The morning began too quietly.
There was no storm. No threat. No blaring alarms.
But the birds didn't sing.
Elysiar's forests—normally alive with fluttering wings and soft humming—had fallen eerily silent. The sky above the Vault retained its perfect azure clarity, yet there was a weight in the air, like the pause between heartbeats before a scream.
Adam stood on a balcony near the western overlook, watching the city breathe beneath him. The wind had changed—cooler, sharper, as though it carried warning instead of comfort.
Behind him, the system whispered softly.
"Environmental harmonics diverging from stable baseline. Pulse synchronization disrupted. Causal anomaly detected."
"Run it again," he said, his voice low.
"Multiple recalibrations confirm: the anomaly is not environmental. It is existential."
Mara approached moments later, having already sensed the same disturbance. Her eyes weren't fearful—but they were focused, narrowed as though the Force itself were whispering something it couldn't quite say aloud.
"It's begun," she said.
Adam nodded. "The planet knows."
Across Elysiar, subtle changes unfolded:
Vines recoiled from sunbeams.
Crystal growths around the Vault darkened faintly at their core.
The automated weather systems faltered for less than a second—not from technical failure, but resistance from the planet's own lifeblood.
Mages and engineers alike reported minor failures in the adaptive systems. Not destruction. Not sabotage.
Interference.
Something beyond the atmosphere was touching Elysiar's spirit. It wasn't attack. Not yet.
But it was presence.
And the planet had noticed.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Object sighted."
The words struck like lightning through the command chamber.
Serin, coordinating from the orbital defense node, brought up the feed. On the outer edge of the system—just beyond the moon known as Ilthis Prime—a flicker had been detected. Not a ship in the traditional sense. No transponder. No heat signature.
But something moved.
Cloaked in interference, its wake disrupted gravimetric fields and sliced through the Force like a blade through silk.
"Visual confirmation... refining," came the voice of the sensor officer. "Silhouette detected. Humanoid. No external propulsion. Velocity… rising."
"Velocity shouldn't be rising," Tywin muttered. "Not at that range. Not without tech. Not without—"
"—the Force," Mara finished.
Within minutes, every contingency plan was active.
The Vault sealed its inner chambers and erected an additional shielding layer keyed specifically to Force signatures. Spartan fireteams deployed to the city's perimeter, each escorted by aerial recon drones and automated guardian units.
Artorias, already in motion, stood atop the inner Spire—his presence casting a sense of gravity across the city.
At the council table, the air was thick with tension. Adam issued orders calmly, but behind his eyes something else flickered.
"We don't know what form contact will take," he said. "But we must be ready for both word... and war."
"I don't think he knows the difference anymore," Mara said, eyes fixed on the display. "He might be the war."
One by one, Force sensitives across the city gathered in silent places. Revas meditated by the southern archway. Sylva knelt near the Whispering Pool. Even Tolin Marek stood alone beneath the Nightglass Tree, his blade across his knees.
They didn't speak.
But they all felt it.
The curtain was rising.
And whatever stood behind it… had come to judge them all.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Night fell like a blade.
The stars were still. The wind had gone quiet again. And in the depths of Elysiar's skies, something massive passed silently behind a bank of clouds—just out of view, just enough to be felt.
Adam stood atop the high Spire, the city sprawling in light beneath him, and still he could not find comfort in the sight.
Mara joined him, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're shaking."
He hadn't realized it.
The Force pressed against his mind like cold water flooding a sealed room. He tried to breathe, tried to ground himself—but it wasn't enough. The pulse that rolled through the atmosphere didn't strike with noise or light. It struck with knowing.
And then—he saw.
A vision, raw and unfiltered, crashed through him like fire:
A battlefield shrouded in ash. Hundreds of corpses fallen to the ground. A towering figure standing amidst ruin. Masked. Armored. Half-cloaked. Red lightning arcing from clawed gauntlets.
And eyes—one red, one gone.
He could feel the fury. The strength. The unrelenting will. Not driven by ego or conquest, but by a brutal, apocalyptic purpose.
He fell to one knee, gasping. The vision retreated, leaving ice behind.
Mara caught him, her grip tight.
"What did you see?"
Adam looked up, eyes wide.
Voice hoarse.
"It's him," he said.
"…Who?"
His voice broke as he spoke the name.
"Darth Malgus."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Even the air recoiled.
Adam's next words came quietly.
"We're not ready. We're not nearly ready…"