EXILE COG: OMEGA PROTOCOL

Chapter 6: Remnants of the Kingdom and a Heavy Promise

The dry desert wind began sweeping dust toward the exit of the dead Magitek train station. The sound of metal grating against stone echoed like a long moan in the gripping silence of the twilight. Zenith stepped out first; his massive metal feet struck the ground, which was already beginning to be covered in gray sand. Behind him, Prince Elara and Marcus walked with heavy steps, their eyes narrowed, staring at the searing horizon.

The sunset on the edge of the Ashfall Desert was not beautiful. The sky, usually blue, had turned a copper-red, polluted by airborne metallic particles, the industrial waste of a bygone era. This was their first sunset as fugitives, as the remnants of a glory recently shattered by Valerius’s betrayal.

“Damn, this air feels like breathing hot sawdust,” Zenith grumbled, slapping his chest plate to keep dust from entering his core vents. “If your lungs explode in the next ten minutes, please don't die in my path. It’s a hassle, having to move corpses.”

Marcus snorted, adjusting the heavy supply pack on his shoulder. “Can you go one day without talking about death, Zenith? We just left the station and you’re already making the atmosphere gloomier.”

“Hey, I’m just being realistic, Uncle,” Zenith replied without turning around, his optical lenses scanning the area ahead for traces of wild mechanoids. “The Ashfall Desert isn't a noble family picnic spot. This is where the laws of physics and the law of the jungle fight it out, and the jungle usually wins by cheating.”

Prince Elara remained silent, his eyes fixed on the seemingly endless expanse of desert before them. The red sunlight reflected on his dirty face, revealing the lines of sadness he tried to hide behind a flat expression. He felt incredibly small in the face of this vast and cruel world.

“Marcus,” Elara called softly. “Can we really make it to Stonehearth?”

Marcus looked at his prince with a gentle yet determined gaze. “We will make it, Prince. As long as I’m still breathing, I won’t allow a single hair on your head to be harmed.”

“Well, that's a sweet promise,” Zenith interjected with heavy sarcasm. “Unfortunately, Vesperus doesn't care about your breath, Uncle. They only care about how to stop it.”

Elara took a deep breath, then reached into a hidden pocket beneath his torn cloak. A small, glittering object caught the last rays of sunlight. Elara stepped forward, approaching Zenith, who was busy recalibrating his long-range sensors.

“Zenith,” Elara said, his voice slightly trembling. “Wait a moment.”

The old robot stopped, its head rotating one hundred and eighty degrees backward with a sharp mechanical click. “What is it now, Your Highness? If you want a piggyback ride, the price has tripled because of the sandy terrain.”

Elara ignored the joke. He opened his palm, revealing a pure gold medal engraved with gears and eagle wings, the Order of the Radiant Gear, the highest symbol of honor for an Elite Cog. It was only given to the most accomplished royal protectors.

“Take this,” Elara said firmly, though his eyes were watering. “Father kept it in a secret chamber after you were exiled. He always said you were the best protector Mother ever had. I want you to wear it again.”

Marcus was stunned by the object. He knew how valuable the medal was. It wasn't just gold; it was a symbol of rehabilitation, a statement that Zenith was no longer a traitor or royal refuse.

Zenith’s reaction, however, was unexpected. His yellow lenses blinked rapidly, and then he let out a dry laugh. The sound was painful, like iron scraping against cement.

“Keep your expensive toy, Kid,” Zenith said, his voice suddenly cold and heavy. “That thing is useless out here. Gold can't patch the holes in my body, and gold can't erase the rust in my core.”

“But this is your honor, Zenith!” Elara exclaimed, stepping closer. “You are not refuse. You are an Elite Cog. You saved me, you fought those Shadow Constructs as if they were nothing! You deserve this recognition!”

Zenith rotated his entire body to face Elara fully. The aura of the old Warlord, Omega, briefly flashed behind his eyes before he suppressed it back into the nihilism he had constructed as a shield.

“Listen up, Little Prince,” Zenith said, his voice dropping low. “Honor is the slowest kind of poison to kill you. I used to have honor, and what did it get me? I failed to protect your mother because of that damned honor protocol that made me too late to make a decision. I was exiled, discarded, and considered dead by the very people who gave me medals like that.”

Zenith roughly swatted Elara’s hand away, causing the medal to nearly fall into the sand before Elara quickly gripped it tight.

“That Elite Cog title died along with the emotion-detection system I tossed out earlier,” Zenith continued, his optical lenses staring sharply at Elara. “Don't try to put a moral burden on me with that rusty trinket. I’m not your hero. I’m just an old robot who happened to want a walk outside that rotten city.”

