Chapter 64 - Nornesh (3)
The silence in the chamber was suffocating after Astiron's revelation. Aedhira's mind raced, thoughts spiraling uncontrollably, weaving together fragments of history and self. **Nornesh. Lokir.** A dragon so massive, its body was the very moon they stood upon. It was... unthinkable. Yet, the reality pulsed in his chest like the forgotten Rune Nornesh had left behind.
Countless "ifs" surged through Aedhira's mind, possibilities unraveling and folding upon themselves. One question, however, pressed its way to the surface.
"Do you know about the Fyrraths on the surface above?" Aedhira asked, his voice breaking the stillness.
Astiron's eyes flickered, narrowing slightly as if calculating his response. "Yes," he said simply, but there was a weight to the word.
Aedhira frowned, pressing forward. "What are they?"
Astiron crossed his arms, brow furrowing. "Fyrraths are essentially sub-life forms," he explained. "Born from random concentrations of mana in an area—what you'd typically call mana-beasts. But the official term is 'Fyrrath.'"
Mana-beasts. The term didn't feel foreign, but something in Astiron's explanation struck Aedhira deeper than that. He felt the pieces start to come together as Astiron continued.
"The Fyrraths on the surface, though," Astiron said, glancing upward toward the ceiling of the chamber as if peering through the stone and metal toward the world above, "are likely born from the residual mana of Lokir itself. More precisely—from the mana leaking from Nornesh's corpse."
Aedhira felt a chill crawl up his spine. His thoughts flashed back to the weeks before—the chaos that had greeted him when he first woke up. "The mana… from Nornesh," Aedhira echoed softly, more to himself.
Astiron glanced at him, curiosity piquing in his eyes. "Have you encountered anything like that since waking up?" he asked.
Aedhira hesitated. His mind drifted back to the refugee camp, the endless horde of Fyrraths, and the storm of chaos that had nearly consumed them all. "When I went to rescue the refugees," Aedhira began, piecing together the memories, "they were being overrun. A nearly endless horde of these... Fyrraths. I barely arrived in time to pull them out of it."
Astiron's interest deepened, his gaze sharpening. "Tell me," he urged. "What happened?"
Aedhira took a breath, recalling the intensity of that day. "I'd received a signal from an outpost—one that was fairly far from Fort Blanche. It came from the person leading the refugees at the time." He paused, his memory wavering on details. "I assumed he died before I arrived to help them. This was barely days after I woke up, and I hadn't had everything sorted out yet. Some of the Aes helped me repair a couple of old carrier vessels. They would depart a bit after I did."
He paused, staring at the ground, his mind retracing the steps of that frantic operation. "I held out with the refugees until those carriers arrived."
Astiron raised an eyebrow, something clicking in his mind. "You're talking about the relics left in storage and the hangars?"
Aedhira gave a half-nod, uncertainty crossing his features. "I wasn't in charge of that part of the operation myself, so I'm not completely sure."
Astiron let out a low whistle, his expression one of astonished amusement. "Those vessels you got working," he said, shaking his head, "those were relics. Centuries old. Mana-independent technology, from long before I was even born."
Aedhira blinked in surprise.
Astiron chuckled, running a hand through his silver hair. "I'm more surprised anyone managed to get them working at all—let alone long enough to fly." He gave Aedhira an appraising look. "One trip on those things was a miracle."
"I see," Aedhira said, the weight of Astiron's words settling in. His mind still reeled from the revelations about the relics, the storms, and Nornesh, but his thoughts steadied. "We were... lucky?"
Astiron snorted. "Extremely. Most of Fort Blanche was in a precarious state when my colleagues and I left it. We kept it that way, to ensure no one would come snooping around. It was barely enough for your 'waking' to go smoothly." He glanced at Aedhira, his tone slightly bemused. "We hadn't intended for anyone to make much use of the old tech, let alone repair it."
Aedhira managed a small, thoughtful nod, then continued. "I got a bit lost on the way to the refugees, actually. Partly because... I wasn't exactly used to flying back then." He scratched his head, a faint hint of embarrassment coloring his voice. "Still not, honestly. And there were no reliable maps of the region, just some footage from a probe in orbit."
Astiron nodded, his expression unreadable.
