CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR :The desert wind whipped sand into ragged curtains that lashed against the monastery walls. Billy’s boots crunched over broken stone and scattered debris as he followed Tyla and Owen through the skeletal remains of what had once been a grand corridor. Every step echoed, a stark reminder that this place had seen secrets the world wasn’t meant to know. The air smelled of sun-baked dust and decay, and beneath it all, a faint metallic tang hinted at something far older, far more dangerous.“They’re watching us,” Owen muttered under his breath, not for the first time. He always said that, but this time, the warning carried weight. The air itself felt heavy, like the building itself was holding its breath. Billy’s instincts told him it wasn’t paranoia.Tyla stopped abruptly, holding up her hand. Her eyes, sharp and piercing, had caught something in the dim light—a mural half-buried under sand and rubble. She brushed the layers away, revealing figures etched in ochre an

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX :The desert wind still howled behind them, but inside the ruined monastery, a deeper, quieter hum began to pulse—an almost imperceptible vibration beneath the sand and shattered stone. Billy’s boots sank slightly into loose rubble as he stepped back toward the vault chamber, drawn by the faint resonance that seemed to reach out specifically to him.Tyla and Owen followed, eyes wide with caution, their every movement calculated. “Billy,” Tyla called over the wind, brushing dust from her goggles. “Do you feel that? Something… underneath. Like it’s alive.”Billy’s jaw tightened. He crouched by the central mechanism that had once been dormant, the metal and stone plates etched with strange Luoshen symbols. The relic grid they had uncovered days ago had been a mere projection—this, this was the engine itself, buried beneath centuries of stone, its energy dormant but far from gone.“I do,” Billy whispered, placing a hand lightly over the carvings. The symbols flickered

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT :The jet hummed beneath their feet as it sliced through the night sky, leaving the desert far behind. The cabin lights were dimmed to a soft amber glow, but the tension inside made the air feel sharper than the altitude. Billy sat near the back, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might give him answers. Tyla was across from him, headphones on, eyes glued to her tablet as she refined the Arctic coordinates.Owen hadn’t said a word for almost an hour. For him, that silence was an earthquake.He stood finally, cracked his knuckles once, and walked down the narrow aisle toward Billy. Tyla didn’t look up; she sensed the storm and knew better than to step into it.Billy heard Owen’s footsteps, but he didn’t move. He already knew what this was about. Knew it had been coming since the monastery. Since the moment that relic mechanism answered him without hesitation.Owen stopped in front of him.“Stand up,” he said, voice low.Billy didn’t. “Owen, not now.

CHAPTER EIGHTY :The storm started before anyone noticed it — not wind, not rain, but a pressure, the kind that folds itself into the bones and whispers move. Billy felt it first. His shoulder blades prickled as though unseen fingers were tracing symbols he didn’t recognize. Tyla caught the look on his face and didn’t bother pretending she wasn’t worried.“Don’t tell me that’s the cult again,” she muttered, hugging her jacket closer even though the air was warm.Billy didn’t answer. The warehouse behind them hummed with generators; leftover tech from the raid lay scattered everywhere. Wires. Screens. A dozen cryptic sketches. And that one sigil — the one etched into the crate they’d dragged out earlier — pulsed faintly as though the wood itself had a heartbeat.Owen stood over it like someone supervising a crime scene. “If this thing lights up again, we’re done,” he said.“It’s already lighting up,” Tyla shot back.They all turned at the same moment. The sigil glowed a soft red, the c

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO :The plane’s engines whined against the frozen gusts outside, each vibration thrumming through Billy’s chest as he stared at the endless white below. The Arctic station, the next star-point in the Luoshen constellation, waited like a jagged tooth in the ice. Tyla sat across from him, her gloved hands tracing patterns on her tablet, eyes unreadable, lips tight with a mixture of excitement and fear. Owen leaned in between them, his brow furrowed and voice low.“We land in thirty minutes. Once we’re on the ice, it’s not just the cold we have to worry about.”Billy didn’t need him to finish the sentence. He already knew. The Curator had orchestrated this, and they were walking into a frozen trap with no clear way out. The relic, the heart of the constellation, was here somewhere, buried in ice older than memory, and someone—someone very clever—was already manipulating it.The snowstorm outside began to pick up, tiny crystals battering the fuselage, each impact sounding