I saw theit unit on the road: they walked in step, wtih no breath, no sign of being tired. When one fell, another picked him up like a bag, and they kept going. Like it was normal.
If you meet a Mortivar and he speaks calmly, run faster. They worts ones are those who still remember words – and use them as bait.
The Stamers once came and took the Blaze Crystal from the desert. The Mortivars came and took people from the road. I prefer the ones from the shy – at least they don’t pretend it’s for our own good.
My mother used to say: “From plague you run, from soldiers you hide. From the Mortivars, you can do neither – because they don’t look for the living. The look for material.
In the tavern, they keep ssaying Nyxthor has a list of names. If yours is on it, you don’t have to sign anything anymore – you already belong to them.
In the caravan, we have a new rule: no wounds in plain sight. Not becouse we’re ashamed – only because they look at wounds differently than we do.
Back home, no one sleeps in a single house anymore. We sleep in threes in fours – spread out. Becouse if they come, I don’t want them to take all of us at once.
The Grimverd warned us with a song I did not understand – but I understood the fear in their eyes. They sain only: ‘They are coming – those who leave no shadows.’
Nyxthor made us stand without moving until the blue stopped trembling in our bones. It lasted all night. In the morning, he said only; “Good. You are not reverting.”
Nyxthor promised the Change would take the pain away. It did… but it left an itch. It itches where my heart used to be. As if someone is still knocking there.
Sometimes I catch myself counting days. And days no longer mean anything. Yet in my head, there is a still a man waiting fot the end of a shift.
At night, I heared someone counting my steps. The number did not match. Either I lost a part of myself, or something is walking beside me imitating me better than I can.
In the ruins the Yellows left behind, we found their steel casing. Empty. One of the young ones wanted to take a piece as a keepsake. A veteran struck him: “Don’t carry their war with you.”
On the island with the anchor-tree, I saw a heart inside the trunk. It did not beat. It circled. And I understood that the worlds is trying to stitch itself back together, through we tore it open.
When I was alive, I feared the sword. Now I fear the sword will be too light. Force cannot tolerate weakness – even the kind no one can see.
Force teaches: everything can be assembled. Death teaches: not everything should be.
In the Rottenbiome, we found the Steamers spiders. They did not attack immediately. The stood and watched, as if counting how many of us there were. That felt somehow worse than charging.
In the ruins of the Rottenbiome, we found a Steamer cassette marked OFFLINE ONLY. We did not open it. In the Archive, they teach: a yellow heart does not lie – it simply does not know mercy.
The Change was not a ritual. It was a patch applied to living material. Nyxthor entered it in the Archive as an ‘improvement.’ In the margin, we added: ‘irreversible.’
We found a machine in the tuins with a yellow heart. It stood still, but its shadow was alert. We did not approach. Not because we were afraid, only because we remembered the Forum.
The Grimverd sing when they bury the fallen. We do not sing. Where we have no sarcophagus, we weigh them down with stone. Not out of contempt, only because we know how easily something can rise.
There are no herose. Only those who have not seen the price yet.
In the Archive, there is a list of ‘post – Change nonconformities.’ They added me yesterday. Reason: ’emotional response to rain.’ Wonderful. As if they had better criteria than the weather.
In the Archive hangs a map to Veltharia from before the fracture. No one updates it. That is our punishment: to remember what ‘one’ looked like. The Grimverds sing so the world may be whole again, the Steamers count so it may be stable, and we keep proof that both methods have already failed once.
Once, we feared dying. Now we fear existing without end. That is the different between a human and a Mortivar.
On an old battlefield, I found a medal. Ordinary, human. I don’t know who it belonged to, but it suddenly reminded me what pride looks like in someone’s eyes – and I hate that memory.
At the Forum, the Steamers spoke politely, as if it would change anything. We spoke politely, too. And then at night we sharpened bone on stone.
One of the recruits asked me if if a person still dreams after teh Change. I said, ‘No’. I lied. I dream only in my dreams; I am always marching.
Do not let the wounded from the east inside. Not because they are evil, but because if blue light has entered the bone, it is not the wounded one who returns – only something that remembers the change.
“In honor of Nyxthor, Lord of Wisdom and Keeper of Ancient Truths, whose name will never be forgotten.”
“In honor of Nyxthor, Lord of Wisdom…” – the rest has been violently scratched out. Crude letters have been carved over it: “Eternal Tyrant, who condemned us to endless suffering.”
NYXTHOR – Scholar of the Force Crystal.
The one who learned to wield Force like a blade: steady, without hesitation, and without retreat. In His hands, the blue ceased to be chance – it become a tool and a mark of authority.
