We walked in silence for a while after the last lesson, the forest gradually thinning into patches of stone and strange metallic surfaces poking out from the earth like relics from a forgotten time. The deeper we trekked into this strange zone, the more foreign everything felt—unnatural silence, a buzzing hum beneath my feet, the faint presence of lingering energies pressing against my senses.
Father placed his hand on my shoulder as we came upon what looked like a collapsed hillside. He murmured, "Here it is."
To my shock, the ground wasn't a hill at all—it was a structure. Smooth, faded metal panels ran along the surface, covered in moss and vines. Runes flickered in and out of visibility across its surface. Some were old—centuries old—and others pulsed faintly as if still active.
He pressed a small sigil against a half-buried doorframe. Blue glyphs shimmered to life.
The door split open with a hiss, revealing a hallway descending deep underground.
"This place…" he said, "is what remains of the last true Era of Engineers. Before the Age of Collapse."
My eyes widened.
Inside, walls curved around us like the ribs of a giant beast. Every surface was covered in lines of symbols—sigils, glyphs, runes—all interwoven. Some sections were glowing faintly, while others lay dormant. We passed thick crystal tubes and skeletal remnants of mechanical suits. I could feel the immense magical residue even without focusing.
"So this is where they built machines?" I asked, trailing my fingers along one of the ancient armor shells.
"More than machines," Father replied. "They made living steel. Spirit-bound armor, mechs guided by anima intelligence and magic cores. This facility—an 'Arcus Sanctum'—was one of the last to remain sealed after the collapse."
He guided me toward a large chamber where the walls were covered in glowing diagrams. A massive circular console stood in the center, covered in more ancient marks.
"This is where you'll learn arrays," he said.
I blinked. "Arrays?"
"Yes. You've learned the basics of runes, glyphs, and sigils. Think of arrays as what happens when you combine them. While wards are protective setups—usually static—an array is dynamic. Modular. Adaptable."
He knelt by the console, brushing away dust. "Each ward you learned—like the explosive rune or the soul-bound barrier—can be placed into an array as a component. But here's the catch: while arrays are versatile, they lack the sheer forceand stability of a proper barrier or static construct. We call those... Pylacean Seals."
"Pylacean Seals?" I repeated.
He nodded. "A form of 'anchored' array, designed to root itself into the leylines of a place. Immoveable. Strong. Arrays, by contrast, can float, move, shift—adapt on the fly. They're like mobile programs, while Pylacean Seals are fortresses."
I whistled softly, looking around. "So this whole place… it's one giant array?"
"Exactly," he said, and tapped a crystal node.
A pulse echoed through the chamber.
Glyphs along the walls illuminated in sequence. Dozens. Hundreds. The floor vibrated.
He stepped back as a small hovering sphere detached itself from the central console and floated to me, projecting a glowing pattern in the air.
"Read it," he said. "Tell me what this ward is."
I narrowed my eyes, parsing the symbols. "Sigils for detection… a glyph for motion… and two runes bound by a conditional line. That's a proximity alert system?"
He grinned. "Good."
We spent hours studying the rest—he showed me controller wards, used to rewrite conditions remotely. Inversion nodesto reverse outcomes. Even drain anchors, used to siphon ambient energy to power arrays passively.
I scribbled it all in my notebook, my mind racing.
"Once you master array logic," he said, "you can make anything. Auto-repairing wards. Trap webs. Energy farms. Even golems."
The magnitude of it was dizzying.
As I sat, cross-legged, absorbing every glyph and structure etched into the central terminal, my senses flickered. Something was off.
There was a sound—a vibration in the stone.
My father's head snapped up. He pulled me behind him.
A rumble.
Then bang. Metal echoed. A second bang.
The sealed gate at the far end of the structure shuddered, dust raining from the ceiling.
Then we heard it—a guttural, metallic growl… and the slamming of dozens of feet.
Husks.
But something else too.
I peeked from behind the console, my heart seizing.
Emerging from the corridor was a monstrosity.
Nine feet tall. Composed of rotting flesh and metal grafts. Its skull was wrapped in a broken helmet, eyes glowing dimly. Spinal pillars protruded from its back like jagged towers.
It bellowed a distorted screech that echoed like rusted iron being torn apart.
My father's grip on his spear tightened.
"A Huskbeast," he said grimly. "A Husk-Warped Hybrid. Looks like our necromancer friend has been... experimenting."
It stopped at the threshold, its followers—twenty, maybe more—shuffling in behind it.
Igris froze. His mind raced.
They were deep underground, in an ancient mech facility laced with still-active but dormant magic. The array terminal blinked at him. Wards hummed faintly.
"Father…" I whispered.
"I know."
We were cornered.
And it was about to begin.