ELARION : The Echo Breaker

CHAPTER 5: The Sun's Throat

The Sun's Throat wasn't a fortress. It was a weaponized factory.

Two days' travel north, the gray mist slowly vanished, replaced by thick black smoke that choked out the stars. In the distance, the silhouette of rocky mountains was cut off by a massive metal structure spanning the valley.

THOOM... THOOM... THOOM...

The sound was audible even from five kilometers away. Not war drums. It was the sound of giant steam pistons working ceaselessly. Constant. Tireless.

Niko pulled the reins of his donkey. The merchant's face was pale, covered in road dust.

"They call it the Throat," Niko muttered, eyes fixed on the twenty-meter-high steel gates ahead. "Because this place swallows everything and never spits it back out."

Ganda sat silently atop the pile of carpets. His numb right hand hugged the rusty sword wrapped in coarse cloth.

His ears hurt. To his Resonance, this place was seamless noise. Metal friction, the hiss of high-pressure steam, the echo of thousands of iron boots. Everything stacked into one constant note: Domination.

No cracks visible from here. Everything was solid. Everything was reinforced.

"Long line," Ganda said flatly.

Ahead of them, hundreds of refugee and merchant carts lined up like ants. Security was tight.

Aurellian troops patrolled. Their armor was thick, rough, and full of rivets, designed to withstand impact, not for beauty. Their helmets looked like inverted cauldrons with flat faceplates, making them look like walking walls. In their hands hung chained spiked flails that swayed slowly with their heavy steps.

And they brought War Dogs.

The beasts were terrifying. Giant black Mastiffs with bodies clad in scrap factory plating. Their snouts were covered in rough leather gas masks, connected to small filter canisters on their backs.

Khhh-khaaah...

The beasts' eyes were red and watery behind the mask glass. Living things tortured to breathe in this industrial hell.

"Get your documents ready," whispered Niko, hands shaking as he dug into his vest pockets. "And by the God of Coin, hide that scrap metal."

Ganda didn't hide his sword. Instead, he laid it across his lap, exposed.

"Don't hide it," Ganda said. "Hidden goods are suspicious. Visible goods are... garbage."

Niko wanted to argue, but the cart in front of them moved up. Their turn.

Two guards blocked them. Their armor was more complete, polished mass-stamped steel plates. Beside them, a gas-masked Mastiff growled low.

"Destination," the guard's voice was a metallic echo, muffled by the thickness of his helmet.

"Trade, Sir! Logistics!" Niko jumped down, his fake merchant smile blooming instantly. "Grade One copper pots! And... a little souvenir for the gatekeeper."

Niko slipped a small coin pouch into the guard's hand.

The guard didn't refuse. He pocketed the coins with the stiff movement of his gauntlet. Then he walked around the cart, banging the carpets with the handle of his spear.

The dog approached Ganda. Its masked snout sniffed Ganda's right hand. Smelling the sharp chemical scent of Nerve Oil and dried blood.

The dog strained against its chain. The growl turned into a stifled bark.

"Easy, Brutus!" snapped the guard, yanking the chain roughly.

The guard stood in front of Ganda. He raised an oil lantern, bringing it close to Ganda's face. The firelight illuminated Ganda's pale skin. The guard squinted behind his helmet slit.

"What is this?" The guard pointed at the sword on Ganda's lap.

"That's... uh..." Niko stammered.

"Scrap," Ganda cut in. Voice flat, rasping.

He lifted the sword slightly with his numb right hand. The movement was stiff, weak. Red rust flaked off the blade.

"Scrap iron. To sell to the smelter."

The guard stared at the sword. The shape was ancient. The blade wide and dulled by time. In the eyes of uniform Aurellian technology, the weapon was primitive trash.

"Junk," the guard snorted. "You sick?"

"War cripple, Sir!" Niko interjected quickly. "His right hand is dead. He's just a porter."

The guard laughed behind his helmet. A hoarse, echoing sound. "Kaijin and their junk. Get in. Don't cause trouble in Sector 4."

The giant iron gates shuddered. Massive chains pulled them open.

CREAAAK.

Niko's cart rolled in. The merchant let out a long breath, almost collapsing from weak knees.

Ganda didn't answer. He was no longer looking at the guard. His eyes were now fixed upward. To the inner fortress wall.

There, on a steel balcony overlooking the main courtyard, stood a figure that made the soldiers below look like children.

A giant.

The human towered over two meters tall. Combined with the thickest plate armor ever made, he looked like a tower of iron. His shoulders were unnaturally wide, blocking out the sunlight.

He didn't move. He stood straight. Only a body born to carry that much iron could stand without shaking.

His face was covered by a helmet with no visible eye slits. Just cold iron.

Niko beside Ganda held his breath. The merchant's face went pale.

"By the God of Coin..." Niko whispered, his voice barely audible. "That's him."

"Who?" asked Ganda quietly, eyes never leaving the figure.

"The Iron Wall," hissed Niko, trembling. "Captain Valerius."

Ganda felt something in his chest. A strange resonance vibration. That man... Valerius... he was silent. His armor was so thick, so dense, that any cracking sound inside was drowned out before it could reach the surface.

He's like a dam, Ganda thought. You don't know it's cracked until the water breaks the wall.

Their cart passed under the shadow of the balcony. Ganda felt small. This mission... destroying the Iron Cannon in a place like this...

"Where do we park?" asked Niko, his voice breaking Ganda's trance.

"Find a place close to the steam," Ganda answered softly, eyes still watching Valerius's receding back.

The cart turned into a narrow alley in the slum industrial sector.

But barely ten meters in, the cart stopped abruptly.

The road ahead was blocked. Not by soldiers. But by a pile of smashed wooden crates and a group of rough laborers fighting. Angry shouts, the sound of breaking bottles, and the smell of cheap alcohol filled the air.

"Ah, damn it," cursed Niko. "Welcome to Sector 4. Where the law only applies if you have money."

Ganda stared at the chaos ahead. His hand touched the handle of the rusty sword.