The Pit was a place of absolute, heavy silence. It was not the silence of an empty room. It was the silence of a deep forest before a storm. It was the silence of a predator waiting in the tall grass.Drogo Payne sat in the center of this silence. He was not on his throne in the Inner Sanctum. He was sitting on the cold, hard floor of the main hall, right next to the central pool of black water. He was ten feet of polished obsidian. His silver-marbled skin was glowing with a very dim, steady violet light.He was not moving. He was not even breathing. To a normal person, he would look like a statue made of black glass. But inside his head, a war was happening. A war of information."Archive," Drogo whispered. His voice was a low vibration that didn't even disturb the dust on the floor. "Initiate the Lattice."[SYSTEM STATUS: HIVE-MIND PROTOCOL INITIALIZED.][TETHERS: 13 ACTIVE.][SYNC RATE: 100%.][WARNING: THE HOST WILL EXPERIENCE SENSORY OVERLOAD. PROCEED?]"Do it," Drogo commanded.

The air in Sector 4 of the Academy was screaming. It was not the scream of a person, but the scream of a system falling apart.Sector 4 was the "Power Heart." It was where the giant water wheels turned, pushed by the city’s waste, to create the electricity that powered the street lamps and the research labs. Usually, it was a place of loud machinery and bright blue sparks. But tonight, the machinery was silent. The only sound was the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the Solaris Guards’ boots on the metal catwalks.Captain Hektor of the 3rd Solaris Battalion was sweating. His gold armor felt heavy. His Sun-Spear was glowing, but the light felt small in the thick, purple mist that was rising from the floor."Stay together!" Hektor yelled to his twenty men. "Shields up! Don't let the shadows touch you!"Hektor was a veteran. He had fought mountain trolls and sea serpents. He knew how to fight things he could see. But he didn't know how to fight the future."There!" a guard pointed his spe

The Inner Sanctum of the Pit was a room made of cold, black glass and heavy silence. In the center of the room sat the throne of Drogo Payne. But the giant who sat there did not look like a king. He looked like a candle that was burning from both ends.Drogo Payne was ten feet tall, but his body was changing. It was not the good kind of change. It was not an evolution. It was a withering.Drogo’s obsidian skin, which had been as hard as diamond, was now thin and brittle. It looked like old, burnt paper. In some places, the black stone had cracked open, revealing the raw, violet energy underneath. But that energy was not flowing. It was being sucked out.Drogo was the Source. He was the battery for five hundred Abyssal Thralls and thirteen Shadow-Walkers. Every time Vesper used [Shadow-Phase], she took a piece of Drogo’s mana. Every time Pip used [Mana-Sense], he pulled on Drogo’s core. Every time a Laborer carved a stone, they used a drop of Drogo’s blood.[SYSTEM WARNING: RESOURCE D

The sun of Solara was not a natural thing. It was a machine, and like all machines, it had a rhythm. Every evening, the Great Sun would dim its light to allow the city to cool. This was called the Amber Fade. During this time, the sky turned the color of honey, and the shadows of the tall spires grew long and thin, stretching across the marble streets like the fingers of a giant.In the Mid-Tier District, the Amber Fade was the time for the "Shadow’s Toll."A squad of five Gold-Cloaks walked down a narrow, winding street known as "The Weaver’s Path." This street was famous for its silk shops, but now the shops were boarded up. The rich merchants had fled to the Upper City, leaving behind only the smell of dust and expensive perfume.The Gold-Cloaks were in a good mood. They were led by a man named Sergeant Harl. He was a broad-shouldered mage with a scar across his chin and a helmet that shone like a mirror. In his left hand, he carried a "Siphon-Jar," a large glass container fille

Three miles below the panic, the Pit was a place of dark majesty. Drogo Payne sat on his throne of compressed earth. He was ten feet of polished obsidian, his silver-marbled skin glowing with a deep, satisfied violet light. He was no longer the Withering Host.The mana he had taken from the Gold-Cloaks and the High Master Ignis had healed his cracks. He looked solid. He looked eternal.In front of him, floating in the air, were thirteen shimmering objects. They were the captured Cores.They looked like giant jewels, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, but they were alive. They pulsed with a rhythmic light, trying to return to the sun. They were the "Sparks" of the men his Shadow-Walkers had killed.The thirteen Shadow-Walkers stood in a circle around the Cores. They were silent, their silver eyes fixed on the glowing prizes. They felt the hunger in their own chests, but they didn't move. They waited for the Source."You did well," Drogo said. His voice was a low, heavy rumble that made t