untouchable."

Facet 51‑977 observed silently, then nodded. With gravity, he turned and left his movement signaling a temporary accord.

Outside, the shadow of the fortress remained. But now it carried the destiny of two races one desperate, one calculating as the first threads of an uneasy alliance were woven.

A Calm Before the Storm

Night fell across the capital world. Under twin moons, conscripted lines of soldiers and the shaking mass of Seers' emissaries prepared for war on the horizon. The air pulsed with tension: the Zelith braced to defend their home; the Broken Seers positioned for influence; and the looming threat of the Mahasimu invasion hung like a specter in every council debate.

The fate of the Zelith hung between the earth and sky held in fragile balance by the words of a faceless envoy, the edicts of a stoic dynasty, and the looming tide of war.