"Then there was the storm," Aedhira added, his voice dropping. "It baffled me. A storm in a place with such a thin atmosphere? It didn't feel right. And when I flew closer, toward the 'eye' of it... I found something."
Astiron's interest sharpened, and Aedhira could feel the weight of his father's gaze.
"It looked like... siege weaponry. Or maybe some kind of small fortress on legs, with the barrel of what I assumed to be a railgun sticking out of the top. I wasn't sure what to make of it." Aedhira's brows furrowed as he recalled the scene. "I remember thinking, the thing could've taken a clear shot at me, but it didn't. It just... glowed more, and then the storm got worse. After that, it started spawning more of those Fyrraths."
Astiron's eyebrow shot up. "A hordemother?" he muttered, his voice carrying a tone of realization. "Then it really has gotten out of hand."
Aedhira blinked, curiosity rising in his chest. "Hordemother? What are you talking about?"
Astiron sighed, his posture relaxing as he began to explain. "Hordemothers are a larger archetype of Fyrrath. More powerful, more dangerous. Usually, they're much larger—massive compared to the regular ones. It sounds like the one you encountered had a gimmick of creating storms, but other than that, it doesn't seem all that different from the others I've seen." He grimaced, clearly annoyed by the memory. "They're pests. And getting rid of them is a nightmare."
Aedhira's eyes lit up with sudden hope. "You've dealt with them before? Then maybe you can help me—"
But Astiron quickly waved off the suggestion, a wry smirk playing on his lips. "Not so fast, kid. I'm not really here. This body is just an avatar. I've got the abilities of less than an average civilian right now."
Aedhira's face froze in shock. Astiron had spoken so casually about the Fyrraths, as though they were mere nuisances rather than the terrifying forces Aedhira had barely managed to survive. Astiron noticed his confusion and chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"At my level, kid, menial things like Fyrraths really aren't that big of a deal. There are *much* worse things out there. Trust me," he said, his tone bordering on dismissive.
Aedhira deflated visibly, his hope of getting some real help vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He'd been holding onto the idea that Astiron could fix this—that he could save him from the chaos above—but now it felt like that was slipping away. Astiron noticed, though, and, in typical fashion, ruffled his hair once again.
"Look, if I were to step in and fix everything for you right now, it'd set a bad precedent. You wouldn't learn anything from it," Astiron said with a grin. "But just because I'm not physically there doesn't mean I can't help. Let's talk strategy for a bit."
They sat down, Astiron clearly enjoying this light-hearted chat, but Aedhira felt like his mind was caught between a storm of panic and calm waves. They talked about different ways Aedhira could approach situation, most of which resulted in Aedhira just fleeing.
It wasn't particularly encouraging.
"So, what can I even do against a Hordemother?" Aedhira asked, frustrated. He hated feeling so lost in all this.
"Well, to start with, you absolutely cannot take it head-on," Astiron said seriously. "Right now, you're unpolished, untrained. You don't have the skills, you don't have the firepower. Hell, you haven't even fully explored yourself or the Arstra to see what you're really capable of, have you?"
Aedhira looked down, the truth of Astiron's words stinging more than he wanted to admit.
"No," he mumbled.
"Exactly. You're not ready. And right now, you'd just get flattened. So, what do you do?"
Aedhira, feeling the weight of all these warnings, seethed. "What am I supposed to do? Run away?"
Without missing a beat, Astiron locked eyes with him, his expression unwavering. "Yes."
Aedhira stared at him, shocked at the bluntness of the answer. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of him. Run away? He was supposed to just leave people behind? It felt wrong—like a betrayal of everything he'd been fighting for.
"Run," Astiron continued. "And if possible, without any dead weight."
The callousness of the statement cut deep, and Aedhira was about to say something when a rumbling sound interrupted him. The peaceful simulation around them—the hills, the flowers, the open sky—all flickered, glitching like a damaged hologram.
Astiron sighed, his eyes narrowing as if he was suddenly tracking something far off. "That's probably the signal."
"Signal?" Aedhira questioned, barely able to process the sudden shift. It felt like everything was happening too fast, with no clear direction.
Astiron turned his head slightly, glancing toward the direction where the massive silhouette of Nornesh's draconic head had been looming before the simulation started. "Don't be too rough with him, you hear?" he said, seemingly to no one in particular.
