CHAPTER SIXTY

Standing before his stairway to freedom, a moment of contemplation halted Talas. He gazed upon the gates that flanked the ruined entrance of his chamber. These cages concealed his most egregious accomplices, those that survived the onslaught and were condemned to imprisonment alongside their King.

The leftmost portal was a verdant labyrinth of winding vines, adorned with prickling leaves and scarlet petals. In conflict with the infernal depths, nature had found a way, burrowing through the obsidian walls and enveloping the gate entirely.

Talas ran his fingers through the wellspring of vitality, a smile crossing his lips. Volka's retelling of their King's infamous onslaught had painted the founding Lords as incredible beings, possessing powers not dissimilar to Talas' own. Although eager for the prisoners to be revealed, the Lords knew that only treachery and death lay inside this buried refuge.

Khan joined at his king's side.

"Do we require her assistance, my King?" Khan asked with a slight tremble to his voice.

"We will let her rest for now. A century is insufficient to simmer an anger so fierce." Talas chuckled, struggling to believe a hundred years had passed since his betrayal, the single flaw in an otherwise inexorable plan.

"And what of it, my King?"

The Lords followed Khans questioning gaze to the rightmost portal. Unique amongst the three cells, the third gate was installed with a porthole. A minute circle of glass through which one could observe the reservoir of boiling liquid inside.

"Ahh, it," replied Talas, hesitant to step too close to the pane and risk glancing at what was imprisoned within.

"There will come a time when every King must draw his sword. Though, with our enemies vanquished, what need have I with such a weapon? For now my brethren, we must depart this place. Pray that you never return."

With a final glance at what he imagined would be his tomb, Talas and Lords began the arduous climb to freedom.

An unease had spread through his ranks. Mere mention of Talas' blade was enough to set the Lords on edge, hurrying their climb to distance themselves from what dwelt in that boiling pool. Volka had been scare with the details, but the name he had shared left an impression on them that over the years had festered in their minds, haunting their dreams.

Acephalous, the sun eater.

Untamed nature continued its assault against the plant's scarred crust. As the pirates resurfaced, Talas savored the electric sting of the air, tantalizing to his unspoiled senses. A loud crack sounded as the rising platform’s bolts locked into place, sealing away the terrible secrets that dwelt in the depths. Khan and the other Lords stilled their anxious tounges. Decades of questions were chained behind their lips and the man with the answers was now within their grasp. The opportunity for revelation would arrive in due course.

They traversed the desert-soaked pathway toward the waiting ships. Engines igniting as the Lords came into view. The crew members that awaiting their return were lost at the sight of Talas. Drowning in awe, their bodies deflated into speechless puddles. As the crimson-clad king strode into the transport, all fell to their knees before him, mutilations of allegiance on full display.

Ranna was thrown into a cargo hold barely big enough for a child, stowed away to contemplate the inevitable torment he would soon be forced to endure. Through the walls of his hold, he could hear the muffled cheers of celebrating pirates. His mind was, however, was fixated on other matters. Terrible images of the bound boy were seared into his mind's eye, their unshakable hold allowing no other thoughts to seep in. The fact that Soran remained alive was the only silver lining to the abhorrent fairytale. Laying his head against the wall, he could do nothing but dwell in the senselessness of it all. He was just a boy, and the fate the pirates had subjected him to was unforgivable.

Ranna had walked the ledge of self-pity and destruction for so long, he knew the fall was long overdue. After escaping the clutches of the Insidia's dungeon, he had wandered the galaxy, taking mission after mission no matter how bleak the outlook of success. He was looking for something, anything to give his life meaning. Seeing the boy free of that abomination had become that meaning. After years of fruitless searching, he finally had something worth a damn; a friend that needed help. So for now, in the face of the misery fuelled parade his life would become, he would endure the cruelties for the sake of another. That is what 'he' would have done.

