The path wound upward through a canyon carved by hands older than time. Henry and Elara climbed in silence, boots grinding against rock that glimmered faintly, flecks of gold running like veins through the dark stone. Overhead, the clouds clung to the mountain's jagged peak, torn open by the impossible dome of black and gold that crowned it.
Henry slowed, breath catching at the sight.
Henry: "That… is a palace?"
It wasn't like any palace he had seen before. The structure seemed less built than forced into existence. Black metal towers twisted out of the mountain itself, bound together by rivers of molten gold that had long since cooled into hardened streams. The dome at the summit gleamed faintly, as if it absorbed the light around it, pulling it into itself.
Elara's voice was quiet, almost reverent.
Elara: "The Golden Palace. Midas's throne. From there, he has sight over the whole Dead Lands."
Henry: "This is massive; how could anyone build this?"
Henry shivered, but not from the cold. He couldn't explain why the sight of it made his Heavenly Awakening pulse restlessly in his chest, as though the very stones of the palace recognized him.
As they walked further, Elara's gaze lingered on the path ahead, though her voice drifted back toward Henry.
Elara: "Henry… What do you see when you look at it?"
Henry glanced up at the looming dome, lips tightening.
Henry: "A monster's lair. In Transylvania, the baron also had a palace, but this… this tops everything. I thought… after we survived that, I could handle anything. But I still hear voices sometimes. The vampires are shouting. My own screams. The feeling that I wasn't strong enough to protect everyone."
His fists clenched. Sparks of blue light flickered faintly around his knuckles, uncontrolled.
Henry (lower): "I lost more than blood there. I lost pieces of myself. And now… every time I fight, I wonder if I'll lose more."
For a moment, Elara said nothing. Then her hand brushed his—just for a second—before she pulled it back.
Elara: "You're not the only one with scars."
Henry turned toward her. She didn't look back; her eyes were far away, caught in memory.
Elara: "Before Dad… Ronnie found me, I wasn't even a person. Just a number. A little girl in a labor camp, strapped to tables, cut open for tests I didn't understand.
They said they wanted to create something 'new.' A weapon. Sometimes I thought… maybe I died there, and I'm just walking through someone else's nightmare."
Her voice cracked, but she pressed on.
Elara: "When Elion found me, he gave me bread. That was the first time anyone gave me anything without taking something back. When Ronnie took us in… it felt like maybe the nightmare had ended. But it never really did. It lives here."
She tapped her chest lightly.
Elara: "The Green Energy, the Awakening inside of me… it's not natural, Henry. It's a scar that became power. And I don't know if it's even really mine."
Henry slowed, watching her carefully. His own heart clenched at the words.
Henry: "Then we're both walking scars."
Elara finally looked at him. For a moment, the mask she wore—the quiet, distant girl who always seemed on the edge of vanishing—cracked. Behind her eyes was raw pain, but also a strength he hadn't seen before.
Elara: "Maybe that's why we're still standing."
The silence stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was heavy—filled with the truth neither of them could escape.
Deep inside the palace…
Ravenous stood at a high window of black steel, gazing down the mountain slope. His hollow eyes widened as he spotted the two figures making their way toward the gates.
Henry's aura burned faintly even from this distance, blue sparks trailing behind his movements like falling stars.
Ravenous staggered back from the window, clutching his head. Zorath's memories flared again, whispering about light devoured by gravity and stars collapsing into voids. But now… now he understood why Midas had spoken so confidently.
Ravenous (hoarse): "The boy… the one marked by heaven. He really is him."
His voice shook with awe, and for the first time, a strange emotion cut through his programmed loyalty. Not obedience. Not hatred. Something dangerously close to admiration.
The gates at the mountain's base loomed above Henry and Elara—slabs of black metal etched with veins of gold, carved with geometric patterns that glowed faintly as they approached.
Then came the sound—a metallic clank, followed by the synchronized rhythm of marching.
From the shadows of the gatehouse, they emerged.
Golden droids, each one sculpted in Midas's image: faceless helms of polished gold, bodies forged from sleek black steel, veins of glowing circuitry pulsing faintly across their limbs. Their movements were precise and mechanical, yet disturbingly human.
Some carried glaives of blackened metal, their edges glowing faintly. Others bore rifles that hummed with golden energy, weapons of Midas's own design.
Henry stepped forward instinctively, fists sparking.
Henry: "Of course he has an army."
Elara raised her hands, green energy flickering unevenly. Despite her words earlier, Henry could see her exhaustion from their last fight.
Henry: "Stay behind me."
Elara shook her head, her eyes burning.
Elara: "No. If we're walking into hell, we walk in together."
The droids' footsteps thundered across the stone, their weapons rising as the gates of the Golden Palace began to open, spilling light into the canyon like the promise of something far worse waiting inside.
And above them, Ravenous pressed his palm against the window, whispering to himself as the laughter of Zorath echoed in his skull.
Ravenous: "The dog has followed the sausage… just as Master promised."
Voice (Zorath echoing): "And what will you do, dog? We are no puppet; we are destined to rise."
Ravenous (loud): "Silence! I am not you."
Voice (Zorath echoing): "And yet, we share the same face, the same voice, and even the same mind!"
Ravenous: "We share nothing! I am not like you."
Voice (Zorath echoing): "Then tell me, dog. Who are you?"