The rumbling intensified, resembling what sounded like a deep, monstrous chuckle reverberating through the ground.
Aedhira gasped, clutching his chest as a sharp pain shot through him, radiating near his heart. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, the pain growing with each second.
Aedhira gritted his teeth against the familiar pain, sharp and searing, like the sensation of something awakening deep within him. The last time this happened, the runes had come alive, and he knew exactly where to look now. Shutting his eyes, he focused, diving into the internal space where his runes resided, the sacred place orbiting his 'heart'.
There they were. The first rune had a metallic sheen, gleaming as if forged from pure steel. The second warped like a mirage, shifting and blurring as though it couldn't stay still. The third crackled with raw energy, sparks flying, and heat radiating from its core. And then there was the last one.
That one had always been dormant. Silent. Until now.
It pulsed. Slowly at first, like the beat of a hesitant heart, siphoning ether from the core of his being. Then, again. Each pulse grew brighter, stronger, and more violent. It wasn't tied to his heart—it was independent, alive. The space around it shuddered with each pulse, emitting not just light but something more... chaotic.
A haze poured from it, thick and impenetrable, followed by the sound of a thunderclap, a howl of wind, and then a snap of lightning—no, not just lightning. A storm. The air became humid, then abruptly cold, frigid even, as if the temperature itself was under its sway. He could feel it in every fiber of his being: the thunderstorm, the blizzard, the hurricane, all of it spinning inside him, growing more vivid with each pulse.
Then came the pull. A vicious, terrifying suction force, pulling him closer to the rune. He wanted to run, but in this space, he had no legs. He tried to breathe, but the air had vanished. Panic surged in his chest. He wanted to escape, but there was no escape. The rune pulled him in, and as he was consumed by its force, everything went dark.
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[POV - ASTIRON]
Astiron's expression shifted from amused to concerned in mere moments. One minute, Aedhira had clutched his chest in pain and collapsed, the next he was limp, unconscious before he could even react. Fifteen seconds of silence passed—eerily long, filled only with the ominous rumbling of the sim-hall as the environment glitched around them.
Astiron wanted to reach out, to pull his 'son' back before things escalated. But just as he leaned forward, Aedhira was enveloped in flames.
Not flames of destruction—no, these were the flames of creation. Like paper burning in reverse, the Arstra armor materialized around Aedhira, igniting from nothingness until it fully manifested, protective and powerful. Aedhira, however, remained unconscious inside it, his body slack. Without its user's guidance, the armor's emergency protocol triggered. Astiron recognized the signs immediately.
Argos wasn't present, and neither was Aedhira in any meaningful sense, leaving the Arstra's control in the hands of a tertiary spirit AI—primitive, rudimentary, but fiercely protective. It operated with a singular objective: neutralize any threats to itself or its user, no matter the cost.
The Arstra, with Aedhira limp inside, rose to its feet in one fluid motion. Its pitch-black visor darkened further, as if calibrating, and a pair of red eyes flickered to life. Not the ominous crimson of rage or malice—just red. Cold, calculating.
It locked eyes with Astiron.
Astiron stared right back, the corner of his mouth twitching with mild amusement. The AI within the armor was gauging him, assessing whether or not he was a threat. The red eyes flickered again, as though glitching, and then, mercifully, they dimmed. No threat detected. The Arstra stood still, like a guard dog at ease.
Astiron let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of his current predicament. "If that thing decided I was a threat, this avatar would probably be toast. And that would be bothersome." He muttered the last part under his breath, waving his hand as a series of holographic panels appeared, floating in the air in front of him. As he began manipulating them, the sim-hall continued to rumble, the carefully constructed scenery of hills and flowers flickering more violently now, pieces of the illusion fading in and out.
The rumbling grew worse, echoing through the chamber like an impending collapse. Astiron glanced at the shaking walls, his face lined with exhaustion.
"Of course, it's never easy, is it?" He sighed, his fingers flying across the holographic screens, trying to keep control of the simulation—though his tired eyes betrayed the truth. Things were falling apart faster than expected.
He cast a glance at the Arstra, still standing sentinel over Aedhira, and murmured to himself, "This is going to be a long day."