After a tumultuous ascent through the Golgotha's bruised atmosphere, they had arrived at their destination. The Lords departed their transports, emerging into the Galneus' grand docking bay. They were accompanied by an entourage of more senior pirates from each crew. Around fifty men and women were permitted to marvel at the sheer brilliance of their King's vessel. Neraka and Kaligan were staggered by the miraculous renewal that had occurred. The decaying hull and corrupted machinery had been pulled back through time, reforged in their former glory. Talas ran his fingers across every shimmering surface he passed, not a speck of dust was disturbed as he caressed the varnished wooden banisters that lined the main concourse. As they approached the bridge, the dilapidated hallway that housed the portraits was particularly stunning. Immaculately folded drapery clutched each of the gold-framed paintings; colors so vibrant and intense it was as if they were painted earlier that same day. Khan stopped below the portrait of his brother and his eyes welled with fond memories and futures that could have been. He looked upon the dark, sweeping hair and catlike eyes as if staring into a mirror. Despite being taller than his brother, the Cybel were close to identical, their choice in mechanical shells reflecting more their personality than any resemblance to their former physicality. Khan's brutish form was to actualize his combat prowess and overpowering aura. Volka's sleek and sophisticated appearance affecting a more human form, perhaps expressing his desire to return to what once was. Talas put a consoling hand onto Khan's shoulder, giving him the courage to adjourn the grief. He composed himself and entered the bridge by his King’s side.

The bridge was the true jewel of Galneus. Countless stations of unmanned machinery spread out in a pleasing crescent formation, complimenting the spiral staircases that ascended into the upper decks. Titanic statues cradled the entryway, their piscine lower halves coalescing into a magnificent arch which had the Lords marveled as they passed beneath the artisanal wonder.

Talas approached the viewing portal. He stared out at the millions of blinking suns, illuminating the cosmos with their boundless light.

“What do you see?” He asked his disciples. None of them dared to hazard a guess at what he wanted to hear.

“Everything you see is a memory for its time has long since passed. The future belongs to we few who were brave enough to seek an alternative to the rotting carcass into which we were born. Those of us that crawled through this endless black and found nothing but scraps, told by those in power we should be grateful.” Talas said, his words ringing true with his followers. For too long they had been made to suffer the desolate wasteland the galaxy had become. Its lush, fertile worlds long desecrated by those that came before them, leaving them to inherit only the colossal hunks of metal that littered the vacuum. These sad excuses for cities were not worthy of being called a home.

“We will escape this place, ascending into a realm where the oppressive chains of those who would have you call them master will be broken. A place of true beauty that was made for us. A paradise of endless blue on which we can sail eternally, unshackled from the restrictions that have held us back in this life. We will be free.” A cheer erupted from the crowd, their hearts swelling with the promise of this glorious future. In unison they dropped to the ground, crossing their arms to their chests and chanting the name of their King. Talas reveled in the devotion of the men, at the unmistakable sound of pride etched deep into their souls. He put out his arms, lowering his hands and stilling their revelry to silence.

“One final miracle remains to be witnessed.” His grin widened to show the glistening metal of his teeth. He turned back to face the emptiness, gently pulling his tome from his waist and flicking through its beautifully decorated pages. Pressing his finger down, the pages ceased their movement. He had found what he was looking for. In a barely audible whisper, he began to read the words from the page in a language long forgotten. As he spoke, his voice seemed to traverse the room. A wind of words crept through the crowd like a silent predator. Skin writhed and hair stood on end. Cold sweats wormed through the onlookers as they eyed one another, fright mirrored onto their faces. The recital accelerated, the syllables overlapping into a gale of tongues. Galneus groaned and churned as the ritual of Atlazar possed her bones, the words biting at her hull, trying to break free.

With a hiss of finality, Talas ceased his reading and the pages of the book slammed shut of their own accord. The tome fell back to its resting place and silence regained its throne. Galneus quieted her protest, the chorus of aching metal fading with the ethereal winds. Talas remained deathly still, a stoic gaze cast out into the blinking night. No one dared move a muscle. The entirety of the pirate upper ranks were motionless, intently watching their King. They squinted into the distance, attempting to discern what had him so transfixed.

