Spring came late to Varnhollow.
Snow still clung to the edges of roofs and the deep corners of alleys, reluctant to melt. But within the steel-ribbed forges and wide testing grounds of the Ash Company's compound, the world was burning with movement. Iron groaned, engines roared, and the scent of oil, magic dust, and polish filled the air like incense to a mechanical god.
Fornos stood at the observation deck of the central hangar, flanked by Konos and Peter. Below, his army was lined up row by row — an industrial forest of war machines, exhaling mist and magic.
"They're ready," Konos said simply, his arms crossed and voice deep with pride.
Fornos didn't smile, but his eyes gleamed. "All of them?"
"Each one re-tuned, re-fitted, and re-armed. If they fail, it's not because we didn't prepare," Konos replied.
Fornos descended the stairs, boots ringing against the steel. His coat flared behind him like a banner.
The first row stood like statues — sixty heavy-armored tanks, hands already shifting from cleaver blades to pile-drivers and then to incendiary bores in synchronized clanks.
"Beautiful bastards," Fornos muttered. "Perfect for Bio-Psy siege scenarios."
"More than perfect," Konos nodded. "Test runs had them punching through a reinforced golem hide in under eight seconds."
Peter chimed in, arms akimbo. "We fitted them with modular shoulder rails, too. Swap attachments mid-combat."
Fornos circled one unit, placing a gloved hand against its cold surface. "Do they roar?"
Peter grinned. "They sing."
Next were the artillery units. Forty walking platforms, legs bent like cranes, torsos shaped like mobile ballistae. Some bore quartz rounds. Others were already loaded with shrapnel packs.
"All salvo," Peter said, gesturing toward them. "Perfect and ready to go."
Roa added from nearby, brushing her greased fingers on a rag, "We tested them in pairs. A twin burst can crater a small fortress."
Fornos whistled low. "And here I was worried we'd lack subtlety."
"Subtlety?" Roa snorted. "That's not why you bought artillery."
Ten skeletal golems stood behind them — tall, elegant frames with multiple cargo slots and long, almost human-like arms. Their eyes glowed with soft green lights.
"Martin and the Architects will have to work closely with these," Fornos said.
Martin scowled, arms folded. "The exact reason I'm worried."
"They're not autonomous, Martin," Fornos reminded.
"No, but they have autonomy tendencies," Martin replied. "Too much adaptive code in the Codex."
Wraith leaned lazily against one of the support beams, sharpening a blade. "Don't worry. We won't slit your throat."
"Until he tells us," she added, glancing at Fornos.
Fornos raised a brow. "See? Team spirit."
At the back, a line of ten smaller golems — multi-armed, broad-headed — were gleaming like ornaments. Their joints were polished, eyes softly humming.
"Why do these look extra polished?" Fornos asked.
"Peter and the young ones have been at it since they got completed," Roa replied.
"Rilo and Klesh too?"
"No, not the children. The younger engineers," Peter clarified with a chuckle. "The children… well, they've been busy elsewhere."
Fornos squinted. "Doing what?"
Peter just shook his head, still grinning. "Something creative."
Then came the elite units. Thornjaw II stood like a steel predator — crouched, armored black with sharp grey accents, claws outstretched.
"Mark led the paint job personally," Peter noted.
"You know this isn't even ours?" Fornos said, walking toward it. "One of the first I salvaged from those bandits. Even before I callered you."
"I think 'enslaved' would be a better word," Roa deadpanned.
"If slaves saw how you live, they'd rebel just to switch masters," Konos added.
Peter raised a hand. "Do we have it that good?"
Wraith smiled faintly. "You don't know."
"Buster," Fornos said, walking past the rebuilt Craterhoof.
The golem loomed — four mana cannons, salvo pods, stabilizers, and a massive central cannon embedded in its chest.
"Do both of these brothers like overhauls or something?" Fornos asked.
"They sure do," Konos replied. "But unlike you, they look happy."
"I'm wearing a mask. How can you tell?"
"You're a customer," Konos shrugged.
Fornos paused, then pointed at the Twin Aegis units.
"What… aesthetic is that?" he asked.
The towering hulks had sleek, ornate armors, and their weaponry shimmered like ceremonial blades. They looked more like wedding knights than war machines.
"Sending Mary and Ross to the civilian district caused this disaster," Roa said flatly.
"They begged the crew," Peter laughed.
"We don't regret it," Mary said from behind.
"Not one bit," Ross chimed.
Fornos muttered, "I should've kept you two in the cold forge."
Then came Kindling II — once a bare-boned bruiser, now encased in layers of reactive armor and outfitted with long-range weaponry.
"You added everything I listed," Fornos said.
"Yes," Konos replied.
"All five specs?"
"Kid, I may have started late, but I don't fall behind."
"Yeah, just like how you acted meek when we first met."
"Some of us don't come out barking, pup."
And lastly — Koter. A strange, flower-covered monstrosity of wires, mounts, and experimental sockets.
"So, anyone willing to tell me why I was assigned to this thing?" Roa asked, clearly unimpressed.
"You looked bummed about being removed as second-in-command," Fornos answered.
"If you want to congratulate me, you can release the damned collar."
"I like my throat intact," Fornos replied. "Also, why is this thing covered in flowers and doodles?"
"Rilo and Klesh led the children on a 'decoration mission'," Roa sighed.
"Adorable," Fornos said dryly. "Tragic."
The hangar buzzed as engineers ran diagnostics, and scouts marked maps.
Fornos stood tall before them all, wind brushing his coat as he spoke.
"We march tomorrow through the mapped routes. Keep cohesion. Discipline is our edge."
Everyone stilled. He looked over the assembled machines — golems crafted from sweat, magic, and madness — and then to the people beside them.
"Operation Stone-Bleeder is in session."
Behind him, Konos leaned to Peter. "Think he's nervous?"
Peter shook his head. "No. Just calculating."
Wraith smirked. "He always is. That's what makes him dangerous."
Fornos said nothing, but deep in his chest, he felt the weight of it all — the power, the path ahead, and the blood that would surely follow.
Spring had come.
And with it, war.