Long after the battle ended, Duncan remained seated near the edge of the ley pool, where the last of the Black Root's tendrils had withdrawn into the earth like a wounded serpent. The pulsating hum had died down, leaving an eerie silence behind. But within that silence, Duncan could still feel the echo—a resonance not of sound, but of memory.
The mark on his wrist still faintly glowed.
It wasn't the first time it had responded this way. Ever since the Sealed Citadel, since the Orb, it had started to awaken. And now, after touching the Black Root, it wasn't just a mark. It felt like a key.
Ashryn stepped beside him, her armor smeared with blood and ichor. "You realize you just shut down an ancient warforge relic with your bare hand, right?"
Duncan gave a tired shrug. "Didn't feel that glorious."
Gorran crouched nearby, scribbling notes into his journal. "What's more important is that your mark—your Dominion brand—acted as a regulator. That means you're not just any conscript. You're likely from a bloodline that had access to First Vault technology."
Duncan looked at the faint pattern on his wrist. The angular swirl had split open when he touched the Root, and a tiny rune had emerged from beneath—shaped like a downward-pointing spearhead, encased in a circle of flames.
"I don't know what this means," he muttered. "Only that it didn't kill me. That feels… ominous."
Gorran looked up. "That rune... it's called the Flame of Order. I've seen it in a broken record at the Runebinder Library. It was once part of the initiation for something called the Echo Legion."
Ashryn furrowed her brow. "Never heard of them."
Gorran closed his book. "You wouldn't. They were purged long ago. The Legion was a unit of elite warriors directly connected to the ley network. They weren't just soldiers—they were keys to war machines, siege arrays, and vaults. But they went rogue. Or were made to seem rogue. Depends which historian you ask."
Duncan's stomach turned. "So I might be connected to a group of half-legendary warriors accused of betrayal?"
Alra's voice cut through the dark. "That's one way of looking at it."
She approached from the far corridor, bloodied but unshaken. She tossed something metallic at Duncan's feet.
A shattered visor. Dominion steel, twisted and charred.
"They were waiting at the mouth of the second descent. Traps, sigils, a full squad of Path fanatics. Someone knew we were coming."
Ashryn narrowed her eyes. "Which means someone is feeding them information."
Gorran said quietly, "A leak?"
"Or a sensor," Duncan murmured. "Could the Root have transmitted our presence?"
"No," Gorran replied quickly. "Not directly. But if someone's attuned to the leyweb… yes, they could have known when it was disturbed."
Duncan rose, clutching the mark on his wrist. "Then we keep moving. We don't give them time to reset. There's more under this ruin, and I'm betting whatever's down there is what they're trying to protect."
Ashryn gave him a sharp look. "You're not just talking about information anymore. You think it's a weapon?"
Duncan's voice was low. "I know it is. The Warden was just a test. Someone's building an army—and they're using the Black Roots as forges."
The squad gathered supplies and moved through the far tunnel—what appeared to be an old transport conduit. Cracked tracks ran along the floor, and shattered Dominion lanterns still clung to rusted brackets along the wall. A cold wind blew through from below, carrying the faint scent of sulfur and rust.
After an hour of descent, they came upon a sealed archway.
The stone was carved with immense precision, bearing a circular pattern of glyphs surrounding a blank panel. At the center was a slot—exactly the size of Duncan's wrist.
Ashryn raised an eyebrow. "Coincidence?"
"Not anymore," Duncan muttered.
He stepped forward and placed his wrist into the slot.
The moment he did, the brand flared. He winced as heat coursed up his arm—not burning, but invasive. Like someone flipping through the pages of his blood.
The glyphs rotated. Light pulsed once… twice… then a mechanical clunk echoed through the tunnel. The archway began to part.
Beyond it was a vast domed chamber. Not natural—constructed. The walls were lined with forges, chimneys, and arcane vats. Iron scaffolding hung from the ceiling like spiderwebs. At its center stood a singular obelisk of obsidian metal, taller than a tower, etched with thousands of tiny glowing runes.
The room was dead silent. But the air thrummed with barely-contained energy.
Gorran was breathless. "This… this is a leyforging crucible. Pre-Dominion. I never thought I'd see one intact."
Ashryn swept the area with her halberd raised. "If this place gets into the Path's hands…"
Alra cut in, eyes narrowed. "We turn the tide or lose the war, right here."
Duncan stepped toward the obelisk. His hand tingled as he neared it. Something within was calling—no, resonating—with his mark.
As he reached out, a shimmer of light pulsed from the obelisk—and a voice echoed through the chamber.
Low. Stern. Ancient.
"Echo recognized. Authorization incomplete. Initiate Protocol Aegis."
Then the floor trembled.
From the sides of the chamber, massive armor-constructs began to stir—hulking humanoid forms forged of iron and obsidian, with eyes like burning coals. Their limbs unfolded with creaks of ancient metal and sparks of ley energy. Twelve of them.
Alra took a step back. "Uh… Duncan?"
He didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the obelisk.
Another pulse. The voice again.
"Echo Legionnaire—state designation and intent."
Duncan spoke before he even understood why. "Designation… Duncan Rhys. Third-line bloodline of the Dominion. Intent: Discovery, containment, defense of realm."
There was a pause. Then:
"Welcome, Echo Rhys. Protocol Aegis activating. Crucible defenses online."
The golems knelt.
The chamber shuddered once more—but this time, from above. A distant explosion rumbled.
Alra turned sharply. "That was not us."
Ashryn growled, "They've found us."
Gorran whispered, "And now we've got twelve walking war machines to defend a relic vault."
Duncan turned, eyes hard. "Then we hold."
As the lights of the crucible flared to life, casting away centuries of dust, the squad of four stood at the heart of a legend reborn.
Above them, war was coming.
But down here, they were ready to forge a response.