It began as a shimmer, an anomaly against the backdrop of stars. Minutes passed before anyone realized that something out there was moving, and whatever that something was, its approach was meteoric. A second shimmer tore through the inky curtain. The twin lights grew steadily together when suddenly a third blinked to life between them. The three objects glinted in the distance. All were advancing in the same direction, directly toward Galneus.

Malig’s concentration betrayed him. His eyes jolted left and caught a trickle of sweat escape Khan’s brow. They were all nervous. The machinery around them jumped to life, intercepting the incoming unknowns on the long-range scans. Whatever they were, they were beyond comprehension, the equipment insufficient to calculate their immense size.

With each passing second, the atmosphere grew heavier, the apprehension as thick as tar. Everyone was inching forward, pressed against the glass of the viewing portal. Their King wore a grin, not a sliver of hesitation invading his air of certainty. Though his confident aura helping to ease the tension, as the mysterious objects came into view, that tension was replaced with uncontrollable fear. The Levantikar had arrived.

Three behemoths, forged from the elements that birthed the universe, swam through the heavens, casting mighty shadows over all they surveyed. The pirates rocked back on their heels as the dagger-tipped head of one of the creatures appeared to be heading straight for them. Khan glanced at Talas who was yet to move even an inch, his calm demeanor soothing to observe. The Pirate-Lords gave their men an authoritative glance and immediately they stood to attention, staring the oncoming beast dead in its prodigious eyes. The creature roared majestically as it abruptly altered its course, its cries echoing out through the cosmos.

The serpents consolidated their advance a few thousand kilometers from where the pirate armada was stationed, encircling one another as if engaged in a ritualistic dance. Talas pressed his hands against the screen as he watched the ancient serpents collide, scraping together the great mountains and deep valleys that bestrewed their skin. Millennia of sediment was scattered, asteroid-sized shards of rock breaking free as they repeatedly crashed their bodies together. An immense cloud of glistening debris cloaked the bodies of the great serpents. The pirates could not believe what they were witnessing. The peaceful, docile Levantikar, engaged in a fearsome assault against their own. Whether a mistake or savage display of animal nature, a great tragedy had occurred. As the celestial mist cleared and despite the pirate's trepidation, the serpents remained unharmed. The display had not been the fearsome battle it had appeared to be, but a union. The Levantikar were now joined as one, slotted into place like the keystones that constituted the Keystone crown. Though this union was for an altogether different purpose.

Breaking his stoic demeanor, a tear ran down Talas’s face. His Lords reached out to comfort him but thought better of it. For them, the great work had taken decades of their lives, but for Talas, more than a century had passed. He observed the gargantuan crescent fragment, a sight he never imagined he would see. The Levantikar had formed the beginnings of a great ring, framing a distant sun at its center. He felt the culmination of all his work wash over him in a glorious tide. After a few moments of savoring his achievement, he turned to face his crew, his family.

“Forged as twelve, whole they are one. The Levantikar have been summoned by our will. The three here today will soon be joined by their nine siblings. All that remains is to wait for their arrival and watch as those that cling to this vile place tear themselves apart.” Another great cheer rang out from the crowd, even more powerful than the last. The Lords were stunned by what they were witnessing. Ranna too was in a state of disbelief. It had all been true. Volka’s mad ramblings about the gates of paradise, about the man that would take them there. They were looking at it, staring into the eye of oblivion, only a brief window of time standing between them and the end of all things.

Talas waited for the men to quiet down. They deserved to celebrate, to indulge in their victory, and to embrace one another as family. He took a moment to look upon each of the Lords, granting them the approval they so desperately desired.

The revelry dimmed as the crowd waited expectantly, hooked on the intoxicating sound of their King's voice. Staring upon his magnificence with bated breath, they saw Talas' grin soften. He held his arm out toward the marvel of his creation and gave them the closure they craved.

“Our great work is finally complete. My brother and sisters, gaze upon the Faehalion, the gate to our salvation.”

CONTINUED IN PART 2