Let His name be a sealo of knowledge taht does not fade.
“In memory of King Edmar, the kingdom’s shield and a light to his people.”
“Glory to the warriors who have fought and defended the innocent”
“To King Edmar, defender of the kingdom, before whom the Mortivars learned the weight of human resistance.”
The Eternal Lord Of Power.
The one who closed the power of the crystals within His hand and gave it to none. The one who mastered their radiance, bound it with law, and made it a shield for His reign.
Let the memory endure of the Monarch who did not ask for power-he simply raised it.
In some buildings you can find information units.
[LOG]: Gate: three – socket prototype. Synchronization unattainable.
Procedure suspended.
[REPORT]: Ram Charging Station: 14 mounts empty, 3 deformed. Power unstable.
[NODE DECISION] 31-1 // STATE: ESCALATING CONFLICT
RISK: escalation between SPIRIT and FORCE users.
IMPACT: BLAZE supply chain tchreatened.
ACTION: implement “rules” (FORUM) instead of full occupation.
SYSTEM COMMENT: war = broken supply lines. Rules = continuity.
[FIELD PROTOCOL] 32-1 // ZONE: JUNGLE
DETECTED: SPIRIT signature – intensity: variable.
RECOMMENDATION: do not respond to “echo” in transmission.
NOTE: local users react to scans as a provocation.
[LOG]: Gate initiation keys: NONE. Sequence interrupted.
[FIELD LOG] CONTAMINATION BORDER
BEHAVIOR: AX-CRW runs patrol loops despite no command.
POSSIBLE CAUSE: prolonged exposure to SPIRIT + post – Rupture noise.
RECOMENNDATION: do not reset on an open network. Reset OFFLINE only.
COMMENT: local fauna avoids the zone – indicator: effective.
[LOG]: “Procedure: parts salvage. Priority: moving components and cores.”
[FIELD PROTOCOL] FORUM // NEUTRALIZATION ZONE
ENTRY: diplomatic Rams only (core disconnected).
SPIRIT ARTIFACTS: only in dampening caskets.
FORCE ARTIFACTS: only in sealed containers.
BLAZE: do not display samples unless necessary.
NOTE: “local ‘words’ modulate behavior – record, do not interpret.
[WARNING]: Blaze: parameters exceeded. Shut off feed. Manual cooling.
In some dungeons you can find board on the wall.
From above, streaks of light poured down-green, blue and gold-like wounds that began to glow. The green fell upon our forests and seeped ynto the earth. The blue and gold drifted beyond the horizon, where sight cannot reach.
This event was named The Sowing-because something had been planted, though no one knew what, or why. In its memory, the Eldest carved a sign. Not as a warning. Not as a prayer. But as a remembrance of the moment when the sky first gave something back to the world.
From small blocks of stone, servants were hewn for heavy labor-the Gronites. They raise great structures: stairs, terraces and ziggurats, and after storms, they repair cracks, shinkholes, and landslides.
Spirit breathed into them motion and endurance-not life, but obedient existence.
Above the pyramid, a vast ship appeared, haloed in yellow light. It settled on the summit.
Rams stepped down from its deck-coreless. They tore green shards from niches an altars, then sealed the crystals in dampening caskets. And they flew away, leaving only dust and empty nests a the top.
When the enemies came to the steps of the ziggurat, the Gronites silently assembled a Golem’s body from stone. The Grimverds carved the Defender’s sigils on its chest, breaking an ancient law-SPirit’s radiance was meant to rouse endurance, not wrath.
The Golem took its place on the stairs, and for the first time, Stone rose againts those who had come for what was never meant for them.
The Gronites, made for building, took their stand on the stairs and at the temple entrances, throwing off every intruder as though the stone itself resisted all outsiderd. The Grimverds watched over them and, with a heavy heart, reached for the Spirit Crystal, giving the Gronites the ability to defend.
And as the attack dragged on, the Gronites did not give away even a single step, enduring like a wall of stone.
The Gronites gathered the largest blocks and assembled from them a body that rose higer the temple gates – a colossus with a stone sword. A heart made of Spirit was embedded inside him, woven into a single breath, able to sustain movement in such a huge form.
At the foot of the Ziggurat, they raised a throne for him, so he might stand guard – and by his very presence shatter the courage of his foes.
If a tree’s heart is beating, do not stand in its way. Stand to the side and listen to whether the numbers are not in conflict with the leaves.
On the northern terraces, we found metal traces. They weren’t old – only abandoned. We carved a sign: ‘Iron returns’ – so no one would think the forest had forgotten.
Don’t ask whether Spirit is good. Ask whether you are real to change.