Dawn broke like a blade.
The sun struggled against the lingering haze of winter fog, casting pale, fractured beams over the frostbitten stone valleys of the mainland interior. What should've been a morning of quiet frost and silence was instead churned by the rumble of iron joints, the scent of scorched oil, and the subtle vibrations of hundreds of legs crawling across uneven terrain.
Ash Company had moved out.
Fornos stood atop a small ridge, wind tugging at his coat. Below, the spider convoys slithered through the lower ravine, articulated limbs carrying crates, fuel pods, and entire mobile foundries. The spider golems—black-plated utility units under Martin's direct command—climbed the jagged slopes like ants on cracked porcelain. Behind them came the Architects—sleek, modular units with extendable scaffolding limbs, each one operated under Wraith's direction.
"Why did we bring everyone here, you ask?" Fornos turned to Roa, who stood beside him with arms folded. "It's because our forces are already stretched thin. We can't afford to assign a rear detail to guard the children."
"They're good with small parts too," Konos added, stepping up from behind, his breath misting in the cold air. "Besides, why is it that only you come to Fornos when it concerns them?"
"Out of the 250 people we brought," Roa said with a shrug, "subtract the 20 children, and the rest are too damn busy. I only have time because Koter spends most of its time with the engineers now rather than me."
Fornos cast her a quick glance. "You sound like you're mourning a partner."
"I'm mourning my free time," she said dryly. "You really need to dial down the pace, Fornos. At this rate, we'll be conquering cities by midsummer."
"That would be convenient," Fornos replied, stepping toward the outcropping overlooking the valley. "And how's Phase One going?"
"Very damn well," Roa answered. "Wraith, Mark, and Martin are working at full force."
Below them, the first forward depot was already half-built into the side of a ravine cave. The spider golems unloaded crates of reactive ore, Codex modules, rations, and spare joints. Meanwhile, Wraith's Architect units deployed folding ramps and auto-turrets with eerie coordination. They weren't built for combat—but as mobile logistics bases, they were unmatched.
A few kilometers beyond that, barely visible through the mist, the Ash Guard had begun their march—sixty armored tanks cloaked in camouflage plating, flanked by smaller scout drones and two heavy siege walkers. Thornjaw II, Mark's personal golem, led the formation. With every footstep, it dug micro-anchors into the terrain, ensuring zero vibration trail. They were headed toward Position Alpha, twelve kilometers ahead of a dormant Relict mass—an ancient, inactive leviathan half-buried beneath layers of stone.
Mark's voice crackled through the golem-link relay. "Six clicks in, pace steady. We'll hit Alpha by midday. No visual on Relict stirrings."
"Understood," Fornos replied through his controller's interface. "Maintain coil-locks and report any seismic distortions."
From the corner of his eye, he saw Konos tense slightly.
"You don't trust the readings?" Fornos asked.
Konos shrugged. "Relicts don't always move before they kill. Sometimes they wake mid-battle. Especially the dormant ones."
"We don't have the luxury of safer choices," Fornos said. "This is the only route where our rear can't be flanked by noble scouts. The ravines here were carved out by a Relict hundreds of years ago. That gives us shielding, terrain control, and choke points."
"And a very, very pissed-off potential monster," Roa added.
"Noted," Fornos muttered, checking his Codex for live feeds. He could see teams running wire-thread through the walls of the caves, ready to hook up communication relays and sigil amplifiers. One feed flickered to show Peter testing a prototype mana-harvester, while another showed Mary and Ross training civilian crafters on stabilizer routines.
Even the children were present—small figures moving in lines, carrying power modules and replacing depleted enchantments. They worked in assigned shifts, supervised but not coddled. Fornos recognized Rilo and Klesh among them, both already filthy with soot but entirely focused.
"This isn't a war camp," Konos said softly, watching the activity below. "It's a city in motion."
"No," Fornos corrected. "It's a machine. And every gear turns for the same goal."
A silence passed between them. The wind shifted, carrying the scent of metal and the faint ozone of fresh enchantments.
Fornos finally turned away. "We'll establish three forward depots by dusk. I want Koter and Buster stationed at each for firepower. Leave Kindling II on the ridge above, connected to the observation tower. If the Relict wakes, we'll need coordinated fire from above and below."
"What about the children?" Roa asked.
"They stay here, with Roa and two Engineers," Fornos answered. "They're not soldiers, but they're valuable. If we lose them, we lose more than just hands."
Konos grunted. "We've made them part of this. Whether we wanted to or not."
"They chose this," Roa said quietly. "All of them. Even the kids know what's coming."
By midday, the Ash Guard reached Position Alpha, forming a loose half-circle of defensive posture. They dug into stone, embedded ground anchors, and unlatched their artillery pods. The siege walkers uncoiled their legs and rooted themselves deep, becoming stationary turrets. Thornjaw II remained on patrol, prowling the perimeter.
Martin's spider convoy had completed two out of the three forward depots. Engineers installed camouflage nets woven with shimmer-thread. By nightfall, they'd be impossible to spot from the air or even nearby.
At dusk, Fornos climbed back onto the observation platform built from scaffolding and armor plates. The air had grown colder again, and the horizon still carried the stubborn grey of winter's end.
"We're in position," Konos reported, stepping beside him. "No noble scouts, no movement from the Relict."
"For now," Fornos murmured.
He looked at the quiet expanse ahead, and then at the rows of golems, the scattered engineers, and the makeshift camps.
This was not a battle line.
It was a scalpel pressed against the hide of the world.
And the cut was about to begin.
Let me know if you'd like to proceed to Chapter 83 or develop any specific scene—combat, dialogue, or internal monologue—further.