Grahilo's nap came with bonus mystical dream footage, glowing doors, weird prophecy voiceovers, and something possibly whispering his name in ancient particle code.
So naturally, it ended like this:
"Hey! Orb-boy! Wake up! Rubblethump's moving and we just hit a slope that feels personally violent!"
Grahilo's eyes snapped open just in time to realize the entire camp was packed up, the Trumbulon had resumed her lumbering sprint across the dunes, and his hammock was now tilted at a dangerous 'gravity is optional' angle. He barely grabbed his dagger before the rope snapped and tossed him straight onto a crate of monster jerky.
"Morning," said the Echoer with goggles, grinning as he passed Grahilo a steaming cup of something-that-smelled-like-cinnamon-and-regret. "You talk in your sleep. Said something about 'keys between stars' and 'don't trust the soup.' You okay?"
Grahilo groaned, brushing sand out of his hair and trying to mentally reassemble whatever cryptic cosmic crossword he'd just dreamed. "I think my subconscious is a drama queen. And possibly bilingual."
Rubblethump let out a wheezing snort and picked up speed, trotting across a slope that gave absolutely zero regard to suspension or rider dignity. The wind picked up. The sky burned gold.
Ahead, in the shimmering heat haze, the towers of Nharos finally came into focus. Glinting steel, blue banners, lightning rails soaring overhead like dragons with jobs.
The Echoers cheered.
Grahilo stared.
Whatever waited inside that city—training grounds, defense force, ancient relics linked to his glowing dagger—he'd face it. Hopefully without being catapulted into a spire by their giant pet crab-lizard.
"Right," he muttered, steadying himself. "Let's roll, weird caravan. Destiny's not gonna dodge me forever."
Rubblethump burped smoke.
The journey roared forward.
The giant gates of Nharos didn't so much welcome them as size them up. Twin spires of steel loomed skyward, glowing faint blue beneath coils of electrified thread that pulsed like the city had a heartbeat. Hoverrails hissed overhead, powered by thunder batteries, while patrol drones zipped past like hummingbirds that'd done military service.
Grahilo leaned forward, eyes flashing. The city buzzed with motion, metal gliders sweeping overhead like dragonflies on caffeine, and broadcast towers pulsed rhythmically with blue light like the entire place had its own heartbeat. Steam curled off rooftops. Vendors barked down at street level. Defense patrols marched past civilians who barely blinked.
It wasn't quiet.
It was alive.
The ladder was thrown down and Grahilo stepped down onto the ground.Grahilo offered a crooked smile—the kind you give when you're grateful but dangerously bad at goodbyes. "Guess this is where I stop riding mutant crab-lizards across death deserts and start punching things on behalf of actual governments."
The goggles guy grinned. "Try not to vaporize any paperwork."
The sword-wielding Echoer tilted her head. "You sure you're ready?"
Grahilo looked at them—all sharp edges and reckless loyalty. Then at Rubblethump, who blinked slowly and gave a wheezy grunt that smelled faintly like sand beast jerky.
"I wouldn't have made it here without you," Grahilo said. "All of you. Especially Big Stomp over here."
Rubblethump burped steam.
Grahilo stepped forward and laid a hand against her armored hide. "Thanks for not flinging me into a canyon. Much."
The beast responded with a quiet rumble—almost affectionate.
He turned back to the Echoers. "If this defense squad doesn't implode from having me around, I'll find you again. Maybe we ride to someplace even crazier. Or at least someplace with better soup."
They laughed.
"Go rewrite fate," the woman said.
Grahilo nodded, turned, and walked away—into the blackstone halls of the HQ, into the next chapter.
Rubblethump snorted one last time.
She didn't cry.
But maybe, just maybe... a tiny tear of hydraulic fluid glistened in the setting sun.
Grahilo stepped into the Nharos Defense Headquarters like it might challenge him to a duel, insult his outfit, or reveal his gamma powers were secretly on probation. The whole place felt like a skyscraper had swallowed a thunderstorm and decided to develop a personality.