Elara looked down, his shoulders shaking. “I ... I just feel useless, Zenith. I’m a prince without a kingdom. I’m just a burden to both of you. I thought if I could restore your status, maybe I’d still have some authority as the heir to the throne.”

Zenith was silent for a moment. His damaged empathy sensors gave off a strange signal, as if a wire had been pulled in his chest. He saw a frightened teenager, not a ruler. The guilt he had buried began to creep up, but he immediately rebuilt his wall of nihilism.

“You are a burden, seriously,” Zenith said, reverting to his annoying Exile tone. “Damn, you just realized that? You eat a lot, run slow, and wear clothes the color of a traffic light in the middle of the desert. You are the most perfect walking target I’ve ever encountered.”

Marcus was about to protest the harsh words, but Zenith raised a hand, signaling Marcus to be quiet.

“But,” Zenith continued, his voice softening slightly, “I promised my own system I would protect you until we reach Stonehearth. Until those noisy dwarves take over. But that’s it. Don't expect me to be your friend, don't expect me to be your loyal protector like in a fairy tale book.”

Zenith stepped forward, passing Elara, who was still clutching the medal. The robot stopped right before the last line of vegetation gave way entirely to the desert sand.

“Once we reach the sanctuary, our relationship is over,” Zenith stated without turning around. “I go back to being a junk scavenger, and you go back to being a prince who has to worry about how to reclaim the throne without Valerius chopping off your head. This heavy promise only holds until the gates of Stonehearth. Got it, Kid?”

Elara wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then put the medal back into his pocket. He nodded slightly, realizing that Zenith was protecting himself from greater pain.

“I understand, Zenith,” Elara said softly. “Until Stonehearth.”

“Good. Now, you two better shut up and brace yourselves,” Zenith snapped, pointing toward a plume of black smoke visible on the desert horizon. “The Ashfall Desert doesn't like guests with too much drama. The sand can get into your lungs and make your voices sound like a squeezed duck.”

Marcus approached Elara, patting the teenager’s shoulder gently. “Come on, Prince. We have to keep moving. The night in this desert is far more dangerous than Valerius’s magic.”

The three of them began to step into the gray expanse of the Ashfall Desert. The air temperature dropped drastically in seconds, changing from scorching heat to bone-chilling cold. The wind howled fiercely, carrying metallic particles that jingled as they struck Zenith’s armor.

Zenith walked ahead, his steps steady and unwavering. Inside his core, he performed periodic system scans. He deliberately locked the memory of the gold medal in a folder that was not easily accessible. He didn't want to be reminded of his glory. He didn't want to be reminded of his failure.

“Damn it, I’ve only been walking five minutes and my feet are already full of sand,” Zenith complained loudly so his voice wouldn't be swallowed by the wind. “If this were a real desert, it should be full of gold or oil, not iron dust like this. Seriously, this kingdom is so cheap that even its desert is full of industrial waste.”

Elara smiled faintly at the grumbling. He knew Zenith was trying to diffuse the tension, even if his method was strange. Amidst the darkness beginning to envelop the desert, the presence of the noisy, cynical old robot was the only thing that made him feel he still had hope.

However, the calm did not last long. Zenith’s acoustic sensors suddenly picked up an unnatural vibration from beneath the sand’s surface. The frequency was very low, but the power was great enough to make the grains of sand at their feet jump slightly.

“Stop!” Zenith commanded, his voice instantly shifting to a serious military tone.

“What is it now, Zenith?” Marcus asked, drawing his chipped sword.

Zenith didn't answer. He knelt, pressing his metal palm to the cold desert sand. His tactile sensors processed the data at maximum speed. His face, usually comical, turned rigid and alert.

“There’s something under us,” Zenith whispered. “It’s big. And it looks awfully hungry for Magitek energy.”

Suddenly, an explosion of sand erupted a few yards ahead of them. A giant metallic tentacle covered in rust and lined with spinning saws burst from underground, slashing the air with terrifying speed. Behind it, the body of a massive, worm-shaped wild mechanoid emerged, its red sensor eyes glowing in the darkness of the night.

“Damn, I just said this desert doesn't like drama, but it’s the one making a dramatic entrance,” Zenith muttered, preparing his energy shield. “Uncle, protect the Prince! I’ll handle this rusty worm!”

The giant worm roared with a deafening mechanical sound, then lunged toward them with its saw-toothed mouth wide open. Zenith leaped to meet the deadly charge, just as a red warning signal reappeared on his optical display: CRITICAL OVERHEATING IN 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... The journey across the Ashfall Desert had just begun, and its first challenge might destroy Zenith’s system before they had a chance to see the sunrise again.