The wind in Fortis did not blow. It roared.
The banners of the old regime still waved, frayed and blackened by the smoke of time. They hung from the towers like fabric ghosts, reminders that here, within these walls, the most feared army of Norgalia had once been forged. Fortis was empty, but its silence was not abandonment—it was mourning.
The walls remembered what had happened. The stones still vibrated with the echoes of orders shouted in the corridors, with the marching steps that once shook the ground, with the rifle shots that sealed both loyalty and betrayal.
The helicopter descended on the rusted landing strip. Its blades lifted dust and ashes, as if waking dormant specters.
Pablo was the first to step down. His black cloak swayed as if it, too, carried the weight of the fallen. Behind him walked General Kurs Valden, one of the last survivors of the royalist army. His boots struck firmly, and his eyes scanned each tower like one recognizing the wrinkles of an old friend.
—"Here I grew, here I fought, here I buried my men,"—said Kurs, his voice rougher than the roar of the wind. —"Fortis is not dead, Your Majesty… it only sleeps."
Pablo fixed his gaze on the Vidrium Gates, massive doors sealed with arcane codes untouched for decades. They were colossal, almost defiant, as though forged to resist even the passage of time.
—"Do you think there's still something in there?"—Pablo asked, eyes locked on the gates.
Kurs did not hesitate.
—"Not something. Someone."
⸻
The restoration of Fortis was not merely reconstruction. It was resurrection.
For weeks, engineers and soldiers worked under strict orders: they cleared the hangars, dismantled rusted mines, rebuilt fallen walls. The corroded metal shone again under welding sparks; the sensors and turrets, dormant for decades, were reactivated with new energy cores.
But the true challenge lay deeper. The heart of Fortis awaited.
The Command Hall.
A chamber buried beneath tons of concrete, once the mind that coordinated entire battles and dictated the fate of nations. Pablo, Kurs, Minae—now fully integrated into the exploration team—and several Cintekis scientists descended into its depths.
The walls were covered in military inscriptions, names of battalions, faded maps. The air was heavy, damp, laden with dust and something else… as if the very hall breathed.
And there, behind a reinforced wall, they found it.
A door.
Not a common door. It was sealed with seven locks, each marked with a different symbol: an eye, a flame, a spiral, a clock, a tree, a cross… and a black sun.
Silence fell. Even the youngest in the team seemed to grasp that what stood before them was more than metal and locks. It was history.
—"Those…"—Pablo murmured, frowning. —"They are the symbols of the Pillars."
Kurs knelt at the sight of the last emblem, the black sun.
—"Your Majesty… this is no entrance. It's a cell."
Minae paled. She brushed the cold steel with her fingertips.
—"Who… who would lock away something like this?"
The scientists wasted no time: controlled detonations, energy pulses, algorithms to decode the arcane locks. Each broken seal felt like a heartbeat, as if the fortress itself was reacting.
At last, with a metallic roar that echoed across the hall, the final lock gave way.
The door swung open.
Inside… there was no one.
Only a steel table, lit by a flickering light. Upon it, a helmet split in two, blackened by battle. Etched on its surface, still marked by laser burns, was a message:
We were not traitors. We were soldiers.
Shastakan will know the truth.
— M.G.
The silence that followed was so deep they could hear the water dripping through the walls.
Pablo swallowed, a chill running down his spine.
—"M.G…"—he whispered. —"Miguel Gabriel… one of the original Pillars."
Minae covered her mouth with her hand.
—"Then… they…?"
—"They're not dead,"—Kurs interrupted, his eyes burning. —"They simply vanished."
Pablo clenched his fists.
—"And left behind a promise."
⸻
That discovery marked the beginning. With renewed resolve, the restoration of Fortis accelerated.
Kurs reactivated the ancient missiles and ordered the installation of defense systems more advanced than those of the old era. Cintekis engineers adapted satellites to reestablish communications. Most importantly: the new Iron Legion was summoned, formed by both youth and veterans who swore loyalty to the restored kingdom.
The towers roared back to life. Cannons were polished, walls repaired, plazas filled with soldiers training day and night.
Finally, the day of the oath arrived.
Thousands of men and women, uniformed, gathered in the central square. The kingdom's banners waved once again atop the battlements. At the podium, Pablo spoke.
His voice thundered across the fortress:
—"I do not swear by my power, but by my duty.
I do not swear for my king, but for my people.
I will not spill blood for ambition,
but to protect the dreams of Norgalia.
Fortis lives! Norgalia is reborn!"
The cry of the troops was deafening:
—"NORGALIA IS REBORN! FORTIS LIVES!"
The ground trembled under the stomp of thousands of boots in unison. The walls of Fortis seemed to answer, as though they had waited centuries to hear those words.
That night, in the newly reopened barracks, Minae spoke with a group of young soldiers.
—"Aren't you afraid of raising these walls again?"—she asked.
One recruit, barely of age, smiled with pride.
—"Fear is always there. But if our parents lived under shadows, we will live under the light."
Another added:
—"Fortis won't be a symbol of oppression again. This time, it will be a shield."
Minae listened silently. Their words were naive, but also filled with hope.
Meanwhile, Kurs and Pablo walked the old command corridors. The general stopped before a faded mural depicting the army's first victory.
—"Do you know what Fortis means to us, Majesty?"—he asked, eyes still on the mural.
—"Tell me,"—Pablo replied.
—"Fortis is not just a garrison. It is the heart of discipline, proof that honor can survive even betrayal. If Fortis falls, Norgalia dies."
Pablo said nothing. Inside, the vision of the helmet and Miguel Gabriel's signature haunted him.
They were not traitors.
They were soldiers.
What if the truth of the Pillars was still buried beneath these stones?
⸻
The night deepened. From afar, the floodlights lit Fortis as if it were a flame in the dark.
Unable to sleep, Pablo climbed the north tower. The wind was icy, but from there he could see the full stretch of the fortress—restored, alive, roaring.
And for a fleeting moment, in the murmur of the air, he thought he heard a voice.
"Shastakan will know the truth…"
The next morning, as Pablo walked toward the helicopter, he lingered behind. He gazed at the horizon from the landing strip, Kurs at his side. The wind howled, carrying the echoes of old ghosts.
And then he saw it.
At the very top of the south tower—a silhouette.
A man. Standing still, staring directly at him.
Pablo felt his throat tighten.
—"Do you see him?"—he whispered.
Kurs looked up, puzzled.
—"See who?"
Pablo blinked.
The tower was empty.
The wind roared again, as if Fortis still guarded secrets no one was ready to hear.