The floors pulsed with soft blue runes that flickered underfoot—probably to make dramatic entrances more exciting. Steel walls arched inward, covered in glowing threads of tech that looked like veins from a very overworked robot god. Security drones hovered above, watching like judgmental hummingbirds that could definitely vaporize your snack stash.
Holograms zipped across the air: maps, monster data, weather that wasn't behaving. Officers strode past Grahilo in uniforms that adjusted themselves when scanned. One door labeled DO NOT ENTER UNLESS YOU'VE SURVIVED A SAND BEAST AND A HEARTBREAK lit up as he walked by. He chose not to ask.
The Core Sigil in his bag pulsed like a heartbeat.
And the HQ? It didn't reject him.
It practically said: Hello, glowing disaster child. We've been expecting you.
The air inside the Defense HQ's intake chamber smelled like steel, steam, and stress. Grahilo stood in a small glass-paneled room pulsing with quiet power—walls humming with surveillance runes, one chair (uncomfortable on purpose), and a desk that looked like it could unfold into a weapons rack if the paperwork became too rebellious.
Across from him sat Officer Cael, all squared shoulders and icy eyes, dressed in a uniform that looked like it had punched its way through several promotions. The man didn't blink much. Definitely didn't smile.
Cael tapped a glowing tablet. "Name?"
"Grahilo."
"Origin?"
"Scarragon," he said, steady.
Cael looked up. Blinked once. "Scarragon has its own defense force. Why aren't you part of it?"
Grahilo met his gaze. "Because when they asked who was 'qualified,' I didn't raise a hand. I didn't have any ability. Just scars."
The officer leaned forward slightly, gaze sharpening. "And now?"
Grahilo pulled back his sleeve, revealing gamma veins that shimmered like distant storms. "Now I do."
Cael studied him, said nothing for a long moment. Then: "You've got raw energy. Power that reacts to architecture. An artifact synced to HQ frequencies. That's not nothing. But that doesn't make you safe."
"I'm not trying to be safe," Grahilo said calmly. "I'm trying to be useful. This power isn't perfect, but it showed up when survival wasn't enough. And I won't waste it hiding behind rules that ignored me."
Cael stared for another beat.
Then he tapped something on his screen.
"Trial hall opens at dawn. You want in—prove you belong."
Grahilo nodded, rising from the chair. Cael watched him as he left before tapping his earpiece.
"Boriko. It's urgent."
A pause. Then her voice came through, steady and sharp. "Go ahead."
"I've just completed intake on the fourth candidate. Grahilo. Scarragon-born. Wasn't part of their defense force—said he had no ability back then. But now?" Cael glanced down at the scan reports dancing across the console. "He's carrying an orb signature. Cosmic, gamma-fused. He claims he swallowed it."
Boriko didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Cael continued. "That makes him the fourth. We've got the other three orb-bonded recruits under containment and monitoring. Their powers vary, but none triggered a citywide scanner reaction on entry."
"The artifact?" Boriko asked.
"He has a Core Sigil. It's active. Synced to his gamma threads. It recognized HQ before he even walked in."
Silence.
Then: "If he passes the combat trials," Boriko said, her tone shifting into something heavier, almost reverent, "we'll have a quartet. Four cosmic-bonded sentinels, wielding power we barely understand."
"Enough to matter?"
Boriko exhaled slowly.
"In the war against the Jiporugis... yes. Against their bio-phage artillery and entropy mines? Absolutely."
Her voice dropped lower.
"But it's the Xenoplak beings that concern me."
Even over encrypted frequencies, Cael felt it—the way her words bent the air. The way that name refused to be casual.
"They don't burn," Boriko said. "They fracture. They unwrite. The last recorded encounter ended with a scout screaming poetry backwards before disappearing mid-breath."
She paused.
"If Grahilo's power holds—he may be the anchor we need when reality tries to collapse."
The line clicked off.
"I hope you're right." Cael spoke to himself. "Or else....."