*Flap!
"About time… let's finish this once and for all—shall we?" Merilyn said, her voice calm but resolute, echoing through the dimly lit war tent as she turned with poise and began walking toward the broad strategy table stationed at the heart of the room.
Her every step was purposeful, each motion carrying the weight of a seasoned commander who had fought more battles than most could count.
In the far corner of the room, a figure stirred—a man whose silence was as heavy as the chains wrapped tightly around both of his forearms.
*clink... *clink
The sound of those chains clinking faintly against the cold metallic floor was a subtle reminder of his power, restrained not by force but by his own discipline.
Rising to his feet, he greeted Merilyn with a firm nod.
"Eren… it's been ages since our last meeting, my brother,"
Merilyn spoke with a rare softness, placing her gloved palm gently upon Erenhold's shoulder—a gesture both warm and solemn, acknowledging the years of war and silence that stood between them.
Erenhold nodded again in reply, wordless as always, his eyes calm but keen.
Though mute, the strength in his posture and the fire in his gaze spoke volumes.
Together, the two approached the command table where Mezra, already ahead of them, was meticulously organizing the materials required for the battle council.
Her hands, steady and swift, moved like clockwork—setting into place miniature figurines representing various battalions, adjusting map corners, and calibrating light fixtures to better highlight the topography laid across the parchment.
With a quiet flick of her finger, Mezra adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses—then smoothed the corners of the sprawling map as she began her explanation.
"I trust you both have kept your blades sharp," she began, her tone cool and composed.
Then she placed a striking red marker on a specific point on the map—its location near the edge of the eastern quadrant, dangerously close to the volcanic ridgelines that scarred Chasmratt's surface.
"While you were busy on the frontlines," Mezra continued, casting a brief glance at Merilyn, "our spacefighter division intercepted some valuable intel."
She pointed precisely at the red marker, her fingernail tapping twice against the map as her eyes sharpened.
"Here. This is the most probable location of the broodmother—deep beneath the ash fields."
Merilyn leaned forward, her brow rising in interest.
"And the readings?" she asked, her gaze narrowing, knowing full well that guessing wouldn't suffice.
They needed confirmation—concrete data.
They scoured through this planet for ages—
and finally, after so long, they have the lead on the brood mother that festered Chasmratt.
With a nod, Mezra stepped away and crossed over to one of the nearby weapon crates, where a shelf embedded with field equipment had been set.
She retrieved a compact device, rectangular and worn from field use, then returned to the table and pressed one of the side buttons.
The device emitted a low hum, followed by several flickering pulses on its screen.
Multiple violet-hued waves began to swirl across the screen's surface—lines spiking erratically, almost as if the device itself struggled to comprehend the magnitude of what it had detected.
Mezra laid the device on the table so both Merilyn and Erenhold could see.
"These are the Eidra readings recorded by our forward scouts when they flew over the suspected site."
Erenhold's eyes widened—an uncommon reaction from the usually stoic warrior.
He immediately nudged Merilyn with his elbow and pointed frantically at the display.
Merilyn glanced at him, her confusion showing briefly before her eyes locked onto the device—and her expression turned grim.
"Violet marks... and they're all over the damn place," she muttered, her voice low, as if the very words carried weight.
"It's a Hive Queen," she concluded, her tone now laced with urgency.
"Precisely," Mezra confirmed with a slow nod.
Returning to the edge of the table, Mezra began rearranging the miniature units—carefully placing them behind a long, red line that was drawn across the map like a bloody boundary.
Each figurine, representing soldiers, was positioned strategically.
"As my flame wall continues to hold the northern horde," she explained, tapping behind the red barrier,
"Evaan's division will be stationed here."
Merilyn cocked her head slightly.
"They're not joining the forward push?"
Mezra smiled faintly.
"Not entirely. Half will remain, bombarding the horde with sustained artillery—ensuring the main force doesn't break through prematurely."
She moved one of the figures closer to the red pin, symbolizing the broodmother's position.
"The other half will advance the moment the queen surfaces—supporting us with long-range Eidra cannons and precision strikes."
Merilyn nodded.
"Then keep Enerken and Heria back. I don't want them anywhere near that monstrosity."
A trace of fondness flickered in her eyes—maternal, yet firm.
"They're too inexperienced. Their time will come, but not today."
"Understood, sister," Mezra said gently. "They'll remain behind, with the rest of the soldiers, as you wish."
.
.
.
