"Form ranks!"
The Judge's voice cracked like a whip across the crystal courtyard. His spectral titan loomed overhead, molten stone dripping from its phantom form.
One hundred and fifty Phisotians shuffled into formation. Fresh Echoes pulsed weakly on their hands. Fear thick as smoke in the air.
Kimara found herself between two others. Vess trembled beside her—small frame wrapped in pale feathers that caught the dome-light like moonbeams. Her wind Echo flickered uncertainly on delicate hands that had never held weapons.
On her other side stood Nex. Tall but hollow, like a tree that had grown too fast. His brown feathers were already matted with nervous sweat. When their eyes met, he looked away immediately. His wind Echo pulsed erratically, matching his scattered breathing.
Coward. She could smell it on him.
The domes rose before them like captured stars.
Massive. Impossible. Beautiful in the way avalanches were beautiful—deadly and unstoppable. Each one hummed with contained power that made her teeth ache. Light swirled within translucent walls, forming patterns that hurt to follow.
Twelve domes in total. The smallest could hold a city. The largest defied measurement.
"See Dome Seven," the Judge continued, pointing with casual indifference.
Kimara looked.
The dome was dark. Cracked. Something had gone wrong inside.
Bodies pressed against its inner walls. Phisotian bodies. Dozens of them. Their faces frozen in screams, their feathers matted with blood.
"Dome fracture. Last week. Monsters escaped containment. Slaughtered everything inside before we contained the breach."
He said it like commenting on weather.
"This is why you follow protocol. This is why you don't get clever. The domes are not your friends. They are not fair. They are hungry."
A few Phisotians sobbed quietly. Nex's breathing grew faster.
Kimara felt only rage.
"Your Echoes are ancient gifts," the Judge said, beginning his lecture with practiced boredom. "Older than memory. Older than our histories. They chose your ancestors when the first Phisotians walked this world. Why? No one knows. Where do they come from? No one cares."
His spectral titan shifted, molten eyes fixed on the cowering slaves.
"What matters is this: your Echoes make you useful. Without them, you are meat. With them, you are tools. Valuable tools, but tools nonetheless."
Kimara's markings pulsed brighter. Matreaon stirred in her chest—not voices, just warmth. Like metal heated by forge-fire. Fragments of understanding flickered through her mind. Pull. Push. Attract. Repel.
Simple concepts for a simple Echo.
"Groups of three," the Judge barked. "Initiate domes only. First level. Kobold extermination. Eighty percent of crystals go to your betters. Twenty percent keeps you fed."
Surveillants wheeled out carts of weapons. Dented blades. Cracked shields. Broken spears held together with wire.
"Standard equipment for initiates. No replacements if you break them. Make them last."
The formations broke apart. Phisotians clustered together, seeking comfort in familiar faces.
Kimara grabbed Vess's wrist. "With me."
She looked at Nex. His Echo was weak, but three was the requirement.
"You too."
They approached the weapon cart. Kimara chose a dagger—blade chipped, handle wrapped in fraying leather. The balance was wrong, but metal was metal. Her Echo hummed with faint recognition.
Vess lifted a small shield with both hands, nearly dropping it. The wood was cracked, the metal rim tarnished green.
Nex took a sword that looked like it had seen too many battles. His grip was all wrong. He held it like it might bite him.
Definitely going to die.
Their assigned dome glowed soft blue. The portal at its base rippled like water made of light. Three figures could pass through simultaneously. No more.
Vess grabbed her arm. "What if we die in there?"
"Then we die." Kimara's voice held no comfort. "But we die fighting."
She shifted her shoulders, feeling the weight of her pack. Inside, wrapped in her father's old shirt, the sealed book pressed against her spine. *The Echo of Lakshmi.* Still waiting. Still watching.
Still patient.
She looked back at the courtyard. At the Judges with their phantom titans. At Vorthak and Sylaeth watching from their shadowed thrones.
At the broken dome with its pressed-corpse windows.
This was their world. Domes and death and the constant hunger of creatures that saw them as food.
Fine.
Let the monsters be hungry.
She was hungrier.
"Move," she told her group.
They stepped through the portal.
The light swallowed them whole.