Merilyn crossed her arms, slowly pacing around the table as she considered the enormity of what they faced.
"A Hive Queen…" she muttered, "I've fought corrupted beasts, seen horrors in Maw's Deep, but this… this I haven't faced."
"I have," Mezra said plainly, without any sign of arrogance.
"And I assure you, the three of us together—with the full backing of our army—can end this."
She turned her gaze to Erenhold.
"Especially with his Eidra. You know as well as I do—he's more than enough to tip the scales."
Erenhold clenched his fists,
*rattle!
and the chains that bound him groaned with the pressure.
He gave a firm nod, his body tensing in anticipation.
"Good," Mezra concluded.
"Now let's go over the specifics—the queen's behavioral patterns, her weaknesses, and what we need to avoid once she emerges."
From beneath the table, she pulled out another parchment, tightly rolled and sealed with crimson wax.
"This holds the battle plans and everything we've recorded from prior hive engagements."
She unrolled the parchment across the table with deliberate care—and the war council truly began.
===
As the tent's interior pulsed with strategic discussion and war-planning, the world outside came alive with motion—no longer a camp, but a fortress in full mobilization.
*distant roaring!!
The ground trembled under the collective cadence of boots marching in unison.
*marching sounds!!!
The sheer magnitude of it all turned the dusty plateau into a symphony of chaos and order, where war machines roared, gears clicked into place, and the sky above was tinted an eerie crimson by Mezra's lingering flame wall.
The entire western stronghold of Chasmratt was alight with preparation—soldiers numbering in the hundreds of thousands began forming rows, their armor glinting beneath the reddish hue of the artificial dusk created by the smoke clouds and firestorms from the ongoing battles in the north.
*March!! *THUD!
"Vekarn in Khal!"
*March!! *THUD!
"Surah!"
*March!! *THUD!
"FOR THE EMPIRE!"
Each battalion stood at attention, their energy weapons primed, their breathing synchronized, awaiting the signal that would hurl them into one of the most decisive battles of their lives.
On the highest overlook of a watchtower forged from adamant steel and encased with reinforced shielding, stood Evaan.
He surveyed the landscape with unwavering focus, his eyes shifting from one section of the battlefield to another.
Several of his commanders stood behind him, silent yet attentive, each one watching their own data pads as streams of tactical information scrolled endlessly across their screens.
One of the commanders stepped forward, his face hardened, voice loud enough to be heard over the rumbling below.
"General. The Rods of Jivrel are in position. Fully charged. Awaiting final deployment orders."
"Good," Evaan said, nodding curtly, his voice unshaken.
He then turned toward the massive wall of flames in the far distance—Mezra's creation, a monument of her power and a line that had kept the hive at bay for days now.
His expression didn't change, but his mind was ablaze.
They had one chance to pierce through the heart of the infestation—to cut it off before it spread deeper into the galaxy.
And finally, pierce through the veil and venture into the Maw.
"Maintain full assault," he ordered, his voice steady.
"Don't let the pressure drop. The more we thin their numbers before the push, the better our odds."
Around him, the battlefield answered his will.
*Distant explosions!!!
Explosions continued to hammer the ground in staggered rhythms, and streaks of arc energy lit the skies like a meteor shower of violet death.
Then, the tent flap behind the watchtower lifted.
From its shadow emerged Merilyn, Mezra, and Erenhold—each of them walking with heavy purpose, their faces forged with the stern resolve of veterans about to enter their final battle.
Evaan's attention snapped from the battlefield and shifted to them.
He descended the staircase of the tower without hesitation, meeting them halfway with a precise military salute.
"The soldiers are ready. The weapons are primed. We move on your command," he said firmly.
Merza returned his nod and stepped forward, activating the data pad on her left wrist with a flick.
"We initiate the final assault within the hour. I've transmitted the tactical breakdown to your device—split the army as planned. One half remains stationed behind the flame wall to maintain suppressive fire and defense. The rest will accompany us to the breach point near the broodmother's lair."
Evaan confirmed with a brisk nod, "I'll see to it myself."
Without hesitation, he turned to relay the orders to his lieutenants, his movements fluid, deliberate—every second mattered now.
Meanwhile, Merilyn, with a softer demeanor than moments ago, quietly broke away from the main group.
Her footsteps carried her across the compound, past the whirring machines, past the gathering storm of war, until she reached a more secluded section of the camp where two younger warriors waited.
Her children—
Enerken and Heria.